So I forgot last week to stop back by the flower shop, but I did so yesterday. I walked in and the young woman came out to the desk, offering to help me. I said, "I don't need flowers. I was here about 10 days ago and I think I spoke with you and your son about his tests?" Her face LIT up, and that's what it was all about.
I said, "I needed to know how the results were. I've been thinking a lot about you guys."
And her face fell. "No, he's still anemic. He still has to take iron supplements." I wanted to reach across the work counter and hug her. She looked so sad.
"Any news on the cancer?"
"No, they are planning a full blood scan soon to figure that out."
I told her how sorry I was that he still had to take iron. If you have taken iron, then you know why. I took it during one of my pregnancies, probably the first one.
I'm glad I went back. I just wish she'd had something better to tell me.
I also need to figure out how to go back when she's NOT there, and have them give her flowers. From her expression, I feel like she needed an unexpected pick-me-up.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Busy times...quiet times
It's been a crazy few weeks, but I've had a few things stirring in the pot so here goes...
Last week, Lee took me to London for the first time. On the first night there, we had dinner with a colleague of his, and his colleague's wife. As we enjoyed a drink in their hotel lobby, Lee said, "David's the one I told you about, whose son vanished and had an accident and died." I nodded. I did remember the story, and knew right away that it was going to be a different kind of night.
We headed to the hotel lobby to meet David and Michelle, and they swept me up in hugs, saying, "No, no, we hug..." when I held my American hand out to be shaken. Cheek kisses, warm hugs, and laughing ensued. Well, I don't cheek kiss. Never have. But they did. Europeans...
In any case, the evening was wonderful - we sat on a terrace overlooking the Thames and had cocktails and then went inside to eat and saw a British actress at an adjacent table. I placed her, putting my phone on the table with her profile for them to confirm. "It's what I do," I said.
Of course, through the evening, our conversation turned to losing our sons, and, of course, it turned very emotional. I did not manage a stiff upper lip, embarrassingly. But we had a chance to talk about our extremely different experiences, and our extremely similar emotional reactions. It was such a relief. Not that we aren't honest with people, but we also know that sometimes the people we are with aren't in the right place to be hearing about our experience.
It was a fantastic night - the best of our nights in London.
Today, I stopped by the florist to order a bouquet of roses for Miss Christy, as her anniversary with us is Friday. There was a young boy, 7 or 8, there with his mother while she worked. I said, "Long day here, huh?" to him as she worked on my order. He nodded. She said, "He had a blood test today..." and proceeded to tell me that he had a medical scare last year, and is anemic, and possibly has cancer. They retested to see how his blood was faring. I told her I would keep them in my thoughts, and that I hope both the anemia and the potential cancer tests come back negative. They have to wait a week to find out. After the year they've been waiting already. I wanted to reach across the counter and hug her, like Michelle and David reached across the awkward chasm of loss to embrace me.
The waiting, my friends, is truly the hardest part. We waited for 9 years. David and Michelle waited 6 weeks for definitive news. This family has waited a year to know if their son is sick or healthy.
I think I'm going to go back next week, not because I need more flowers, but because I need to know how this little boy who is just around Drew's age will be.
Last week, Lee took me to London for the first time. On the first night there, we had dinner with a colleague of his, and his colleague's wife. As we enjoyed a drink in their hotel lobby, Lee said, "David's the one I told you about, whose son vanished and had an accident and died." I nodded. I did remember the story, and knew right away that it was going to be a different kind of night.
We headed to the hotel lobby to meet David and Michelle, and they swept me up in hugs, saying, "No, no, we hug..." when I held my American hand out to be shaken. Cheek kisses, warm hugs, and laughing ensued. Well, I don't cheek kiss. Never have. But they did. Europeans...
In any case, the evening was wonderful - we sat on a terrace overlooking the Thames and had cocktails and then went inside to eat and saw a British actress at an adjacent table. I placed her, putting my phone on the table with her profile for them to confirm. "It's what I do," I said.
Of course, through the evening, our conversation turned to losing our sons, and, of course, it turned very emotional. I did not manage a stiff upper lip, embarrassingly. But we had a chance to talk about our extremely different experiences, and our extremely similar emotional reactions. It was such a relief. Not that we aren't honest with people, but we also know that sometimes the people we are with aren't in the right place to be hearing about our experience.
It was a fantastic night - the best of our nights in London.
Today, I stopped by the florist to order a bouquet of roses for Miss Christy, as her anniversary with us is Friday. There was a young boy, 7 or 8, there with his mother while she worked. I said, "Long day here, huh?" to him as she worked on my order. He nodded. She said, "He had a blood test today..." and proceeded to tell me that he had a medical scare last year, and is anemic, and possibly has cancer. They retested to see how his blood was faring. I told her I would keep them in my thoughts, and that I hope both the anemia and the potential cancer tests come back negative. They have to wait a week to find out. After the year they've been waiting already. I wanted to reach across the counter and hug her, like Michelle and David reached across the awkward chasm of loss to embrace me.
The waiting, my friends, is truly the hardest part. We waited for 9 years. David and Michelle waited 6 weeks for definitive news. This family has waited a year to know if their son is sick or healthy.
I think I'm going to go back next week, not because I need more flowers, but because I need to know how this little boy who is just around Drew's age will be.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Dreams
Every once in a while, I would have a dream in which Connor achieved something we thought wasn't possible. Once, about 6 years ago, it was a dream in which he stood up, ran about 10 feet, and then realized he couldn't do it and collapsed. The expression of joy on his usually emotionless face was a sight to behold, even if it was the product of my subconscious.
Last night, I dreamt that we were getting set up for a large-scale party with the whole family around. In the middle of the preparations, Connor was sitting in his chair, waiting to be fed, and with a group of people around, he spoke his first words. He murmured, "Yesterday..." and we all hollered, "YESTERDAY!!" because we were so shocked that his vocalizations made a real word! Then he said, "Tucker got in trouble." The words were slurry and difficult to pick out, unless you knew how Connor vocalized.
Next, I went in search of my mother in the dream, as she wasn't there and she was the first person I wanted to tell this story to. I woke up just as I was telling her in the dream. I said, Mom, he said his first words! And we both burst into noisy, happy tears, and then I woke up with a 6 year old pressing against my side and a dog draped over my legs.
I wonder when the next dream will be, and if he will continue speaking in them. His sentence was hilariously on topic - I'm sure that Tucker was in trouble yesterday. Every yesterday.
In any case, it was a good dream.
Last night, I dreamt that we were getting set up for a large-scale party with the whole family around. In the middle of the preparations, Connor was sitting in his chair, waiting to be fed, and with a group of people around, he spoke his first words. He murmured, "Yesterday..." and we all hollered, "YESTERDAY!!" because we were so shocked that his vocalizations made a real word! Then he said, "Tucker got in trouble." The words were slurry and difficult to pick out, unless you knew how Connor vocalized.
Next, I went in search of my mother in the dream, as she wasn't there and she was the first person I wanted to tell this story to. I woke up just as I was telling her in the dream. I said, Mom, he said his first words! And we both burst into noisy, happy tears, and then I woke up with a 6 year old pressing against my side and a dog draped over my legs.
I wonder when the next dream will be, and if he will continue speaking in them. His sentence was hilariously on topic - I'm sure that Tucker was in trouble yesterday. Every yesterday.
In any case, it was a good dream.
Sunday, June 07, 2015
Sundays
This morning, while Lee was out on his bike, I laid in bed avoiding adulting, and then I heard something. It sounded just like Connor did when he's vocalize out to us from his bedroom, sort of a "I'm up...please come get me!" indication. It's the same sound my imagination created in my head the night after he died, before I wrote the first posthumous entry here. I miss that sound, but it always makes me happy to hear it, even though it's imaginary.
Then again, it could have been Tucker. He has been a pretty good mimic for Connor's vocalizations. But I'm pretty certain it was my mind. He was too engrossed in Turbo.
Sundays have become the days I seem to encounter the most sadness. I wonder if it's because it's a quiet morning, which allows my mind to work overtime and entertain scenarios and memories that busy days tamp down. Maybe it's because Sunday is forever linked to faith days for me, and this experience has been the most important test, and testament, of my faith.
Who really knows anyway? But this morning I heard his voice again. A hymn to this day. That sound used to drive me from whatever I was doing to him. Now he's always with me, so I have to listen carefully to be able to hear him.
Wednesday, June 03, 2015
A new week...a new perspective
So my last post got people worried, I guess. I apologize. I never intended that. Much like my old life, my new life throws curve balls, and sometimes they come faster and closer than I can process.
Last Friday, Connor's last school held a dedication ceremony for a tree planted for him. My dear friend Joe donated the tree and had it planted, a Little Gem Southern Dwarf Magnolia tree. The morning of the ceremony, the first bud opened on the tree.
His teacher, Liz, met us at the door and walked us over to the courtyard. The day was overcast, but as we stepped out, the clouds broke apart and the sun shone brightly on those gathered. The principal, Dan. Two of his former teachers, Bianca and Rachael. A few of his therapists. Parents and current students from the FLS class, many of whom he shared class with for 5 years. A group of 5th graders - his technical classmates based on age. Liz stood on the small stage and read a lovely piece, talking about the team putting him on the bus the last day he went to school at the end of the day, and him looking back at each of his teachers, aides, therapists. No one knew at the time that it was his good-bye to them. I hadn't known that he'd done that until that moment. Then she introduced the 5th graders, and referred to them as the chorus, and they stood up and sang a beautiful version of "Times Like These" by Foo Fighters. The chorus included one of his classmates from Ashlawn, his first school. Two of his Barrett & Glebe (and Tuckahoe, come to think of it!) classmates, took rhythmic gymnastics ribbons and danced. We bawled. BAWLED. We hadn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that. Tissues were passed to us.
After they were done, Lee and I each thanked everyone, and then added a small amount of dirt from his garden at home to the roots of the tree, so he could truly be a part of the growth.
Today, I dropped the other boys at school and thought back to that event, and what struck me was that people who were there participated because they love him. Currently, actively. One of the nicest things I consider now is that despite his absence, the love we feel isn't in the past, and that is an awesome thing. We LOVE him, and it will never be that we LOVED him. It's in this moment, every moment, and like the sun coming out on his ceremony, that brightens my day.
Last Friday, Connor's last school held a dedication ceremony for a tree planted for him. My dear friend Joe donated the tree and had it planted, a Little Gem Southern Dwarf Magnolia tree. The morning of the ceremony, the first bud opened on the tree.
His teacher, Liz, met us at the door and walked us over to the courtyard. The day was overcast, but as we stepped out, the clouds broke apart and the sun shone brightly on those gathered. The principal, Dan. Two of his former teachers, Bianca and Rachael. A few of his therapists. Parents and current students from the FLS class, many of whom he shared class with for 5 years. A group of 5th graders - his technical classmates based on age. Liz stood on the small stage and read a lovely piece, talking about the team putting him on the bus the last day he went to school at the end of the day, and him looking back at each of his teachers, aides, therapists. No one knew at the time that it was his good-bye to them. I hadn't known that he'd done that until that moment. Then she introduced the 5th graders, and referred to them as the chorus, and they stood up and sang a beautiful version of "Times Like These" by Foo Fighters. The chorus included one of his classmates from Ashlawn, his first school. Two of his Barrett & Glebe (and Tuckahoe, come to think of it!) classmates, took rhythmic gymnastics ribbons and danced. We bawled. BAWLED. We hadn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that. Tissues were passed to us.
After they were done, Lee and I each thanked everyone, and then added a small amount of dirt from his garden at home to the roots of the tree, so he could truly be a part of the growth.
Today, I dropped the other boys at school and thought back to that event, and what struck me was that people who were there participated because they love him. Currently, actively. One of the nicest things I consider now is that despite his absence, the love we feel isn't in the past, and that is an awesome thing. We LOVE him, and it will never be that we LOVED him. It's in this moment, every moment, and like the sun coming out on his ceremony, that brightens my day.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Fatigue
Every morning, I wake up exhausted already. It's so counterproductive. Then today, while chatting with my former colleagues when I stopped by the old office, it dawned on me. I'm fatigued because I have spent the past 478 days since Connor died trying my level best to be "okay."
I had no idea that this effort would be so tiring. My body is tired. My brain is tired. My heart is tired. My soul is tired. Normally, only one of those would be tired at any given point, but I've drained myself pretty much completely dry. Why? Who am I trying to impress with my "okay-ness"? I don't think anyone really expects me to be okay all the time but I feel this enormous pressure to be okay all the time.
And then I realize that while I may be creating that "need" to be okay, I'm acting as if it's the people around me who need me to be okay, and I'm doing it for them, and does that make me susceptible to peer pressure? Even though now that I've plotted it out in my brain, I see that it is MY own pressure, not pressure from outside, that is causing this, I still can't seem to shut it off!
How in the world do I shut it off?
I've been doing an inordinate amount of escapist reading. Every night, I read until I fall asleep and it's DRIVEL. Total crap. Anything to occupy my mind until it shuts down. I frequently wake up about 45 minutes later, remove my glasses and put my iPad down, and drift back away. Sadly, I am also frequently visited in the night my the boys, for a multitude of reasons. So I was blaming the tiredness on the late reading and perpetual interruptions of my sleep. I'm trying to stop those cycles, but I also need to address the exhaustion stemming from okayness. I'm just not certain how to get there...
I had no idea that this effort would be so tiring. My body is tired. My brain is tired. My heart is tired. My soul is tired. Normally, only one of those would be tired at any given point, but I've drained myself pretty much completely dry. Why? Who am I trying to impress with my "okay-ness"? I don't think anyone really expects me to be okay all the time but I feel this enormous pressure to be okay all the time.
And then I realize that while I may be creating that "need" to be okay, I'm acting as if it's the people around me who need me to be okay, and I'm doing it for them, and does that make me susceptible to peer pressure? Even though now that I've plotted it out in my brain, I see that it is MY own pressure, not pressure from outside, that is causing this, I still can't seem to shut it off!
How in the world do I shut it off?
I've been doing an inordinate amount of escapist reading. Every night, I read until I fall asleep and it's DRIVEL. Total crap. Anything to occupy my mind until it shuts down. I frequently wake up about 45 minutes later, remove my glasses and put my iPad down, and drift back away. Sadly, I am also frequently visited in the night my the boys, for a multitude of reasons. So I was blaming the tiredness on the late reading and perpetual interruptions of my sleep. I'm trying to stop those cycles, but I also need to address the exhaustion stemming from okayness. I'm just not certain how to get there...
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Invisible Hands
I'm feeling like I losing my connection to Connor more and more. Maybe it's that we are past a year, and the harshness of it all is dimming ever-so-slightly. Maybe the harshness of our ragged emotional states held him closer to us, and we felt him more before all the "firsts" were in the past.
Whatever it is, I don't like it one bit. There are times when a day is tough, or I have a particularly hard nut to crack either at home or with work, and last year I felt as though I would reach out to him through my thoughts and my achy heart, and my solutions would appear. That's not happening now. It's not that I don't want to work for the things I get - I absolutely work for them! But when they go askew, it felt like I had him pushing it back in place invisibly last year, and now I don't. And that just sucks.
Yesterday, when I opened the mail we had an invitation to a tree planting ceremony at his old elementary school. The class made the invitations themselves - small paintings of trees, with a green swing hanging from a branch. The goal is for a tree that will grow large enough to hang his old swing from for the FLS students who attend the school. It's simply beautiful and perfect. And I know I will cry continually through the planting. But we'll take pictures and post something about it.
Wondering about all those other trees out there that were planted in Connor's honor - send me pictures if you have them!
Whatever it is, I don't like it one bit. There are times when a day is tough, or I have a particularly hard nut to crack either at home or with work, and last year I felt as though I would reach out to him through my thoughts and my achy heart, and my solutions would appear. That's not happening now. It's not that I don't want to work for the things I get - I absolutely work for them! But when they go askew, it felt like I had him pushing it back in place invisibly last year, and now I don't. And that just sucks.
Yesterday, when I opened the mail we had an invitation to a tree planting ceremony at his old elementary school. The class made the invitations themselves - small paintings of trees, with a green swing hanging from a branch. The goal is for a tree that will grow large enough to hang his old swing from for the FLS students who attend the school. It's simply beautiful and perfect. And I know I will cry continually through the planting. But we'll take pictures and post something about it.
Wondering about all those other trees out there that were planted in Connor's honor - send me pictures if you have them!
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