88 is Pretty Great

Hi everyone,

Yeah, I miss my dad. I've seen people fight and wrestle (I'm trying not to use that word) with the death of a parent. Do I? Nah, not when the man had 88 "pretty good" years on earth, his words. Not when his body failed and his mind wasn't quick enough to keep up with the large group conversation anymore and he repeated himself on a circuit of rants. Not when he was frustrated more than he was content.

Did his greatest fear happen? That he would mindlessly repeat the phrase, "Have you ever been to Minneapolis?" over and over, as one of his elderly relatives did? No, not at all. He was the best introverted conversationalist I knew, able to pull a joke or a story or lecture on linguistics out of the spaghetti strands of his brain at just the right moment.

Richard would not have lasted long under the Cornavirus conditions of the nursing home he was confined to. Thank Goodness, thank Bob, thank Free Booklet he didn't have to. I have no regrets. I don't think he did either.

His last acting role at Western Illinois Museum as Abe Lincoln's photographer, 2018.

These Times

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

I wanted to drop some sunshine here today, as my region is under cloud cover. I've been working on staying positive. Here are some thoughts I've been focusing on:

• we can do hard things
• I see your joy and light
• no one can take my joy and light away from me
• we will get through this
• what have I learned during this time of reflection?
• nature is at its finest, green, purple, pink, yellow, red
• birds carry on nesting and hatching, humans are doing the same

It's worth getting up for

I have not been up this early in awhile. The melatonin seems to be working but I didn't take it last night.

At 3:37 I woke up from a beautiful dream of coming home to find Adam on the stairs. I thought my eyes might be tricking me at first, and it was Eli or Cal in a different light. But he came down the stairs and we embraced and it was really him. He said, "I really like it here...out there."

My first awake conscious thought is, this must be how it is when you die. You can have these experiences in your brain (dreams) and basically they can be anything you want. Second thought: he's telling me he's okay, he likes where he is.

*as an added bonus the first thing I see on Messenger this morning is that Adam's friend Tara had a dream about him the previous night and found a picture of them in a box yesterday. I, too, had been going through stuff of Adam's yesterday, getting rid of things we hadn't found a use for, donating or tossing them. It is hard to let go anything that is his. Even an old, but expensive (he had to have the best) sleeping bag he hadn't used in a over a decade, let alone had we.

Obsessed

I can't even.

Yes, I can. I discovered this book by accident. I don't follow Reese Witherspoon but somehow ran across her announcement that Untamed was her April book club choice. I then started seeing videos by Glennon Doyle called "Morning Meetings." There was something about her that made me order the book. I rarely buy books, but with the library closed...

I got it and devoured it. It's part memoir, part handbook, part love story, and a whole lotta feminist theory in an easy to digest way. Take for example the chapter on shampoo. Glennon notices the descriptions on the shampoo bottles in her kids' shower. The boys shampoo sounds like they are going to war. The girls shampoo is soft and diminutive.

Indeed, I looked in my shower at the bottle of Axe and found this:

The cleaner you get (picture of man showering)

The dirtier you get (picture of man and woman)

Unlimited female attention 

I kid you not. We are literally being conditioned (no pun intended) while we shower. She asks us to disrupt the taming of women by our action in the world. To summarize Ava DuVernay, forget about breaking the glass ceiling, make your own building. The last thing I would want to be is CEO of a corporation (although we need women there), so that gave me a new perspective. 

Glennon tells me I am a writer if I wonder if I am a writer day in and day out, if I envy writers. I won't say envy in that I want to be anyone else or live their life, but envy in the sense that successful writers have committed to allowing their words to flow out and are touching others. 

And she ends the book with my favorite meditation. 

I am

I am

I am

This is not a fill in the blank, but what has been described to me as the nearest we can get to God. 

Upsidedown and Sideways

One of the 'exciting' things I decided to do during quarantine is borrow a friends headstand contraption. There may be a fancier name for it but I don't know it.

When Cal was here I asked if he wanted to try it. He wanted a demonstration first. I easily flipped up into this position:

Cal promptly goes, "That's the most athletic thing I've ever seen you do, Mom."

It doesn't get any better than that.

Nephew

Adam was the first nephew on both sides of his family. No nieces either. Uncle Kevin mailed me a stash of photos that arrived today that are precious to me. Never seen them before, or my memory has failed me. It's like a new window into my boy.

Like finding his Instagram account, and the girl pictured in one of my favorite photos of him. Those comments, those stories, these new pictures, they sustain and help me so much. I hope I keep discovering these pieces of him until we meet again.

I stumbled on this blog today, and these two boys, Rob and Adam, could be brothers.

https://thesandandthewater.net/

Has anyone else packed on the COVID 20? Pounds, that is?

I'm also learning so many new things! Tik Tok, Houseparty, Instagram video chat, Zoom, teletherapy, copy and paste on the Iphone (I know, Boomer). The creative juices are oozing out of people. I'm impressed. It's unbelievable. How would this shut down look before the Internet?

What is the thing most people will remember about this period of history? TIGER KING. 

Joe Exotic + Carol Baskin = biggest thing to hit the small screen ever.

I just found this picture I love, love, love. Great memories with my favorite sister in Denver, CO 2018. Special thanks to Eli for giving us the excuse to visit Denver again and relive old memories, and find old friends.

Cup O' Joe Musings

Before I get sucked down the rabbit hole that is social media, my thoughts for this Friday morning. It's so great it's still Friday because I took yesterday off, and it's feeling wonderful to still have a three weekend ahead.

In many ways, my lifestyle is not that much different pre- and post-Corona. I thankfully still have a job to go to. But apparently, I already stay home a lot. I do visit my elderly mom a couple of times a week because I believe isolation kills more people than viruses.

Well, Friday blended into Saturday, but just barely. It's now 2:23 a.m. Can you believe sometimes coffee makes it easier to fall back asleep? For this I hope.

People are getting really creative post-Corona, and we are all just doing the best we can. Have you noticed how cheap gas is? To change it up a bit, we are driving to another town to walk the trails in a large park and maybe get some lemon ice cream afterwards. That's allowed, right?

I have a 500+ page book I am slogging through. Since the library is closed, this is a good thing, except it's not really that interesting. We all read Clan of the Cave Bear back in the day, and Jean Auel wrote a sequel in 2002, but it doesn't have the fascination I recall.

I like how mental health advocates are calling out the misnomer social distancing, which should be known as physical distancing. We are social creatures and this should not be discouraged albeit it looks different. It's physical distancing we need to avoid.

So just one more thing. I had my first virtual happy hour last night with Jacob Moore of NoStigmas and Kevin Hines who is just a beacon of light in the suicide prevention world. Kevin answered my question (fan geek moment) about people backing away in public and just getting such a stressed vibe out there. It does disturb me a little bit even though I am relatively secure. He said it's not personal (which I knew) but self-preservation, and I would add fear. I like that shift that people are just trying to survive and that is understandable. We are all on different levels with this thing. I will leave you with this visual I thought was very fitting:

My Truth

I've been counseling people on micro and macro grief related to the worldwide pandemic this week (thanks for the lead Betsy), and the situation is getting intense with Illinois' stay-at-home order extended to April 30th. I sat down to watch the Today show this morning (which I never do), and I just cried at the news of an ER doctor who died of COVID-19, thousands of people trapped on cruise ships that no one wants to dock, nurses worn out and lacking proper PPE, need I go on? I usually don't expose myself to much of this lest I go to the darker side, which is my way of coping, no judgment, so I can continue marching forward.

But with this growing alarm, I think of little positive ways to cope. For instance, I moved all my black clothes (1/3 of my wardrobe) to the back of the closet and will try to wear other colors this month.

Here's some things you might do during Corona April:

1. Get your 10,000 steps every day
2. Complete your Census
3. Organize your photos (digital or print)
4. Make hearts and hang them in windows and doors
5. Donate blood
6. Moisturize everything
7. Take a nap. Take another nap.
8. Clean your closets
9. Write letters
10. Make a craft
11. Do something for the elderly (juggle or play music outside their windows?)
12. Post something funny or creative on social media
13. Do a tutorial video either serious (yogis doing yoga) or sarcastic (me doing make-up)

I hope this note finds you safe, well, and grateful for what you do have. Somehow we will come through this and maybe find some new strength and connection.

Pride

Here we go again with the Pride and Joy tears. I am proud of that boy.

Before his first birthday

At his last birthday 

Nuke on Nuke's terms

Shed a tear after a dream about Adam. The details aren't important but I took the message as I was trying to "fix" him which was well-meaning but misplaced. The tear came from knowing I don't have a chance in this life to make things right. Accepting him on his terms and getting through the muck to get there. I think we had a good start, and we could have gotten there in time.

The dream last week of hugging him, that was pure not wanting to let go.

*Nuke is Pat's nickname for Adam. When he was three his favorite movie was Bull Durham.

It's finally here

If you are following my blog, you may recognize where this is going.

I had been thinking about a tattoo to honor Adam for quite a long time (1-2-3 years?). I thought about a dragon (born in 1988, year of the dragon), a crown (King Tut, his favorite drink, part of the tattoo he had across his chest), or something he wrote.

When I saw his friend Ashleigh's tattoo "Long Live the King" on the inside of her left arm, close to her heart, I knew that was the location, and I started looking for something he wrote. I also puzzled over where to go and when.

The most popular tattoo artist in town books months in advance, and I wasn't sure once I decided I wanted to wait that long. I heard one shop had all female artists, but they never seemed to be open. I was drawn to a place called Nomad Tattoo for some unknown reason.

A week after my dad's death I found the notes my dad had scribbled for Adam's memorial service, including the title of a poem Ave Etque Vale, Hail and Farewell. When I googled the poem, yeah, I thought that was so fitting. I had previously dug up Mother's Day cards from Adam, but it didn't seem quite right to put "Happy Mother's Day" on my arm. Finally I decided to combine my dad's quote and Adam's handwriting Love, Adam. 

Next was where to go. On March 6, my mom, Betsy and I attended a play at the local community theater. One of the actors' biographies listed him as the owner/tattoo artist at Nomad. I enjoyed his performance, he supported the theater by buying an ad, so I stopped in the next day and made an appointment for March 14.

Sam wasn't as personable as I hoped, but I'm happy with the results. Let me know what you think. Or not.

Normal-ish

I've been tossing ideas for this blog post around since the Coronavirus amped up on March 11, 2020. Cal deems this time in our history "3-11" and I agree, 3/11/20 was a turning point. He remembers it as the day the NBA suspended play, and I remember it as...damn, I can't remember.* I think it was the day universities started extending Spring Break. That's when I started taking this seriously. That was a Wednesday. The bricks began falling out of the wall rapidly.

By Monday, we were living in a different world. Schools, restaurants, events and gatherings of any kind cancelled, followed by gyms and workplaces. Temperature checks and tents being set up outside my place of work (a hospital). Vague press conferences saying "We've got this under control. We're prepared." Prepared for what?? Are we in a bad movie? To say surreal barely cuts it.

Initially, I thought this was another example of the 'wimping of America.' I compared it to the gratuitous closing of schools for any weather event that felt uncomfortable. It felt like anyone acting normal was being accused of being unsafe or putting others at risk.  I was going to make a joke about North Dakota being the most desirable place to live; only 1 COVID-19 case, and plenty of natural social distancing.

I thought about 9-11 and Y2K and this began to feel much bigger. When my mom said her grandchildren better not visit, I knew it was serious.

That brings me to today, 3/20/20. March seems like the longest month ever; time has slowed to a crawl. The two weeks of school closure beginning March 16 is half over, but everyone expects the rest of the school year is going to be home based.

My kids who are involved in education have gathered here at home, and I must say this is an unexpected delight. When was the last time we could just hang out indefinitely?! The weather was perfect for cocktail hour on the deck last evening (hello Diet Pepsi). Lots of laughter and love, but no hugging or touching.

And so we wait for the next news event to direct our life and activities. Some moments feel normal, some most definitely do not. Stay safe out there, as if you haven't heard that enough lately.

*Upon reading People magazine 3/27/20, I was reminded March 11 was the day Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson announced they had the virus in Australia.

Happy

Twice in recent weeks I had clients direct me to watch the PBS documentary Happy. Well, not really direct me, but I do often feed off suggestions and ideas of my clients, which is a wonderful benefit of the work I do. I had heard of it before, and honestly, the word Happy just kind throws up a resistant wall for me, so it took three times of hearing about the movie for me to finally take action.

I have long had a hard time relating to the word "happy" or notion of "happiness" as some kind of squad goal. To me happiness is a fleeting emotion I experience occasionally which fades all too quickly. I don't see it as a sustainable state of mind, nor would I really want to. Part of the beauty and spice of life is experiencing a myriad of emotions: heartbreak, disappointment, sadness, excitement, unease, delight.

In counseling when I ask clients what they want to get out of counseling they often say they want to be happy. I always ask them to define this, as it seems to me such a dubious concept. My own definition of happiness would be something like a life filled with love, laughter, peace, and contentment.

So, my goal for today is to finish the documentary, come back, and close this blog with some kind of new wisdom.

It took a few days, but I finally finished the movie and have had time to digest it and come back here. I took notes but unfortunately I left them at work to discuss with my clients. Here's my takeaway for what it's worth:

Research fellows presented a pie, where 50% of happiness is genetic, 10% circumstances and 40% things within our control such as exercise, human connection, nature, helping others, mindfulness, and experiencing flow.

Flow is doing something just because you love to, those times where you lose track of time because you are so into whatever you are doing.

Mindful Moment: A leafless tree against the most exquisite blue sky this morning at 6:51 a.m.

Flow: Reading a book and soaking the characters, stories and lessons into the fiber of my soul.

Joy is a beautiful word and apropos this time of year. I like joy much more than happiness.  C.S. Lewis puts it this way:

"Real joy seems to me almost as unlike security or prosperity as it is unlike agony.  It jumps under one’s ribs and tickles down one’s back and makes one forget meals and keeps one (delightedly) sleepless o’ nights. It shocks one awake when the other puts one to sleep. My private table is one second of joy is worth 12 hours of Pleasure. "

I don't have Adam here for Christmas, but I have love. Sometimes I experience joy.  Life is good. Choose life.

Note: Apparently I wrote this 12/15/16. I found it in my documents and think it still applies. 

Ave etque Vale

I never talked to my dad about this. I wish I had.

After Dad died, my mom gave us kids a box of mementos to go through and keep what we wanted. I found a small spiral notebook with two pages written in his hand, the rest blank. I immediately identified his notes as what he spoke at Adam's memorial. He had seven little points written down and after that, the words Ave etque Vale. Though he spelled it differently, when I looked up the translation, it was obviously the poem above, translated as Hail and Farewell. 

I do not remember if he quoted the whole poem at Adam's service, but suffice it say, as Betsy noted at Dad's celebration of life, he always, always, had the right words for any occasion.

Note: Catullus 101 is an elegiac poem written by the Roman poet Gaius Valerius Catullus.

Mary Coin

Things have been falling behind a bit here. There is a pile of White Elephant gifts wrapped in newspapers left over from Christmas when my contributions didn't get re-gifted.

You see, my Pops fell on January 11 and collapsed at home. My mom couldn't move him or get him in the bed, and I didn't hear the phone ring. I found out the next morning (a Sunday) and went the hospital where he was finally admitted from the ER for 'observation.' After a CT scan showed a spinal fracture, he was moved to the healthcare center next to my parent's duplex for rehab.

As anyone with elderly parents knows, there's a bit of wrangling about the arrangements, insurance, etc. and I'll spare further details of the other struggles (emotional and otherwise). Fortunately, my parents have good health insurance and long term care insurance. They did not want us taking care of them in our home. So off to the nursing center he goes.

Something was drilled into my head that if either of my parents ever went into a nursing home, it was my job to visit them everyday, in addition to supporting my mom when she needed me to talk to doctors, nurses, insurance people, etc.

Other than one night I sent Pat in my place, I kept my promise to myself to visit everyday or sometimes twice a day. It quickly became my job to help Dad with his upper false teeth. For some reason, he didn't think the aides could do this properly. "TTW" he repeated to me. Tablet, teeth, water (HOT water, as HOT as you can get it). At this point, he couldn't transfer, toilet, position or wheel himself , walk or stand, and is in excruciating pain every time he does have to move. Physical therapy was referred to "torture" and it was a challenge to find a medication that didn't make him nauseous.

We did take our planned trip to Florida in late January and luckily Betsy was in Illinois that weekend because Dad was admitted to the hospital again, briefly for new issues. And back to the the nursing home, which he referred to as rehab. At this point he was spelling out Plan A, B, C, then Plan A sub 1 (a) or (b). I honestly couldn't follow his thought process here. I think Plan A was 'fully' recover and go home, and C was to live in assisted living with an electric wheelchair so he could drive himself to see Mom when the weather was good.

Here I should mention what a trooper Mom was/is, and how he would get sentimental telling me about their love story. Things I never heard before. He thought he had got the greatest catch in the world.

One more ER visit and hospital admission for pneumonia February 6th. This one really scared me because one night he was making no sense, and I had to feed him the few bites he would take. He got his teeth out that night, but barely. I saw his weight on the White Board and he had lost 24 pounds from when he was home. The next day he was perfectly coherent and was discharged the day after that. Mom had also come down with a terrible cough and didn't get out of bed for days and of course you can't infect a hospital or nursing home with those germs.

Dad dragged himself, or rather they dragged him to rehab a few times over the next 8 days, but there were days he stayed in bed, too. Throughout this process I was reading him the novel "Mary Coin." It's a wonderful historical fiction piece about the picture below:

He really enjoyed the three story lines and even was reading out loud to me the last night. He repeated some when he got interrupted, but then would realize, "I read this before." It was really enjoyable for both of us, especially after he got his private room, and we didn't have to listen to Delmar grumble in the next bed about how he was trying sleep and it's supposed to be quiet after 9:00 (it was usually 7:30), and what happened to his private room?? Well, he thought he had private room until they moved a roommate (Dad) in, but he was not paying for a private room. 

The last week he told me not to remember him like this, that I didn't have to visit him everyday and should go on with my life, and made other hints that he knew time was running out. On Monday night he called Mom and I both to be there together to go over Plan A sub 1 (a) again. It still didn't make any sense but we agreed with him.

On Wednesday February 19, Mom was there in the afternoon and left about 3:00 to go take a nap, not being fully recovered from her illness, but able to visit at least. All the staff are now wearing masks all the time at this point. Dad wasn't feeling well (was in bed after rehab) and apparently had some new kind of medication. Mom got the call about 5:45 that he passed. She called us in the middle of dinner, and we had some time to be with him in the room. Mom didn't like that his mouth was open (she has a thing about that), but I told her they probably didn't want to touch him. Then the coroner came and whisked him away to be cremated. We cleaned out the room; he didn't have much since this was "temporary."

How to end this rant...know that I will write cheerier posts in the future. I feel like he went the way he wanted. He tried his best to recover but the body was worn out. He kept his mind to the end, didn't  drain his savings on a nursing home, and he wasn't a burden to anyone. I got to spend this extra time with him and be the daughter he thought I was. Praise God for this.

I think he would be happy to be remembered this way. Family vacation, the red van, and car top carrier he made from plywood. He also made sleeping benches for Betsy and me to sleep in the back. I still remember the material on those benches and the love that was sewn into them.

The Boy who would be Coach

Here's my little 8th grader leading the Mustangs onto the floor. He's first because he's the shortest.

Here he is 12 years later coaching his 8th grade team at the State quarterfinals. They led most of game, but the last two minutes didn't go their way. The team with the heart held their heads up and Coach Cal exceeded his goal of winning their Regional.

Cal wasn't the most athletically gifted player but he's taken his skills and intuition and heart to the junior high level in academics and coaching three sports. I couldn't be more happy and proud of him. He's living the dream and appreciating it everyday.

On Surviving Four Years

I had a little dream early on 2/2/2020. It involved Adam's friend Brent whom I have been talking to. He's a big Cheif's fan so the Superbowl was coming up that day, along with the anniversary of Adam's death.

I don't remember the dream, and Adam was peripheral to it, but it felt nice, at least like he was near. Four years, and counting. Counting the days that have past, dreading some days ahead. Feeling useful in life, purposeful, as things change in my family situation. That's not my story to tell, but at some point it might come out anyway.

Punch cards for Hope

We all have our days. Some have weeks, months or years. But healing is always possible. Sometimes we need more patience, especially with ourselves.

I choose to see the positive, skip over the negative, especially when it comes to what is happening in the world, the news, politics, social media, and in front of my face. I don't think this means I have my head in the sand. I am trying to incite change where I think I can make an impact.

I don't believe in the word "broken" as it applies to people or the world. Changing is more positive and also inevitable. Feeling broken makes room for healing and growth if one chooses to look at it this way.

Don't get me wrong, I have break downs. Things pile up sometimes and we need to take those moments to feel it. If I could give out hope in little punch cards or gift cards, wouldn't that be cool? Because true hopelessness seems to be the thing that contributes most to suicide. But hopelessness is just a feeling, too. For most of it passes eventually. Sometimes it takes work, yes.

If you are in need of a Hope infusion, please accept one punch from my heart shaped hole punch in your little card. Come back when you need another, and another. I have a little extra to share.

With a Little Help from his Friends

I am blessed to say I still continue to meet and talk to friends of Adam and understand more of the impact he had on them and the world. Last Friday evening while I was waiting for my pizza to cook, I recognized a high school friend of Adam. I had seen her comments on Facebook and that's how I knew that Adam's death affected her. So, I introduced myself as Adam's mom, and she said, "Yeah, I thought that was you."  She asked how I was doing, and sauntered away. Then suddenly she came back and showed me a semi-colon tattoo on her finger she got after Adam's suicide. I thought that was really cool, and told her about the one I want to get for Adam using a handwritten note from him.

I can't tell you how it fortifies me to have these little interactions and know how many people cared about him and were devastated by his death. I think he knew he had good friends and only in the last few years of his life did he start to share this with me. But having friends isn't enough in those low moments. Reaching out on a regular basis is crucial, but hard to do in this fast paced culture.

Two UIS friends have recently told me Adam helped them through a critical point in their lives, one by playing Connect Four for hours, and the other on the phone after he moved back to Chicago Heights. It's crazy the impact little things can have.

This was probably my favorite grief quote, and I had lost track of it, but I found two different versions over the past two weeks. Thank you universe for providing what I need when I need it.

January

It's January again...the Christmas decorations are down, the trees put away or thrown away, the visitors safely home. Arguably, the longest month of the year. In-arguably, it has been for me the past three years.

January 2016 I was mindlessly unaware my oldest adult child was undergoing a crisis of epic proportions. That's not an exaggeration; it ended in his suicide. A terrible truth we live with everyday, but this bleak, cold month it feels stronger, newer and more unmanageable again.

And so I am reminded everywhere of him in life, while I cling to our connection after his death. Others are hearing his laugh or his voice in my youngest son, and that warms my heart. Still I deal with the sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach sending me to the bathroom out of nowhere.

I'll just leave this right here and hope I can live up to it in some small way:

The Swedes

On Christmas Eve we played Cal's word game "Hippy Dippy." A person starts by saying "Hip Dip" or "Hippy Dippy" or "Hippity Dippity" to indicate how many syllables are in their word rhyme. Then they give a clue by way of a synonym. Sound confusing? It is until you get the hang of it.

Example:
Me: Hip Dip: a horned animal on the run
Answer: loose moose

Anyway, Scandinavian references kept coming up. The mind seems to stick on certain themes and so it was with "sane Dane" ""appeasin' Norwegian" etc.

Now to the point of this post. I seriously need to do more Swedish Death Cleaning. I think we took in less "stuff" this year, but there is much room to refuse, reduce, repair, and reuse rather than obtaining more more more. More experiences, less garbage. I am pleased that our spare bedrooms are devoid of clutter (at least visible) so that visitors can feel comfortable spreading out on clean surfaces.

Post script: Why does the Norwegian Navy have barcodes on the sides of ships? 
Answer: So when they arrive back in port they can Scandinavian. 

Christmas Eve

Another Christmas Eve is here. Thankful I don't have to work today. There have been Christmas Eves I worked until 6 p.m. Back in the way back, I would bring clients to my house on Eve or Day that didn't have family to go to. More recently, we hosted international students who might be around over break. So nice to share a meal and cheer with others.

Grateful I didn't hear much "Are you ready for Christmas?" this year. My least favorite colloquialism. Thank you spell check. I know no harm is meant, but what does that actually mean? Perhaps the short turn around time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is to thank for sparing me. Because I really don't know how to answer that, and is it just an opportunity for someone to brag about how organized and prepared they are?

Grace sent some cute pictures of Dad and his 'adopted' granddaughters. Here is Yulia listening to a story.

The girls

Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you find peace, hope, and grace in this special time of year. 

Nap Dreams

This afternoon I dragged myself out of a heavy, sickness-induced nap, realizing that I was hugging Adam so hard in the dream, I thought I would break him. The dream had then morphed into another situation, and I couldn't remember the details of the Adam dream. Only that I didn't want to let go.

Later this evening I see this on Facebook. Funny how these things just happen.

The Stockings Were Hung

This year, Pat brought down the tree *in very poor condition* and one box of Christmas decor. The box contained the stockings we have collected over the years. One for Tim and one for Marissa who won't be here this year. And Adam's, of course, that Grandma Tut gave him so many years ago.

I decided to hang one each for Eli, Cal and Hannah, Hannah's being hung on Adam's hook. I moved his ashes off the mantle, but his picture still looks down on everything from above the fireplace. When are your kids too old for stockings? Maybe when they have their own kids?

Just another holiday to endure, but try to enjoy. Simplify is my motto. Do what you can, what you feel you can do. The best times are impromptu talks over coffee, or a cherished dinner together in all the hustle. Giving is nice and don't forget the less fortunate.

That's good enough for now.

Insomnia

Other people's sleep difficulties are so BORING, so just stop reading right now!

I warned you. This is a just a rant for me and my mental health.

They (who is 'they' anyway) say if you don't fall asleep in 20 minutes, get up and do something and try again, but don't do electronics. At 1:45 a.m. or thereabouts, I did this, and even stayed off electronics...but here I am so you know that didn't work.

2:45 a.m. Let's do this again since lying there feeling tired but not sleepy is not working. Write some Christmas cards, do some financial tasks, file some paperwork, make some coffee, because believe it or not, if I drink coffee at 3-4 in the morning, I often can fall back to sleep in a weird caffeine induced state of relaxation.

What I shouldn't do is eat at this point. It always makes me wake up feeling starved and out of sorts.

You see, the problem is not the initial falling asleep (usually). I am normally asleep quickly, unless old restless leg acts up. Then two or three in the a.m. after a few trips to the bathroom, I'm awake again. I did go through a phase of putting myself back to sleep a couple weeks ago which lasted a week or two, until of course, I said out loud, "I'm sleeping better."

Be

Remember who you were

Strive for who you want to be

And be who you are today

Early Morning Musing

🍂 “For each new morning with its light. 

For rest and shelter of the night. 

For health and food, for love and friends. 

For everything Thy goodness sends.” 

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

I thought this was a beautiful little peace of poetry and appropo for this Thanksgiving weekend. My computer is acting up in a small way, but I will not let it discourage me from my path. These old coots (Emerson, Tennyson) are so brilliant. How did they write this centuries ago and it endures? I guess that is something I've always wished for but not actually taken enough action to warrant the words "aspired to." One must be born with it inside of them, and it bursts out unrestrained. 

We've really had a nice family weekend so far, with some belly wrenching laughter and signature moves from deep within me. I have so much to be grateful for, including my dear ones far flung: Eli, Hannah and Adam. 

Thanksgiving

I probably put the turkey in too early, and should be cleaning up the bloody mess in the refrigerator, but oh well.

I had the thought yesterday or the day before to write down everything I remember about Thanksgiving 2015. I don't know if this is a good idea or not, or if I have already done this.

So, Adam asked if he could bring two Korean friends to dinner, names Linda and Bella (assumed but did not ask these are their "American" names). Of course, I pictured Linda as a middle aged lady like myself, and Bella something out of Twilight, Asian version. I said yes, naturally, and because of Adam's work schedule and probably his guests, he would only be home for the day on Thursday and go back to Springfield that evening.

Adam arrived on time with Bella, but Linda couldn't make it. Bella was indeed a young, beautiful girl around Adam's age (27). He was different around her. Gentlemanly, and somewhat protective, staying by her side and helping with English as I recall.

We took our re-creation photo on the porch, trying to achieve the looks of us in 1996.

There is one with Bella in the background indicating Betsy must have taken the photos that day, but I can't find it at the moment.

Dinner went well, someone slyly asking Bella if she had a boyfriend. Adam barely ever brought anyone home, let alone a girl, so we were trying to be on our best behavior. After dinner I remember playing one of our favorite games where we all think of three famous people and throw them in a hat and then try to give clues to get your team to guess the person. As usual, Dad threw in obscure "celebrities" like Kim Il Sung. I'm sure he put this for Bella's sake, but she didn't even know who it was. Thinking back, Adam probably felt bad for her at this point.

Anyway, his demeanor was a kinder, softer version of himself, and I'm sad that this relationship didn't work out the way he hoped, as gleaned from his writing after his death. She had to return to Korea unexpectedly before Christmas and his heart was clearly broken.

Here's to another Thanksgiving without him, our third, or four years since the day pictured above.

Post script: If you look back to November 2016, I did post pictures with Bella and our last Thanksgiving with Adam.

Yep, I hit the wall. Coping well, I thought. Feeling happy and content for a good bit.

Song comes on, just a pretty song. Boom, tears and sadness. Holiday in three days and he's not coming home. Again. Ever.

The Cardinal

Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are...
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
to strive, to seek, to find, and never yield.

                         --Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A friend posted this on Facebook and it hit me as beautiful. I'm not that much for poetry other than the coverdale poets...

It reminds me of my father, and secondly of myself. If we are lucky enough to do this thing called aging, this seems the way to go. We made a pact last week, my father and I. If he is able after he dies, he will come back as a cardinal. I know it's a commonly found bird in western Illinois, but we will know when it is him, I believe, because the timing and location will be unique.

A Sister

There's a girl. Some call her Betsy, or Kate, Biddy-cent, or Bets-Nasty. I call her my best friend. We have our own song, Against All Odds. We have our own bedtime chant with gestures. We have a ton of memories and a ton of laughs.

She knows I always choose the picture where I look best. She gives me thoughtful gifts like this:

I got to see her two weekends in a row. She came to Springfield for the Walk and was my plus one at my college roomies' daughter's wedding in Louisville.

She is always there to support my boys, especially after losing one. She's even there when I'm not there. That's a devoted Aunt!

A Spiritual Experience

It feels almost too big to describe with words. This weekend was the Springfield Out of the Darkness Walk. It has become, thankfully, kind of a UIS reunion for Adam's posse, crew, village, whatever you want to call it. UIS being a small school, it sounds like everyone knew each other that lived on campus in the townhouses. This year, two of Adam's high school friends joined us, and that made it even more special. These two honeys, Tara and Ashley:

I have to say, Ashley gave me the biggest laugh of the day about how she and Adam discovered they were both living in Springfield, which involved a comedy club and Pauly Shore. I won't say anymore because you have to hear Ashley tell it. Tara has been my rock, outside my family, since reaching out to me shortly after Adam's death.

I'll just give a shout out to each special person starting with those who have attended every year, this being our fourth. Tim, a roommate, workmate and long time friend, Zach, a sports nut who was devastated when Adam died, Jonathon, the sweetest guy ever (brought me a magnet from Trieste, Italy during his travels last summer and wearing a shirt Adam gave him that day), Sam, a quiet but steady friend, Brent, a gregarious soul who knows the importance of telling stories about the person you lost, Kallie, Brent's wife and a sweetheart, Tae, in from Chicago and the last person to see Adam alive, Matt, from Arizona, somewhere Adam talked about moving to since he knew Matt was out there and Sarah, popped up this year and knew Adam through his first roommate, Rob. Michael (the one who hauntingly resembles Adam) and his son Eli are not pictured but Michael knew Adam briefly. Brittany and Chloe were first timers who came with Ashley and Tim and didn't know Adam.

I can't imagine how hard it is to lose a friend in this way at such a formative age. I hope this annual gathering is as healing for them as it is for me. We went to the pool hall again before dinner at Mario's Italian Kitchen. Everything went so perfect, it scares me more than a little to think about this tradition ending or losing it's magic. I have to believe that will be okay, too, and doesn't mean we don't remember Tut.

My take-away this year is this. I have felt Adam's presence, and he is loving that I found his people, and that I know he was loved in this way.

On the way home, I was confident I would hear "Africa" by Toto on the radio. About four songs in, on it came. I belted out the first and third chorus, but number two, I sobbed. Thinking about the story Kelsey told me, that she and Adam sang this together and he remembered it as his father's and my wedding song still hits me hard every time. It's these little stories and insights that make moving forward possible. My son was loved and although he couldn't win the battle inside his head, I know he knew this now.

Who Are You?

Warning: this post has nothing (?) to do with the song by The Who.

When we have children, those of us so privileged, we think our job is to raise them to be who we want/think they should be. At least this was my assumption. It wasn't until I had near adult children, and perhaps am still grasping this: our job, my job, is to raise them to be who they are meant to be. 
When this first dawned on me, what a game changer.

Today during gentle yoga, the song mix took me back to my young adulthood, and who I thought I was and was going to be. Four beautiful fall seasons I basked in the Colorado sunshine, the shimmering Aspens, and the crisp mountain air. My vision of myself was of a modern-esque hippie for the 80's smelling of a mix of patchouli and garlic, living in a funky eclectic house, wearing Birkenstocks, and cooking all my meals from The Enchanted Broccoli Forrest. Who remembers this iconic cookbook? Indeed I did live out this fantasy to some extent, once gleaning cabbage in the fields for the hungry, wearing a jean jacket all winter, making my own egg rolls, taking weekend hikes and jaunts to new places.

Somewhere along the way (divorce, 3 kids, remarriage, responsible jobs, moving a few times, depression), I lost my vision and lived a survival existence. Not a bad one, I'm not saying that. But post-empty nest and adult child loss survivor, I can re-visit and re-invent myself or maybe just re-tool a bit.

Sufjan Stevens and The Civil Wars are two groups that resonate with me. Did I just say resonate? I hate that word. Could I be any more middle class white privileged middle aged woman on a self-discovery journey? I guess I will have to take the hit on that.

I love how music can take you to a certain place and time. Stevens and The Civil Wars were not even musical artists in the 80's but their vibe brings me to that fresh and formative time of my life. Now is my time to live without the bounds of anyone's expectations, do things that involve risk, and make the life I haven't yet imagined. I am working towards these goals. Meditating then reflecting and writing are the means I use to sort this out. What I vision is sort of like This is Us, where I'm anchored in the present, pay homage to the past, and catch glimpses of the future, all while a really cool soundtrack is ubiquitously playing on cue.

Charred 51

I promised my mom a review of Charred 51, and now it's been a week, and I haven't produced. Charred 51 is the name of a restaurant in Galesburg housed in the original YMCA built in 1898. The menu graciously tells the history of building, including 3 fires, hence the current name, and features a black and white photo of the original gym and running track.

For a little history, this location was the former home of a restaurant called Figge's. My parents would describe Figge's as fine dining, which is to say, the kind of dining they are willing to drive 50 miles and pay exorbitant prices for. Charred was no such place.

I had the mistaken idea this restaurant was a Farm to Fork style place. A quick glance at the menu dashed that hope. There was a burger section, a flatbread section and a few miscellaneous entrees, including the salmon my mother ordered. When mom asked the waitress if the side vegetables were fresh, she said, "Yes, err, well frozen" to which mother replied, "Better than canned!" to which she agreed heartily.

I ordered a burger, which I occasionally enjoy when dining out, because they usually so scrumptious. This came with roasted red peppers (frozen?), Havarti cheese, rosemary mayo and spring mix (bagged!). Since I just checked their online menu for accuracy, I will now add, Charred 51 is billed as an Artisan Bistro. I ordered the side vegetables because Tots or Steak Fries are not my favorite or I was trying to be healthy, take your pick. Mom chose the same along with her citrus seared salmon mentioned above.

They served a big glass or Merlot for $5, and free water for me! I'll take a moment here to mention the surroundings, as we had plenty of time look around.  I would call it industrial chic. Learning that the upper balcony was formerly a jogging track just tickled me. When it was Figge's, the piano man was situated there, with cloth table cloths and full silverware on the tables below. I only mentioned this because I had to ask for a teaspoon for Mother, and the waitress looked a bit befuddled, and said "oh, a spoon" and handed me a tablespoon. Charred 51 had metal tables, which M later complained about not liking, and cheap diner style chairs. I'm not sure it takes fine dining to know the difference between a teaspoon and tablespoon, but I digress.

Pretty cool, eh?

Onto the food. The burger was "meh" despite it's elegant description. The meat itself tasted like greasy homemade pan burger. The vegetables were served in a little soup crock, which was cute. and were soggy but tasty. M was pretty enamored of the veggies sauce and sopped it all up at the end with her excess quinoa and the tablespoon. She raved about the salmon's succulent-ness, and she didn't choke once. 

I know I sound like a Debbie Downer because I'm so picky about restaurant food, but I was very pleased that M was so satisfied, as usually that is reversed. Considering the unique decor, such as the charred brick walls, M's delight with her meal, and my reservations, I will assign a grade of a solid B. 

Photo Op outside Charred 51 of "M"

Life

I love one of our speaker's puzzle piece analogy. And our other speaker's reference to moments between birth and death.

https://www.mcdonoughvoice.com/news/20190930/walk-to-bring-hope

Into the Light

I wanted to share a few pics and thoughts on this year's Out of the Darkness Walk in Macomb. Team Tut For Adam came through big time with $3205 in donations and this beautiful group of Walkers:

We had Uncle Kevin Tuttle from Nebraska, Macomb and Normal friends of Cal, Betsy and Ethan from Indiana and a few of Adam's homies from Macombie.

I started the day at 4:00 a.m. with zealous, nervous energy, and everything was smooth as milk honey. *I've never had milk honey if there even is such a thing* So many volunteers and community members showed up to support suicide prevention and loss survivors. It's such a beautiful thing every year, no matter the weather, which was just dandy I am happy to report. This is one of my favorite images- Sigma Pi fraternity has come through 100% for 4 years in a row. I made some signs and here they are at the busiest corner in Macomb:

Note to Dad: "Hal" (aka my computer) won't let me re-post Instagram pictures. Let me mess around with my phone a minute...

OK, Instagram no like play with friends...go to outofthedarknessmacomb to see some pretty cool pics. We even have a social media influencer who volunteers with us so we can be like the cool kids.

I just foiled the system. I took a picture with my phone of my Ipad on Instagram, saved it to Facebook, and downloaded it to my desktop and pasted it above. Ha!

I saw many old friends and acquaintances affected by suicide, some talking aloud and maybe some in silence, but when we all share, the pain is lessened. I am hopeful, thankful and inspired by this work. I'll leave you with this beauty from a special friend, Xochi:

Quote

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it can only be changed from one form to another.”

― Einstein

If it's good enough for Einstein, it's good enough for me.  Had another mystical conversation with a confirmed Catholic. She turned me onto this insight. 

Pride and Joy

I don't hear "Africa" the way I did the first two years after Adam died. The signs were there, but now I am sure he's here with me. Communication is more direct. If millions of people believe in a God/Allah/Jehovah they can't see, why can't what I am experiencing be real?

This artist was recommended to me, and I first listened to her at work while I was writing notes, etc. This song came on, and I started silently weeping. I left my door open until it turned to audible sobs. I continued to listen at home, looking up the lyrics I couldn't understand. It can go both ways, but I felt stronger that I was asking Adam if I made him proud and he came back with "I'm proud of you, Mama. I wanted to be like you."

I found this live performance at Red Rocks which would be meaningful to Adam, since he was born in Denver and was very proud of that fact. It also shows the spirit of Brandi and her band.

Pause

In the hustle bustle of my busy lifestyle, and believe me, the busier I am the happier, it seems, I have not been writing as much. I am sad to see summer go, though the air is softer and the light gentler somehow.

Writing slows me down, and I've been going full tilt with organizing the Out of the Darkness Walk, taking a ceramics class, and Marie Kondo-ing the house again. On the up side, my meditation practice is improving and many exciting things have happened in my internal world as a result.

It started with a visit to Cedar Rapids and my appointment with an intuitive medium. I really don't want to go into the details, but my belief in an afterlife and other dimensions is increased. I learned about my spirit guides and have identified three: Adam, my maternal grandmother Esther, and a special friend Kelley who I feel a special bond with. I have connected with all three and received messages that I need to be bolder in the world, softer with my mother, and open to their guidance. I know that's a little woo-woo, but I am drawn more and more to people and things that are in touch with a greater good, another level, more creative ways of being.

Through the experience of suicide loss, just yesterday I met a woman who was visited by her deceased sister. I enjoyed her perspective, and it is these kind of connections that make the loss of Adam more bearable.

The most important thing meditation has taught me lately is being grateful for the pause I am able to take, which allows me to be open to guidance and clarity in my life. Writing is a necessary and satisfying part of that.

Fried, not baked

Got a little fried at Pea Island, NC, but what a pretty, secluded beach we had practically to ourselves. I had lots of fun in the waves and surf, until some annoying lady kept yelling, "Jellyfish!" I didn't want to know that. I persevered and got my fill of salt water. It was a spectacular day.

I like scallops and long walks on the beach.

We got this great selfie at a little farm stand called "Morris'" where I had a corn dog and fries. Yum!




By the way, here is how Eli spent part of his summer:

How's that cool musician in France?

Baked, not fried

It's awfully difficult to not be disappointed when there is a lot of hype around something new. Such was the case with Galesburg's new-ish restaurant, Baked. Occupying the old Chez Willy fine dining bistro on Seminary Street, I thought surely this was going  to be the culinary epitome of chic pizza. After all, Siri told us it was Galesburg's best restaurant.

I forgot to tell Pat this was "just a pizza joint," as he put it. I had hoped there was a little more to the menu than pizza, but alas there was not. That, and our irritably peckish mood, did not set a good stage. We entered the screen door (yes 91 degrees, and they had an old fashioned screen door) and were directed to the menu on the wall in chalk. Did I mention I hate reading a wall menu when I'm starving and now sticky hot? Either the A/C was broke, or they don't have air conditioning, and you order and pay at the front counter. Not exactly chic. We were handed cold water glasses and a recycled wine bottle of tap water, barely cool, to carry to our table. The good news: two 10 inch pizzas came to just under $20.

We entered the warm and humid dining room to the left to look for a table and the front was packed and blaring loud music, so I chose a table near the back, one of two tables for six. The other table for six furthest back had dirty dishes on it the entire time we were there. A couple of ceiling fans blowing warm air around toward the front, taupe walls with anchors and holes everywhere, water damage on the ceiling, and a paint by number (?) picture of a pizza box composed the decor. A musty curtain was open behind us and some certainly leaded peeling paint doors were used to hide pizza boxes and some other unsightly clutter. The tables and chairs were mismatched and included metal folding chairs, which could be considered Kitsch but had more the effect of Krap. I couldn't shake the idea this couldn't possibly have been Chez Willy's.

To be fair, there were 3 sandwiches on the menu: ham, Italian and turkey (I think). We saw some some other customers with a large salad bowl, but I didn't have time to read the whole menu before Pat blew a gasket. I ordered the Goat Cheese and Herbs Pizza and Pat had a make your own sausage and mushroom.

If Pat complains about the cleanliness of a bathroom, you know it's the pits. As we waited for our pizza to arrive, stripped off our top layers, and drank our warm water, a family of six entered and forced themselves into a table for four and gave us the stink eye. It was hard to make conversation when the table next to us was hard of hearing and their speech accordingly loud.

The pizzas arrived in reasonable time, and we dove in hungrily. For me, the crust was tough and unremarkable. If my crust is thin, I like it crispy, not chewy. I know this is nit-picking but I only saw 1 herb, Basil, not herbs plural. Pat was okay with his pizza, but I tasted the sausage and it's the one kind I don't like. It also contained green olives which I'm pretty sure he didn't order. Either way, he didn't care, he was so hungry.

I had a great ending sentence for this while I was riding my bike this morning, but it's gone. I am left with two choices to end on...be warned, Baked, the restaurant refers not to yummy pizza and elegant dining, but rather to the feeling you get waiting for your pizza or when Siri tells you Wendy's is the number 3 restaurant in town, don't expect much from #1. 

It looks like the long, hot summer is here. However, it never seems long enough after the long winters we've been having. I was just thinking back to last July when Betsy and I traveled to Denver to watch Eli perform at a music festival. That was pretty amazing. We had fun things planned everyday including concerts, hikes, drives, ice cream, shopping, and visiting our old haunts. Not to mention running into Betsy's favorite professor. We were like those little girls in "The World of Henry Orient." 

In 2017 we toured Malta as a guest of the US Ambassador (aka Betsy's college friend). Who gets to do that?? The Mediterranean was as beautiful as any water I've ever laid eyes on. No beaches, just rock diving and sunning- not that I did that....

Time goes faster everyday, it seems. I wish I could find a way to slow it down. 

💔

I've had a heavy heart for a few days now. Anything from a Clima cool shoe to seeing a few of his old friends to staring at a bottle of Aveeno lotion in Walgreens to yet another trip to Springfield, this time for the AFSP, an organization I wouldn't even be aware of three and a half years ago. I want him here. Why can't he be here? Too many family events missing his wry ironic self.

I listened to Cal's music video tributes and hope that the things we do will help one person. Everyone has value even when they can't see or feel it. Redemption is possible. From One human to another, hang in there. This too shall pass. Keep trying. ☮ out.

Father's Day

I've been warding off feelings, that sinking, sick feeling of remembering and facing how long it's been since we've seen Adam. I don't know if this day is why, this month of his birthday, the family reunions without him here again. The things that have happened since his death, even advances in technology he would have jumped on. It seems like everyone has moved on when they say unintentionally heartless things. I think it's time to let myself feel and have a good cry. There are worse things.