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.