A Year Ago: A Grateful Friend

I love to travel.

I like to head off in a direction with less than an entire plan and just go for it.

For some reason, this doesn't trigger my anxiety. It does the opposite, in fact; it makes me feel strong and independent and important.

A year ago I went on a trip to England and Scotland by myself.

It was a gift from my husband who isn't too big on traveling. He gave me his bonus money from work and told me to go wherever I wanted.

I chose England, because when I’d gone there a few years ago, I’d only spent a day in London and a day in the English countryside, which was all traveling. Two friends of mine were living in London at the time, so I figured I could see the sights with them, as well as have a place to stay.

I met Jessica and Kate when I was a student at UNL. Kate was an international student from Australia who lived in my dorm during my second year at UNL, and Jessica was someone I clicked with in one of my favorite classes at the University. Kate is a teacher, living in London, and Jessica was in grad school at University College-London.

Before I left Nebraska, I was on the fence about going on my trip, because my mom wasn't doing very well.  She told me I should definitely go, because if anything happened, which it probably wouldn't, I could change my flight and get back in less than a day. I really wasn't sure what to do, but in the end, I listened to my mom, and I went.

Me and Kate right after I arrived in London.

Me and Kate, with Stonehenge in the background!

Stonehenge

When I got there, it was so good to spend time with Kate, who I hadn't seen in over a year, and go shopping, see movies, and take a day trip out to Bath and Stonehenge. I took a trip from London to Edinburgh, and explored that city, as well as part of the Scottish Highlands for two days. I stayed in a hostel with six Swedish boys who stayed up until 4am both nights, drinking beer and playing Beatles songs on the guitar. I walked eleven miles in one day and barely noticed. I met a Russian girl named Olga who was working as a nanny in Paris and taking a trip through Scotland, Ireland, and Wales by herself while the family was on holiday.

View of Edinburgh from the top of Edinburgh Castle

After I got back from Scotland, I stayed with Jessica. I met some of her classmates and friends, and we watched Kill Bill and planned a day trip to Brighton (or Bristol? I've forgotten!) with Kate. The next night, walking back from the tube station, I got a text from my dad that he needed me to call him when I could.

I was in the middle of the street, not far from where Jude Law and Hugh Laurie allegedly lived. My stomach dropped, and I began to sweat, despite the chill in the air. I dialed his number without even explaining to Jessica what was going on.

My dad answered and said I should call him back once I was back at Jessica’s and not on the street, and I told him I couldn't wait.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I remember feeling sick and I remember crying. I remember calling Kate who lived pretty far from Jessica’s place, and asking her to come over. It was after midnight, so she couldn't take the tube. She ended up taking an expensive cab ride over.

They both sat with me while I packed and made plans to leave London. Max called the airline and got them to change my flight.

They waived all the fees.

My memory of that night is blurry. I think Jessica and Kate both napped in Jessica’s tiny dorm room while I racked up a $282 phone bill crying and listening to my mom tell me, in a sleepy voice, all the things she was sad she was going to miss in my life. She said she was sad, but she wasn't frightened, and she wasn't angry.

Just before 6am, I woke Kate and Jessica up, telling them I was going to head for the tube. They both came with me (and took turns carrying my insanely, stupidly heavy duffel), and during that hour-long commute to Heathrow, I took a photo of my two friends that I will always treasure:

Kate and Jessica on the tube, the morning I left London

It is probably not be the most flattering picture ever taken of either of them. But on that horrible, awful morning when it felt like my entire life was coming apart at the edges, I felt so completely supported and cared for. I wasn't alone.

I’m not going to say that I've never felt alone over the past year, but looking back, especially in moments like the ones I captured in that photograph, I know I never was alone. I've been completely surrounded on all sides by the compassion and strength of friends, family, and even complete strangers.

I've never been more grateful for anything in my life.

My Birthday

Today is my birthday.

I've been dreading it for weeks because I knew I wouldn't receive a phone call or gift from my mom. I knew we wouldn't go shopping together over the weekend or have margaritas or watch Mama Mia together. I knew she wouldn't be able to tell me that she was so happy to have me (and my sister) in her life.

I didn't really want a birthday if I couldn't have those things.

So, at first I tried to avoid my birthday. I told some of my friends not to wish me a happy birthday. I didn't talk to anyone about plans or gifts or fun things to do. I had the perfect cover – Halloween!

I met with my doctor on Monday for a follow-up visit about some medication and my anxiety attacks. I told her that I thought my anxiety was decreasing until the past few days as I was getting ready for my first birthday without my mom. She said that was normal, and that I should realize that the firsts are going to be the hardest. Of course, I know that, and I am dreading the holidays more than I've ever dreaded anything, but I really wasn't expecting my birthday to throw me for such a loop. I learned many years ago that birthdays were a lot like being single on Valentine’s Day – it’s just not that big of a deal to anyone else. I just don’t tend to have many expectations regarding my birthday.

Well, except for my mom to call me and sing Happy Birthday and tell me she loves me.

In a surprise turn of events, I actually had a pretty good day. My employer hosted a volunteer event at Harvester’s, so about twenty of my coworkers and I spent a couple of hours this morning sorting and repackaging food instead of entering data on our computers or answering phones. Hard work in the service of others is cleansing to the mind and spirit.

Then, since it was the official last day for some of the seasonal workers, we had a pizza party (yes, I recognize and acknowledge the irony here) and were able to talk and laugh and socialize in a way that’s not usually possible when you’re working.

Then, I was extremely touched to receive a birthday card from my coworkers. I didn't even know they knew it was my birthday! I felt really appreciated and happy to be there.

About twenty minutes later, a water main broke near our building, and we were told to go home because the water and air-conditioning were shut off, so the building was getting pretty warm, and you’re never thirstier or need to pee more than when there’s no water available.

As I was packing up my things and saying goodbye to some of the temps, a man arrived with flowers! For me! They were beautiful purple daisies and included a card from my sister, her husband, my husband, my dad, and all of our pets. I've never received flowers at work before, and it really is one of those times in life when you want to say to all of the other cube-dwellers, “yep, I just got flowers, people! Take that!”

Despite my good day and positive mood, when I got home, I did something that some of you might see as masochistic or even reckless. And I’m not sure I’d disagree.

I listened to the voicemail my mom left me last year on my birthday. It begins with her singing “Happy Birthday” to me, telling me she loves me, that she hoped I’d had a good day, and that she and my dad would just be hanging out at home, waiting for trick-or-treaters, so I should call her when I had time.

Hearing her voice was amazing. It was startling and disorienting, and at first I couldn't breathe. Then it was comfortable, like being home again after you've been away for a long time.

I listened to it about six or seven times, lying in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin and my dog’s head on my shoulder. I cried some, but I mostly listened. Again, and again, and again, and again.

Twice, I allowed myself to indulge in a deliberate delusion: that it was a message from this year, and that I was going to call her back in a few minutes and talk about my day.

After setting my phone aside, I fell asleep for two hours. When I woke up, I was disoriented and exhausted, my eyes still swollen from crying. I remembered listening to the voicemail and almost listened to it again, but decided I should get up and take the dog out before trick-or-treaters began arriving.

I was alone in the house, and I felt the loneliness sharply. It’s a really frustrating kind of loneliness, because I know I’m not alone. I know there are people thinking of me and supporting me all the time, but when this loneliness creeps up, it doesn't matter. The emptiness echoes inside me, bouncing off my bones, and causing my joints to ache with grief.

I picked up my phone as I grabbed the dog’s leash, and was stunned. In the past two hours I’d had five missed calls, four voicemails, and twelve text messages. They were all birthday wishes! And nearly all of them mentioned that they were thinking about me!

All the texts, calls, and messages don’t really make it any easier that I’m not getting a call from my mom today, but they are an answer to the loneliness, because even if it’s only temporarily, it has, as of now, mostly eased.

As I’m writing this, it’s nearly 8:30pm, but I'm feeling pretty positive about today, because I think sometimes, especially lately, when things seem so hopeless and empty, these reminders that I haven’t been forgotten and that not everyone has grown tired of me really reach inside me and soothe those aches of loss.

Thank you. 

Kassie and I dressed as Dorothy and Glinda
 for Halloween/our birthdays circa
1990 in costumes our mom made for us.

An Exchange

I want you to think about the last 6 months. Think about everything that has happened since you decided to come home early from England in April.

Don’t think of the individual events, think of everything at once. Let everything flash before your eyes.

It’s a lot for a person to deal with, right? Has your heart rate increased? Do you feel overwhelmed just thinking about it?

Yes.

Now, have you had anyone tell you they think you are strong, or that they think you’ve been through a lot?

Yes.

Do you believe them?

No.

You don’t think you’ve been strong or brave?

No.

Why not?

Because I cry every day. I keep gaining weight. I can’t pay attention at work. I can’t finish anything. I have to take medication just to function. I don’t take my dog for walks. I don’t have a real job. I’m so, so lonely. I’m losing my mind. I have no control. I just wish I could sleep for a really long time.

Switch places with a friend, any friend. Imagine you have their life and they have yours. Just think for a few minutes about everything your friend has been through, including her reactions and how she’s carried herself. Think about the talks you've had and how you wished you could help her. Don’t say anything, just run it through your mind – everything your friend has been through in the past six months.

10 minutes later

Why are you crying?

Because no one should have to deal with this.

That’s true, no one should. What do you think of your friend?

I think I feel so, so sorry for her.

That isn't what I asked. What do you think of her?

Long pause.

I think she’s doing what she can to get by. I think she’s in survival mode.

Do you think she is strong? Strong enough to survive and eventually come out of survival mode?

Long pause.

Yes.

Four Months - Only So Much

Our Family Photo from Thanksgiving 2011
Travis, Kassie, Dad, Mom, Uncle Wayne, Aunt Vickie, Max, Me, and Murphy

It has been four months since I said goodbye to my mom.

Actually, that’s not true -- we said our goodbyes before that, and I’ve been saying them ever since.

I think my goodbyes began on October 14^th of last year, the day after I had my gallbladder removed. My parents had gone to Chicago for chemotherapy at The Block Center, and then traveled to Lincoln so they could be with me after my surgery. My mom wasn’t doing very well – her liver was not recovering from the chemo, and she was starting to show signs of liver failure. Her skin had a yellow tinge, and she was very, very tired. The day after my surgery, my mom was too weak to go up the steps to our apartment, so my parents decided to go home so she could rest and be more comfortable.

I thought that was the last time I was ever going to see my mom. I was recovering from gallbladder surgery, which wasn’t super invasive as it was done entirely laparoscopically, but I was hurting, and I was very weak. I wanted to be with them, but I could barely do the steps, myself.

So, my parents left, and I said goodbye.

I look back and realize that that was such a huge moment for me. It was my first realization that my mom might not beat this disease. That she might not see my sister get married, or either of us have children. That we might never go shopping together again, or do all the things we’d planned to do “someday.” It isn’t that I gave up or lost faith – I saw a glimpse of how dire the situation was – something my mom had never let me see before.

Every birthday and holiday that followed became extra special and meaningful. We took family photos at Thanksgiving – that alone is something I will always be thankful for. I stopped going out as often when I was home, and instead stayed in to watch HGTV with my mom. I started thinking more seriously about the future, including things like children and my career.

Something else also happened during that time after my surgery – I felt a very abrupt change in my mom’s attitude. Again, I don’t believe for a second that she gave up or gave in, but she was so, so sick, and so, so tired. She’d made so many changes, so much progress, and gained so much time because of it, but now her liver was suffering due to all of the chemo and drugs that had been forced through it.

There is only so much a body can take.

This is the reality I denied for many, many weeks after she died. Why didn’t we find different doctors? She’d had no trouble in the past leaving doctors in favor of ones who shared her attitude and views, so why didn’t we do more? When she went for her final doctor appointment two days before she died, why didn’t they do anything for her then? When I begged the attending physician at Saint Luke’s to put in the catheter to drain the fluid that was building up inside her because her liver wasn’t doing its job anymore, why didn’t she do anything else for her? Why weren’t the doctors at the Block Center presenting us with new plans?

Now I know and believe that there is only so much a body can take. And by spending the past three years working WITH her body by feeding it the nutrients it needed and depriving the cancer of the toxins and sugars it needed to grow, she surpassed the expectations of all of her doctors.

Sometimes, though, I am just a greedy little girl who doesn’t care about any of that, and just wants her mom.

One of my daily rituals has become that “active mourning” exercise that I shared with you in my last entry. Once a day, I sit down somewhere quiet and look at photos of my mom with me, my sister, and my dad. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel better afterwards, and sometimes I feel worse. It all depends on how I woke up that day.

I think I’ve been waiting since last October to feel like my old self again, but I’m starting to think that is never going to happen. As my sister so aptly put it, “This is my life now.” 

There’s no going back. Only forward – and that is something I can try to do to honor my mom who was such a perfect example of moving forward when it was the hardest thing to do.

Mom and Dad, Thanksgiving 2011

Life Goes On

Mom and me at my wedding rehearsal, September 3, 2010.

I have had a lot going on lately, and I've learned that nothing is as fun or exciting as it used to be now that my mom isn't here to hear about it and share it with.

I know I’m feeling sorry for myself. It’s been 2 months, 2 days, 8 hours, 39 minutes and 22 seconds since my mom took her last breath, and I think my brain is still keeping an inventory of everything I need to tell her. For the most part, I’ve stopped having the impulse to call or text her, and when it does still happen, the pain isn’t quite as sharp. I haven’t had a panic attack in several weeks, and I haven’t had a meltdown in a couple of weeks. I don’t cry every day anymore. I’m functioning pretty “normally” for the most part. I get up at a decent time, go to the gym, play with the dog, look for jobs, write, talk to friends, go to the grocery store, cook dinner, etc.

But I am so, so lonely. And I’m not lonely because of a lack of people but because of a lack of one person who was such a huge part of my life and who I am. How am I even supposed to react to things when I don’t have her to consult?

I’m still figuring it out.

In the past two weeks, I have found out that two of my favorite people in the world are getting married and that a dear old friend is pregnant. I went to a concert and got to meet my favorite band! I scheduled a job interview. I witnessed a 14 year old boy suffering from heat exhaustion and not know who or where he was and be rushed to the hospital by paramedics.

None of it seems half as exciting as it probably would have just a few months ago.

My job interview is a week from today, and I am hopeful that means my job hunt will soon be coming to an end. Not that job hunting isn’t a huge thrill…

I’ve been making a lot of phone calls trying to get everything organized for Kassie’s wedding in October. She is so busy, and I know what it is like to be planning a wedding while being crazy busy, so I’m trying to help as much as I can, and so far we are getting along great! I didn’t know if it would be possible for two sisters to work on a wedding and not have a huge fight, but so far, so good.

I’ve also been exercising a lot. I’ve lost 6 pounds and 1% body fat. I’ve been doing cardio and weight training at the gym that mom went to. Mom had purchased 8 personal training sessions that she never got to use, and the manager at the gym was nice enough to let me use them, so that has been incredibly beneficial to me. I’ve also made some friends at the gym – some of them knew my mom, and some of them heard about her. It seems like everywhere I go, someone has heard of mom. At first, I actually found it to be really overwhelming. I couldn’t go to the grocery store without being stopped by someone wondering if I was Kristie’s daughter, and wondering how we were all doing. But now I am so touched by it. My mom touched so many lives. Sometimes I wonder if she even had a clue how much of an impact she had.

Thanks for reading my rather fractured blog post today. I just knew I needed to get back into writing, so I didn’t really plan this one out at all. It was more of a stream-of-consciousness than a planned essay or observation.

I’m going to close with the lyrics of the chorus of a song I heard for the first time at the Avett Brothers concert on Tuesday. The song is called The Once and Future Carpenter.

Forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me

And when I lose my direction

I’ll look up to the sky

And when the black cloak drags upon the ground

I’ll be ready to surrender

And remember –

Well, we’re all in this together.

If I live the life I’m given, I won’t be scared to die.

My friend Lindsey and I were lucky enough to meet the Avett Brothers on Tuesday at their show in Council Bluffs! It was a thrill!

Sad Days

View from the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

View of the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

It’s been a really rough week.

Saturday we scattered mom’s ashes at the cemetery where my dad’s parents are buried, per her wishes. It’s a beautiful place in the country, with a picturesque view of the land my father’s family farmed for generations. It was a small, simple gathering of just a few family members to say a prayer and say another farewell to their sister, wife, and mother.

Honestly, it wasn’t as hard as I was expecting. Not that it was easy—it definitely wasn’t easy. I cried more than I’ve cried in quite some time. But it was comforting to be in such a peaceful place that I essentially come from, with that small group of people related to me who loved my mother.

Sunday was actually the hardest day for me. I think it was hard for many, many reasons, one of which was that I hadn’t prepared for it. I felt prepared for Saturday, and then it was over, and suddenly there was another day. I didn’t sleep well Saturday night, so that added to my feelings of crazed despair and anxiety. Another problem with Sundays, in general, is that Max typically leaves on Sundays. He offered to stay another day so I wouldn’t have to be alone on Monday, but I didn’t feel like he should miss another day of work right now.

Monday was my mom’s 54^th birthday. It was a very difficult day for me, and everyone else in my family. I wanted to take everyone’s advice and “remember the good times” and maybe even celebrate her a little, but it’s too soon for me. So I cried a lot and I missed her.

Sometimes I do the things “they” tell you not to do. I stuff my face when I’m sad. I stay in bed when I don’t feel like facing the day. I ignore phone calls and texts from people who care.

Because the truth is, while I am healing (I feel it happening constantly), I am still so, so sad. I am the saddest I have ever been times infinity. I am so sad I am sick over it.

But I am also doing my best to be healthy. I am exercising, keeping an eye on my diet, spending time with friends and family, writing about it, and I’ve started looking for a new job. I think about my mom and how hard she worked to be healthy and happy, and I think she’d be proud of the steps I’m taking.