Thoughts on mourning and grief
Strawberry cream cake
straight from the grocery store!
Easy to please you.
Tomorrow, August 2, would be my brother’s 33rd birthday. He always liked the strawberry cream cakes that come in the plastic bundt container from the grocery store bakery. Easy-going culinary tastes, kinda like him — not a lot of frills; keep it simple. 🙂
I never knew until this week that the last Friday in July is SysAdmin Day. I’m probably the only person in the country shedding tears over such a seemingly silly holiday, but it makes me think of my brother and miss him. I was thinking about how I might celebrate the day if he were here, and I think I would probably make up a dorky song and call him on his cell phone at work and sing it to him. After all, he used to sing the “you look like a monkey & smell like one too” version of the birthday song to me each year! 🙂
At any rate, find a techie you know today and tell them Happy SysAdmin Day! If they aren’t a sysadmin, they’ll probably just roll their eyes behind your back, but at least they’ll know how thoughtful you are. 😉
Dear Nathan,
I still remember our conversation when you told me that I was going to be an aunt. You told me before you told our mom, which was a great honor to this big sister, but I had to promise to keep quiet about it, so as to not hurt her feelings for not hearing the news first.
I am so thankful that I was asked to be present at the delivery. What an amazing experience, after having two children of my own by then, to witness the miracle of childbirth from the other side. Just thinking about the look on your face when you met your son makes me weepy. You looked so … awestruck. Gosh, I miss you so much!
And so does he. We talk about you often, you know. He still remembers stories about things you did together. Just yesterday, he told me a fun story about how you used to fling him onto the slip-n-slide to make him go faster. He was laughing and animated as he told the tale.
He’s eight today. This is his third birthday without you; it’s hard to believe it has been so long. We’re going skating tonight, and I wish you could be there, even though you’d make fun of me for lip-syncing and playing air guitar to the 80s songs. I would let you make fun of me just to hear you laugh again.
When you turned eight, I was almost 12, and you grated on my very last nerve. So does he sometimes! LOL! He is your son, indeed. He can be so belligerent and sassy, and yet he can be so completely loving and adorable that it melts my heart.
I love hearing him call me “Mom.” It makes me feel like I’m doing something right. I can never replace you, but I want — more than anything — to honor your memory by raising him to become a godly man who loves the Lord and others. I want to see him channel his feisty behavior and become a man who stands up for what is right, no matter the cost.
*Dang it, it’s hard to type when I’m crying.
I miss you so much, Nathan. It’s been a long time since I sat and cried over you; I guess I needed it right now. I love you, my big-little brother!!
My brother and I used to play Life – the board game. Toward the end of the game when it came time to assess taxes, we had a made-up rule that would allow you to “adopt” one child for every $1,000 in taxes owed. We often had a caravan of cars with our extended families trailing behind by the time we crossed the finish line.
Alas, there aren’t always substitutions available in “real” life. Sometimes, we’re the players. Sometimes, we’re the pawns.
What about when a disgruntled church member starts a rumor to disparage the pastor’s reputation? Check.
What about when insecure co-workers posture themselves in such a way as to deflect negative attention from their own performance and shine it on others? Checkmate.
Being a pawn is difficult; the pawn doesn’t have much in the way of strategy. They only try to stay alive.
I’ve been role-playing in some form or fashion for as long as I can remember. One of my fondest memories of play time with my brother was when we would lay on our backs and hang over the front of the couch and pretend like the ceiling was the floor. We concocted adventures where the vaulted ceiling turned into a canyon, and the hallway was a road to another realm. I don’t know how long we laid upside-down like that … I guess until we got light-headed and needed to turn right-side-up!
Those were good times. I played with dolls, too, of course, and I also had one stuffed animal (still have her, actually!) who was my confidante; she listened to all of my frustrations and let me hold her paw when I needed a friend. The time came, though, when I must have thought I was too cool to role-play, and I just turned to my diary to share my imagination, instead. I began putting my thoughts into words on the page instead of acting them out.
Fast-forward to 2007 when I was introduced to Second Life, and I discovered a fascinating blended outlet for my imagination. I learned about schools and companies that were using the virtual platform as a cutting-edge service delivery tool and met people from around the world through the facade of their avatars. I learned to create virtual objects in this amazing synthetic world, and I tested my role-playing skills in Old West and medieval themed adventures. Role-playing in Second Life involves both writing and acting, since you have to describe what your avatar is doing.
Second Life continues to be a fun venue for me, though I have lost touch with so many people (like we do in “real” life). Role-play sims (that’s the name for a designated area of the “world”) popped up in some places and closed in others; people lost interest and went elsewhere. Just like in “real” life, though, I try to stay in touch with folks. That’s how I ended up chatting with someone tonight who shared some sad news: a mutual friend of ours in Second Life died in real life.
I never met her in real life; I couldn’t even tell you what state she was from. (I seldom share personal information about myself inworld and don’t press others for info, either.) I do remember her as a shy but funny “noob” (new person) to the medieval role-playing sim, and we had fun trying out story lines together. My character was a fairy, and we used to sit on top of the village well together and tease people as they walked by. We caused mischief and acted goofy. It was fun “teaching” someone else how to role-play and trying to build it into the story line, as you go. She was a sweet gal. In an oddly familiar way, grief crept up on me, and I miss her. Maybe it sounds odd that I miss someone I never met — someone whose real name I don’t even know — yet, we had developed a friendship, nonetheless.
The “world” of Second Life may be virtual, but the relationships formed in that synthetic environment can be quite real. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel sad for losing her.
Sometimes I find myself purposely not thinking about something sad because I’m afraid that if I do, then it will overwhelm me and I’ll break down into tears. Once I start thinking about one sad thing, then another comes to mind, and another … There is so much grief around me this week, and I don’t feel like I’ve been a very good friend to people who may need me because I’m not allowing myself to think about it much.
A dear friend is grieving for a Stage IV cancer diagnosis/brain tumor of another friend of hers. I am praying for both of them, but it breaks my heart so much, I don’t want to dwell on it. She is a young mother of two. 😦
One of my uncles died of a heart attack a few days ago, and my two cousins are taking care of the arrangements. My heart breaks for them, and then my mind wanders to the prospect of dealing with my own parents’ death someday … and not having my brother here to help me. At least my cousins have each other. Then, I feel guilty for thinking that, because it sounds heartless; they have each other, but they lost their dad! I must sound terribly selfish.
Today, a friend from church posted a prayer request for her uncle, who has sepsis and acute renal failure — both diagnoses are fatalities waiting to happen, from what I understand. I know that God is still in the miracle-working biz, but sometimes – for reasons I will never understand – my prayers don’t get answered in the way I would like.
In a different sort of grief/stress, I have a close friend who has been out of work for months, and I hurt for her — I know too well how difficult that is.
I needed to get my mind off of those things, so today after work, I rearranged the laundry room and reclaimed “my” room (the “pretty” room where the piano, fireplace, curio and my porcelain doll collection are … the room that was never supposed to have toys, laundry or clutter … my testosterone-free haven from the chaos) by moving all of the laundry baskets into the LAUNDRY ROOM. Fancy that! Tomorrow, I will clean the bathrooms and tidy the study. Now that school is out, we can sort papers and file away the special ones to keep and recycle the rest.
Housework can be a stress reliever, and it’s a relatively simple way to see a tangible result for my efforts. It can also be stressful, seeing as I don’t have a lot of time to do it, but when I carve out the time (like I’m planning to this weekend), then it helps to divert my thoughts and keeps me from wallowing.
Today is my blog’s third birthday! I think I will celebrate with a Jim Beam Red Stag and Diet Dr Pepper. (Please note: There is no period in Dr Pepper … I wouldn’t be a good Wacoan if I didn’t point out that lil’ pet peeve!) 😉
Three years ago seems like a time portal. Three years ago, I was finishing my master’s degree (and swearing that I would never, ever, EVER go back to school for my doctorate. D’oh!). Three years ago, I was a mother of three. Three years ago, I was 80 lbs heavier. Three years ago, I didn’t have a clue about what curveballs life could throw my way … and how God could see me through.
God has been good, friends. Does that strike you as odd for me to say? It’s true, though. Even in the midst of tragedy (I might argue even because of tragedy), I am more aware today of God’s presence in my life. Sure, there are plenty of days when I still feel like I’m on auto-pilot or survival mode, but I don’t take my blessings for granted as much as I used to.
*Raises her glass of Red Stag & Diet DP on the rocks* So, here’s to the last three years … and the next however many to come! 😀
Two years ago today, the judge signed the paperwork that allowed me to begin making the transition from “aunt” to “mom.” On this date, nearly four months after my brother died, I obtained sole custody of my two nephews.
The wounds of grief are still there, of course, but I find that I need to replace the bandage less frequently now. When I think about the notice that I received on May 22, 2009, saying that the judge had signed the guardianship papers, I still feel a tremendous sense of relief wash over me. If it couldn’t be my brother who would raise them, then Lord willing, let it be me. That was my (and my parents’) earnest prayer during those early months. The “system” may get a lot of [well deserved] flak for its bureaucratic problems, but in this case – for once, at least – it came through.
For all of the difficult days, for all of the rough transitions, for the grief manifested as anger when they didn’t have the words to say how they felt … it has been worth it. I don’t know why — and trying to figure it out only hurts my brain — but for some reason beyond the scope of my understanding, God saw fit to entrust this task to me. I pray that the next two … ten … twenty years will honor him as I try to raise these precious boys alongside my birth children and train them all to be godly young men who seek him with all their hearts. In the end, that is all that matters.
My nephew-sons like to have their sheets & blankets swished over them — it was a bedtime routine that my brother called “a big whoosh.” Tonight, after I gave him a big whoosh, No. 4 asked me to tuck him in tightly “like Daddy used to.” It caught me off-guard when he mentioned that other little bedtime routine of my brother’s, where you tuck the blanket around the kid like a burrito, because I had forgotten about it.
He speaks of Daddy occasionally, but it’s usually the same type of stories that we talk about often — like how he was so strong, he could pick up the boys with one arm and lift them up to the ceiling! It makes me happy when they talk about other stories and share their memories.
After I leaned over to kiss him goodnight, I straightened up and whacked my head on the underneath side of the bunkbed. Ouch! I rubbed my head, kissed and hugged No. 3 on the top bunk, and turned out the light as I left their room.
Then, the thought occurred to me: reminiscing hurts. Sometimes, grief-filled memories hit me upside the head [thankfully, not quite as literally as tonight’s unwelcome example]. Yet, if the grief were to go away entirely, wouldn’t it mean that the memories had vanished, also?
In that case, I’ll embrace the grief. Reminiscing hurts, but I can’t bear to forget.
Shortly after my brother died in 2009 (it seems so long ago, yet so recently), I went through what might be described as an identity crisis. It felt as though part of who I was, who I’d always believed myself to be, had also died. From my earliest memories, I have been a big sister. Other than an album full of baby & toddler pictures to prove otherwise, I have no recollection of ever being an only child.
As Mother’s Day approaches, I feel a different – yet similar – type of identity shift. My nephews have been in my care for two years, and this is the first Mother’s Day when everyone actually calls me “Mom.” I’ve never pressured my nephews to call me that; I told them from the get-go that they are welcome to continue calling me “Aunt Angela,” if they prefer. The older started calling me “Mom” pretty quickly; I think he just fell into step with what my other sons called me. The younger one, though, seldom called me “Mom.” Last year, he started using that name about half the time, and I tried not to pay attention to it; I just answered him the same, either way. The past few months, though, he has started to make the switch, and now, he very seldom calls me “Aunt Angela.”
I know that may seem like an inconsequential step in the grand scheme of life, but to me, it means a lot. This coming Sunday feels less like Aunt-Mother’s Day and more like a “normal” (whatever that is, ha!) Mother’s Day. It doesn’t mean that the life we each led two years ago and beyond has somehow been replaced; on the contrary, I try to be very open about sharing memories and stories of my brother … I want those stories to become their memories, as their own memories of him fade with time.
This time, I don’t feel like I’m going through an identity crisis. I feel like I’m going through an identity renewal.
faith, sweat & tears 