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.