I have written a couple of blogs about how hard it is to work on the headstone for Nick, Ru and Audrey. Bit I have to add to that again. I know this is a little boring, but it's my blog. I have to say that I didn't realize until this weekend how healing it is for me to think about what I would like on it and give input. I took my laptop to Vernal and showed Grandma our ideas. Of course, we both shed a few tears looking at the ideas. I talked to Mary last night and told her that I think I have done more healing in the last couple of weeks than I have in the last year. I'm not sure healing is the right word though. Perhaps acceptance should be in there as well. It hurts to think about them being gone. But it will always hurt. And I know that there will be times when the pain and grief will be as deep as it was the day they died. But I also know that there are getting to be times when I want and need to talk about then and their life and the way they lived. Maybe there are times when I need to talk about the way they died. That will change from day to day.
But, Mary, I want to say thank you for letting me a part of this process. When you realized how hard it was for me, you could have just went ahead and made the decisions. But it was important to you for me to do this and for you to know what I wanted. Thank you so much!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
More on Headstones
I've done quite a bit of thinking since the last post on the headstones. And I have had a epiphany. I realized that the reason I didn't think I had an opinion was that if i don't get involved, I don't have to face that face that my son is dead and gone. As I started looking at the ideas Mary sent me, I did havef opinions and ideas and feelings, both good and bad. I am so thankful for Mary and for her giving me the opportunity to be part of this process. As hard as it has been, it has been something that I have to do and is good for me. And I will be anxious to go see how they turned out.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Headstones
How on earth do you choose a headstone to mark the grave of someone you have loved lost? As I've been talking to Mary about them, I realized one more thing we (both families) laid on her shoulders. I'm sure that most of us didn't think about things like that a year ago. We thought we were just choosing whole we wanted Joie to live with. We thought of things like where would she feel the most comfortable, where would she be centrally located to still see all of us. And I have no doubt that all of us were guided by Nick and Ru. I remember talking to Maryann, the counselor at Primary Children's. She was so amazed that Stan and Diana and I were so in agreement over the hard decision we were making. Of course, all of us wanted Joie to be with us. But we all knew this was a time to listen to the spirit and do what was best for that beautiful little girl. We had to do what was best for her, not for us.
Ok, I digress. Back to the headstones. I had input into the design for Howard's headstone, but because of location I didn't do the actualy work. NOTE TO SELF: Call Brenda tonight and thank her again for doing all the work. She listened to my ideas, found someone to draw the train picture, met with the mortuary, and did so much work above and beyond the duty of a sister.
Thinking back, I have a lot of blank spots about picking Jim's headstone. I remember Lala going with me, and possibly Brenda along with Jim's Mom and maybe brothers.? I remember wanting the Provo temple because that was 'his temple.' And I remember the reaction when I wanted the roses on the sides of the book. I was told that usually that is for women and men's headstones have the leaves. But Howard's and mine has roses, and I wanted Jim's to match. My burial plot is right in between theirs. At the time I laughed at Lala's idea that I should put a double on Jim's with both our names on it, just like I had with her Dad. But now sometimes I wish I could have done that.
I opened the file Mary sent me this morning for Nick, Ru and Audrey's headstones. And I immediately closed it. I'm online before work, and I will have to wait until tonight. I don't need to go to work with puffy, red eyes. I kept telling Mary that I was ok with whatever they decided, because I know they got lots of imput from Joie. But after I hung up the phone last night I realized that I just don't want to have to deal with making decisions for the headstone for my son because he's not supposed to be dead!
Ok, I digress. Back to the headstones. I had input into the design for Howard's headstone, but because of location I didn't do the actualy work. NOTE TO SELF: Call Brenda tonight and thank her again for doing all the work. She listened to my ideas, found someone to draw the train picture, met with the mortuary, and did so much work above and beyond the duty of a sister.
Thinking back, I have a lot of blank spots about picking Jim's headstone. I remember Lala going with me, and possibly Brenda along with Jim's Mom and maybe brothers.? I remember wanting the Provo temple because that was 'his temple.' And I remember the reaction when I wanted the roses on the sides of the book. I was told that usually that is for women and men's headstones have the leaves. But Howard's and mine has roses, and I wanted Jim's to match. My burial plot is right in between theirs. At the time I laughed at Lala's idea that I should put a double on Jim's with both our names on it, just like I had with her Dad. But now sometimes I wish I could have done that.
I opened the file Mary sent me this morning for Nick, Ru and Audrey's headstones. And I immediately closed it. I'm online before work, and I will have to wait until tonight. I don't need to go to work with puffy, red eyes. I kept telling Mary that I was ok with whatever they decided, because I know they got lots of imput from Joie. But after I hung up the phone last night I realized that I just don't want to have to deal with making decisions for the headstone for my son because he's not supposed to be dead!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Nick's Birth Day
I planned to get this written long before now, but the road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions. But at least I'm writing it now.
Howard and I were both so excited 30 years ago the closer it got to Nick's birthday. Howard was working at the welding shop and helping an old friend, Wade,with his moving company. He had a trip to Provo planned. They were loading and leaving on Sept 15th. Well, this baby just didn't seem to want to be born. I can't remember his exact due date, but know he was late just like the rest. So I said I was going with him. Of course, I didn't tell anybody. But then just as I was getting ready to go teach Primary, I realized that maybe this baby was gonna be born soon, like within the next day. I talked to Brenda and realized the trip with Howard wasn't a good idea.
He drove to Roosevelt to load the moving truck with Wade. The two kids and I were at Mom's. I started having a few contractions, so about 9 pm I called and left Howard a message that maybe he should come back to town after loading. He got to Mom's about 11 pm, and he wanted to go to the hospital. Now this may have been the first he was there for (that's how he put it), but it was my third. So we went home so we could get some sleep although Howard thought I was crazy. I don't remember how much sleep we got, but a little; the contractions were pretty light. At 6 am, we got up and headed to the hospital. Now I wish I could tell you exactly what time Nick was born. I know it was either shortly after 10 am or shortly after noon. It was a pretty neat experience having Howard in the delivery room. He stayed for a few hours and checked out his new son. But then he had to leave to take the moving van.
He drove to Provo, and it was pretty late when he got there. He was going to spend the night at Kimo and Marsha's, and unload in the morning. He didn't want to wake them up, so he slept in the moving van. Marsha was so upset with him when she woke up in the morning and realized what he had done. He unloaded and came straight home. In the meantime I had filled out the birth certificate form. I had to call Mom to make sure how to spell Nicholas. She said that was how she had seen it in books. Howard and I were naming him after Charles Nikolas Young, his great grandfather. And yes, I spelt the name wrong. I always told Howard it was his fault for leaving me at the hospital.
Howard and I were both so excited 30 years ago the closer it got to Nick's birthday. Howard was working at the welding shop and helping an old friend, Wade,with his moving company. He had a trip to Provo planned. They were loading and leaving on Sept 15th. Well, this baby just didn't seem to want to be born. I can't remember his exact due date, but know he was late just like the rest. So I said I was going with him. Of course, I didn't tell anybody. But then just as I was getting ready to go teach Primary, I realized that maybe this baby was gonna be born soon, like within the next day. I talked to Brenda and realized the trip with Howard wasn't a good idea.
He drove to Roosevelt to load the moving truck with Wade. The two kids and I were at Mom's. I started having a few contractions, so about 9 pm I called and left Howard a message that maybe he should come back to town after loading. He got to Mom's about 11 pm, and he wanted to go to the hospital. Now this may have been the first he was there for (that's how he put it), but it was my third. So we went home so we could get some sleep although Howard thought I was crazy. I don't remember how much sleep we got, but a little; the contractions were pretty light. At 6 am, we got up and headed to the hospital. Now I wish I could tell you exactly what time Nick was born. I know it was either shortly after 10 am or shortly after noon. It was a pretty neat experience having Howard in the delivery room. He stayed for a few hours and checked out his new son. But then he had to leave to take the moving van.
He drove to Provo, and it was pretty late when he got there. He was going to spend the night at Kimo and Marsha's, and unload in the morning. He didn't want to wake them up, so he slept in the moving van. Marsha was so upset with him when she woke up in the morning and realized what he had done. He unloaded and came straight home. In the meantime I had filled out the birth certificate form. I had to call Mom to make sure how to spell Nicholas. She said that was how she had seen it in books. Howard and I were naming him after Charles Nikolas Young, his great grandfather. And yes, I spelt the name wrong. I always told Howard it was his fault for leaving me at the hospital.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Happy Birthday nick
Happy Birthday, my sweet son. I wanted to write something really special, but decided at this time just to put a few pictures on.
Monday, September 15, 2008
How You Can Help Me
How appropriate some emails are in their timing. I was talking to Angie last night about her brother. His birthday is tomorrow, and Nick would have turned 30. I know she and Lala have a hard time talking about him. Heck, we all do. But sometimes I do need to talk even when it brings on the tears. I thought this was a good time to post this. Although this was written about losing a spouse, except for a few exceptions, it works for burying a son too.
HOW YOU CAN HELP ME
"Please talk about him, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.
Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.
When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that he is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.
I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me.Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good.
Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on. I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.
I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving, and that's different. My grieving may only begin 2 months after his death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had , the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget him and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.
I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.
Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I am in shock. I am afraid. I feel deep rage. I feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.
Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding. Thank you for praying for me.And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be."
I do want to add that there are many kinds of loss and many ways to grieve. But I have truly learned that unless you have went through it, you can't truly understand. I didn't understand how my kids grieved over losing their Dad until my Daddy died four years ago. I've never had a brother let alone lost one, so I can't totally understand what my kids are going through. All I do know is that loss is hard and grief sucks. Thirty years ago today I was in labor knowing I was going to have my third child. Thirty years is not long enough to have them in your life. But I am grateful that I at least had that. There are so many mothers who have less.
HOW YOU CAN HELP ME
"Please talk about him, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.
Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.
When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that he is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.
I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me.Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good.
Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on. I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.
I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving, and that's different. My grieving may only begin 2 months after his death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had , the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget him and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.
I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.
Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I am in shock. I am afraid. I feel deep rage. I feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.
Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding. Thank you for praying for me.And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be."
I do want to add that there are many kinds of loss and many ways to grieve. But I have truly learned that unless you have went through it, you can't truly understand. I didn't understand how my kids grieved over losing their Dad until my Daddy died four years ago. I've never had a brother let alone lost one, so I can't totally understand what my kids are going through. All I do know is that loss is hard and grief sucks. Thirty years ago today I was in labor knowing I was going to have my third child. Thirty years is not long enough to have them in your life. But I am grateful that I at least had that. There are so many mothers who have less.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Old Age
Happy Birthday to me. Today I turned 52 years old. I remember when I thought 50 was old, and somehow 60 doesn't seem that old to me anymore. There is so much i could say today, but Heather sent me a darling email that say it better than I can. And I agree with it totally. So here it is.
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, and my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 & 70's, an d if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love .. I will. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and s terile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never lau ghed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, and my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 & 70's, an d if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love .. I will. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and s terile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never lau ghed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Expiration Dates
Interesting name for a post, isn't it? And I promise if you read to the end, you will understand what it has to do with my birthday that is coming up in three days.
I have a son who could never remember my birthday. Every year about Sept 5th, Ruth would call and ask me if my birthday is Sept 6th or the 9th. Every year I would explain to her that my birthday is the 6th and Joans, Nick's high school friend, was the 9th. I would tell her to explain to Nick that if he can remember his is on the 16th, then he should be able to remember mind on the 6th. And the next year I would get another phone call. It was quite hilarious. Last year after their accident was the first year I didn't get that phone call. But I still thought about it.
Last week I wrote Mary that I was going to Vernal for my birthday on Saturday. Somehow I made it sound like my birthday was last Saturday. So when she wrote me happy birthday, I told her the story of Nick and Ruth. It actually makes me laugh. So this morning I was sitting in Lala's driveway checking my email when Monique walked out the door. She was walking to jazz choir practice. I told her to get in and I'd give her a ride. As she got in the car she said 'Grandma, is your birthday the 6th or the 9th.' Oh, I laughed so hard, and then told her the story of Nick and Ruth and that very same question. She thought it was funny and then said to me 'Oh, it would be easier to remember if it was the 9th cuz that's the day our milk expires.'
Out of the mouths of babes! She had been looking in the fridge at the date on the milk when she remembered my birthday coming up and asked her mom what day it was. There actually was some logic in her thinking. Wouldn't life be interesting if we call came with expiration dates stamped on us somewhere so we would know just how much time we have left?
I have a son who could never remember my birthday. Every year about Sept 5th, Ruth would call and ask me if my birthday is Sept 6th or the 9th. Every year I would explain to her that my birthday is the 6th and Joans, Nick's high school friend, was the 9th. I would tell her to explain to Nick that if he can remember his is on the 16th, then he should be able to remember mind on the 6th. And the next year I would get another phone call. It was quite hilarious. Last year after their accident was the first year I didn't get that phone call. But I still thought about it.
Last week I wrote Mary that I was going to Vernal for my birthday on Saturday. Somehow I made it sound like my birthday was last Saturday. So when she wrote me happy birthday, I told her the story of Nick and Ruth. It actually makes me laugh. So this morning I was sitting in Lala's driveway checking my email when Monique walked out the door. She was walking to jazz choir practice. I told her to get in and I'd give her a ride. As she got in the car she said 'Grandma, is your birthday the 6th or the 9th.' Oh, I laughed so hard, and then told her the story of Nick and Ruth and that very same question. She thought it was funny and then said to me 'Oh, it would be easier to remember if it was the 9th cuz that's the day our milk expires.'
Out of the mouths of babes! She had been looking in the fridge at the date on the milk when she remembered my birthday coming up and asked her mom what day it was. There actually was some logic in her thinking. Wouldn't life be interesting if we call came with expiration dates stamped on us somewhere so we would know just how much time we have left?
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