Just a quick update to let you that David N. Cook (the driver who caused the accident) has been indicted for manslaughter. It will be quite a while yet before next steps happen - first it will be assigned to a different prosecutor. I have been assured that I will be told who it is assigned to, and that I should have the opportunity to meet with him/her before any plea discussions happen, but that I may not hear anything for several weeks at least. For now though I am relieved to be over this first big hurdle.
Thank you all for caring.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Ring Stories
I wear three rings and there is a story for each. They bring me comfort now – they feel like my link to the past. Reminders that are with me – on me – every minute, no matter where I go. I can look at them and remember the stories, and what they say about who he was, what our history was. I take better care of them than I ever have – I take them off when I wash my hands, I clean them regularly, I inspect them to make sure the prongs are strong.
On my right hand I wear a ring he gave me about 15 years ago. It all started when I went to the mall to run an errand one day on my lunch break. I took care of the errand, and on my way out, stopped in a jewelry store on the edge of the food court. I stopped to “visit” a particular ring. Gold, with an emerald cut sapphire, and three diamonds on either side in a stair step formation. I loved the ring, and had been admiring it for months. I never would have bought it for myself, or told him about it. We could have afforded it, but it would have been self-indulgent. There were too many other things more important to our family.
As I was standing there, I glanced up, and across the food court, there was Kirk. He was in the entrance to Penneys, and saw me at the same time I saw him. Such a small thing, seeing each other by surprise in a place neither of us would normally be at that time. We were excited and happy to see each other – a treat in the middle of an ordinary day. It was especially surprising because he HATED the mall, and virtually never went there. He thought JC Penney was the height of fashion, or good enough – I’m not sure which. Its primary appeal to him was that it carried everything he needed and could be accessed by an exterior door to the parking lot so he never had to enter the actual mall. Even so, I generally shopped for him. That day, though, he decided he needed something and went there the same time I did.
We walked to meet each other, and he asked what I was doing. I said I was visiting a ring. He asked what I was talking about and I explained, and took him over to see it. Then we had lunch and both went back to work.
About three days later, I came home from work to find the table set for dinner and a box on my plate. Sure enough, the ring was inside. No reason – not my birthday, Christmas, anniversary, Mother’s Day. Like the flowers he often bought, he gave it to me just to make me happy. I was uncomfortable with it – I knew it was expensive, and kept thinking of all the other things we could do with the money. He insisted I keep it. In many ways it is my favorite ring because the only story behind it is his desire to surprise me and make me happy.
On my left hand is a diamond ring. I like it, but it is my least favorite ring and has no emotional value. It is a replacement ring, purchased with insurance money after a ring I loved was either lost or stolen. That first ring was an anniversary ring that Kirk gave me maybe 12 years ago. It was an anniversary gift, and had 5 graduated marquis diamonds with two baguettes on each side. I was shocked when he gave it to me – I had no idea he was planning it. I found out later that when he shopped for it, he knew he wanted an anniversary ring, but had no idea what style. He picked it by having the saleswoman put on one style at a time, then watching her from a distance while she attended to other customers. She told me he had her wear each style for at least ten minutes. He just waited in the store for hours, watching how each ring looked on her hand as she worked. Then he picked the one he thought had the most sparkle and color as she moved. I love the thought of him standing there for so long, focusing on picking just the right one. So much more commitment than most people would put into the choosing. I loved that ring, but six years ago, I was in an airport, about to go through security, when I realized a prong in the ring was loose and I was about to lose a diamond. I took the ring off and zipped it into an inside pocket of my purse. I didn’t look in the pocket again until I got back home – three airports and two security searches later. The ring was gone, never to be found – either lost or stolen during one of the searches I assume. I didn’t file the insurance claim for months, because I kept searching for it, refusing to accept it was gone. Finally I had to acknowledge it was, and the insurance company accepted the claim, but I still couldn’t bring myself to buy a replacement. I looked and looked for a full year, never finding another ring like he had chosen, or one I loved nearly as much. After twelve months the insurance company told me if I didn’t pick something else they would have to close the claim, so I finally bought the ring I wear now. It is pretty and I like it, but I feel no attachment to it, other than when I look at it, I think of the one it replaced, and of him standing there watching a strange woman’s hands.
And finally, most importantly, the wedding band I now wear on my left ring finger. It was his. This is the longest story of all.
We eloped (a story I know I have not yet told you, but I will someday). We were broke, and had no rings. Instead, we put a matching set on layaway at Nusbaum’s I think - one of those old catalog showrooms (those of you under 40 will not know what this is because they don’t exist anymore). But before they were paid off, money became so tight we couldn’t afford the payments anymore, so we cancelled the layaway, got a refund, and promised each other we would get them someday. I am so glad now we never finished the payments, because in retrospect, the rings we picked were hideous and I would not be happy with them today.
We were “ringless” for several years after this. As a matter of fact, I remember being told by my sister Lauren that one day she was going to meet a friend for breakfast, and when they discussed where to meet, the friend wanted to go to a particular Perkins. She said there was a hot single guy who worked there that she had been eyeing for quite a while and she wanted Lauren to see him. They met and got seated, and pretty soon the friend pointed and said “There he is!” Lauren looked over toward the kitchen, and there was Kirk. She asked her friend what made her think that guy was single, and the friend said she had checked it out and he didn’t wear a ring. You can imagine the friend’s surprise when Kirk walked over to Lauren and they clearly knew each other – Lauren took great delight in informing her that the hot guy was her brother in law.
After being married about three years, Kirk bought me a wedding ring and small diamond engagement ring. They were very pretty, and fit together with a small hook shaped prong so they stayed connected. They came from JC Penney (tee hee – maybe that’s where his passion for Penneys was born), and many of you heard the story from my sister Susan at his funeral. He bought them using her employee discount, on sale, and on layaway. As you can guess, we were still pretty broke. Susan did a great job of helping him pick them out, and I loved them. I wore them both until he gave me the anniversary ring. Art that point, I stopped wearing the engagement ring, and wore the wedding band with the anniversary ring on my left ring finger, and the sapphire on my right. I still have that little engagement ring, but don’t wear it because the little hook in it doesn’t allow for wearing it alone. Someday I will have it reworked so I can wear it again.
Kirk remained ringless for many more years. It never bothered me, and he wasn’t really a jewelry person, so we didn’t do anything about it. But about ten years ago or so, he started having a real desire to have one. In his typical fashion, he didn’t want to spend the money on himself. Finally I convinced him to go shopping for one, and we picked one out. White and yellow gold. And as it turns out, spinnable. He loved to take it off, turn it on its side, and spin it on a table. It would spin forever once he got good at it. He loved that ring and always wore it once he had it.
His ring is mine now. When I had to tell the funeral director if he should be buried with it on, I didn’t know what to do. Burying it with him didn’t feel right, and I really wanted it as a memory of him. But burying him without it didn’t seem right either. Finally I figured it out. We had never exchanged rings in life – each of us came by our rings over time, separately. So instead, we exchanged them after he was gone. I kept his, and I gave him mine. It was, of course, too small to fit on his finger. So they tucked it into his hand, and he was buried holding it. I had his cut down to fit me, and now I wear it every day. It is the most important ring of all. Someday Erika and Matt will decide whether I should be buried with it, or if they want it, and whatever they decide will be okay with me. But for now, it is my link to him – every day I think about the fact that his finger was in it for years before mine, and it brings me comfort.
I am thinking about Kirk a lot tonight. I think about him every night of course, but tonight the thoughts are different. I feel a responsibility to him, to his loss, in a way I have not before. Tomorrow is grand jury day, and I am nervous. It’s the first big step in this process, the first time someone could tell me that the system does not agree that a crime occurred. What if they think it was just an “accident?” Tragic, but not criminal? I am realizing that although I have not assumed the other driver would eventually be convicted, I have been assuming he would be indicted. If he isn’t, it all stops. Done. No consequences, no responsibility taken. If that happens, I will be upset and angry, and I will question myself. Did I not push the DA enough? Not question the police enough? Should I have insisted on knowing what witnesses they were presenting, what evidence they planned to present? Should I have been louder, more insistent, so someone would have prepared more? I hope I will not have to face these questions – I’ve faced enough already.
On my right hand I wear a ring he gave me about 15 years ago. It all started when I went to the mall to run an errand one day on my lunch break. I took care of the errand, and on my way out, stopped in a jewelry store on the edge of the food court. I stopped to “visit” a particular ring. Gold, with an emerald cut sapphire, and three diamonds on either side in a stair step formation. I loved the ring, and had been admiring it for months. I never would have bought it for myself, or told him about it. We could have afforded it, but it would have been self-indulgent. There were too many other things more important to our family.
As I was standing there, I glanced up, and across the food court, there was Kirk. He was in the entrance to Penneys, and saw me at the same time I saw him. Such a small thing, seeing each other by surprise in a place neither of us would normally be at that time. We were excited and happy to see each other – a treat in the middle of an ordinary day. It was especially surprising because he HATED the mall, and virtually never went there. He thought JC Penney was the height of fashion, or good enough – I’m not sure which. Its primary appeal to him was that it carried everything he needed and could be accessed by an exterior door to the parking lot so he never had to enter the actual mall. Even so, I generally shopped for him. That day, though, he decided he needed something and went there the same time I did.
We walked to meet each other, and he asked what I was doing. I said I was visiting a ring. He asked what I was talking about and I explained, and took him over to see it. Then we had lunch and both went back to work.
About three days later, I came home from work to find the table set for dinner and a box on my plate. Sure enough, the ring was inside. No reason – not my birthday, Christmas, anniversary, Mother’s Day. Like the flowers he often bought, he gave it to me just to make me happy. I was uncomfortable with it – I knew it was expensive, and kept thinking of all the other things we could do with the money. He insisted I keep it. In many ways it is my favorite ring because the only story behind it is his desire to surprise me and make me happy.
On my left hand is a diamond ring. I like it, but it is my least favorite ring and has no emotional value. It is a replacement ring, purchased with insurance money after a ring I loved was either lost or stolen. That first ring was an anniversary ring that Kirk gave me maybe 12 years ago. It was an anniversary gift, and had 5 graduated marquis diamonds with two baguettes on each side. I was shocked when he gave it to me – I had no idea he was planning it. I found out later that when he shopped for it, he knew he wanted an anniversary ring, but had no idea what style. He picked it by having the saleswoman put on one style at a time, then watching her from a distance while she attended to other customers. She told me he had her wear each style for at least ten minutes. He just waited in the store for hours, watching how each ring looked on her hand as she worked. Then he picked the one he thought had the most sparkle and color as she moved. I love the thought of him standing there for so long, focusing on picking just the right one. So much more commitment than most people would put into the choosing. I loved that ring, but six years ago, I was in an airport, about to go through security, when I realized a prong in the ring was loose and I was about to lose a diamond. I took the ring off and zipped it into an inside pocket of my purse. I didn’t look in the pocket again until I got back home – three airports and two security searches later. The ring was gone, never to be found – either lost or stolen during one of the searches I assume. I didn’t file the insurance claim for months, because I kept searching for it, refusing to accept it was gone. Finally I had to acknowledge it was, and the insurance company accepted the claim, but I still couldn’t bring myself to buy a replacement. I looked and looked for a full year, never finding another ring like he had chosen, or one I loved nearly as much. After twelve months the insurance company told me if I didn’t pick something else they would have to close the claim, so I finally bought the ring I wear now. It is pretty and I like it, but I feel no attachment to it, other than when I look at it, I think of the one it replaced, and of him standing there watching a strange woman’s hands.
And finally, most importantly, the wedding band I now wear on my left ring finger. It was his. This is the longest story of all.
We eloped (a story I know I have not yet told you, but I will someday). We were broke, and had no rings. Instead, we put a matching set on layaway at Nusbaum’s I think - one of those old catalog showrooms (those of you under 40 will not know what this is because they don’t exist anymore). But before they were paid off, money became so tight we couldn’t afford the payments anymore, so we cancelled the layaway, got a refund, and promised each other we would get them someday. I am so glad now we never finished the payments, because in retrospect, the rings we picked were hideous and I would not be happy with them today.
We were “ringless” for several years after this. As a matter of fact, I remember being told by my sister Lauren that one day she was going to meet a friend for breakfast, and when they discussed where to meet, the friend wanted to go to a particular Perkins. She said there was a hot single guy who worked there that she had been eyeing for quite a while and she wanted Lauren to see him. They met and got seated, and pretty soon the friend pointed and said “There he is!” Lauren looked over toward the kitchen, and there was Kirk. She asked her friend what made her think that guy was single, and the friend said she had checked it out and he didn’t wear a ring. You can imagine the friend’s surprise when Kirk walked over to Lauren and they clearly knew each other – Lauren took great delight in informing her that the hot guy was her brother in law.
After being married about three years, Kirk bought me a wedding ring and small diamond engagement ring. They were very pretty, and fit together with a small hook shaped prong so they stayed connected. They came from JC Penney (tee hee – maybe that’s where his passion for Penneys was born), and many of you heard the story from my sister Susan at his funeral. He bought them using her employee discount, on sale, and on layaway. As you can guess, we were still pretty broke. Susan did a great job of helping him pick them out, and I loved them. I wore them both until he gave me the anniversary ring. Art that point, I stopped wearing the engagement ring, and wore the wedding band with the anniversary ring on my left ring finger, and the sapphire on my right. I still have that little engagement ring, but don’t wear it because the little hook in it doesn’t allow for wearing it alone. Someday I will have it reworked so I can wear it again.
Kirk remained ringless for many more years. It never bothered me, and he wasn’t really a jewelry person, so we didn’t do anything about it. But about ten years ago or so, he started having a real desire to have one. In his typical fashion, he didn’t want to spend the money on himself. Finally I convinced him to go shopping for one, and we picked one out. White and yellow gold. And as it turns out, spinnable. He loved to take it off, turn it on its side, and spin it on a table. It would spin forever once he got good at it. He loved that ring and always wore it once he had it.
His ring is mine now. When I had to tell the funeral director if he should be buried with it on, I didn’t know what to do. Burying it with him didn’t feel right, and I really wanted it as a memory of him. But burying him without it didn’t seem right either. Finally I figured it out. We had never exchanged rings in life – each of us came by our rings over time, separately. So instead, we exchanged them after he was gone. I kept his, and I gave him mine. It was, of course, too small to fit on his finger. So they tucked it into his hand, and he was buried holding it. I had his cut down to fit me, and now I wear it every day. It is the most important ring of all. Someday Erika and Matt will decide whether I should be buried with it, or if they want it, and whatever they decide will be okay with me. But for now, it is my link to him – every day I think about the fact that his finger was in it for years before mine, and it brings me comfort.
I am thinking about Kirk a lot tonight. I think about him every night of course, but tonight the thoughts are different. I feel a responsibility to him, to his loss, in a way I have not before. Tomorrow is grand jury day, and I am nervous. It’s the first big step in this process, the first time someone could tell me that the system does not agree that a crime occurred. What if they think it was just an “accident?” Tragic, but not criminal? I am realizing that although I have not assumed the other driver would eventually be convicted, I have been assuming he would be indicted. If he isn’t, it all stops. Done. No consequences, no responsibility taken. If that happens, I will be upset and angry, and I will question myself. Did I not push the DA enough? Not question the police enough? Should I have insisted on knowing what witnesses they were presenting, what evidence they planned to present? Should I have been louder, more insistent, so someone would have prepared more? I hope I will not have to face these questions – I’ve faced enough already.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thank You
Sorry for being gone for a while. I have been occupied with traveling back to GA and SC last week to see friends (which was much needed and good for me) and a visit this week from our friend Nancy from back home (also much needed and very good for me). Next weekend my sister Amanda and her husband will arrive for a visit which I am really looking forward to.
So how am I doing? Well, the season of big events I had been dreading has commenced. So far, I have made it through both of our birthdays. How did it go?
I got through Kirk’s birthday as well as can be expected. For those who don’t know, I went back home to family and friends, and we had a get together to remember him. Friends in at least two other states also celebrated him that day – some even had birthday candles. The day was up and down for me. I went to the cemetery in the morning to have a visit and say happy birthday. I lay down with him like always. I talked some of the time, and lay quietly the rest of the time. I feel close to him there – sad but close. I decided that the topic of the day would be to tell him what I would have told him before he died if I had had the chance. All the way there, I thought about what I would say, and there was so much I couldn’t keep it all in my head. When I got there, I spread my blanket on the ground, laid down with him, and tried to organize it in my mind so I could say it out loud. All of a sudden, it was clear. It was “Thank you.”
Thank you for loving me beyond all reason. For giving me two beautiful children that I am so proud of and so happy to have for mine. For making me laugh every single day. For making me feel good about myself and for making me feel capable and confident. For not just loving me, but for telling and showing the world how much you loved me. For being my shower lifeguard so I could get clean without fear of drowning. For being proud of me and for being someone I could be proud of too. For being so delighted about life and seeing so much humor in the world that you made the rest of us feel and see it too.
Thank you for being my partner, not just my housemate. For working so long and hard to take care of us. For being romantic, like the time you kept sending me anonymous cards and gifts pretending to be a secret admirer until I got scared cause I thought they were from a crazy stalker. For taking me seriously, while making sure I didn’t take myself too seriously. For all the flowers you bought for no reason except to make me happy, most especially the ones you sent the day before you died. For being so delighted when I came home every day, and for waking up every morning when I left to say “Take a banana, drive carefully, I love you.”
Thank you for taking care of me when I got sick, for letting me sleep late all those weekends, for knowing when I needed comfort food. For reaching for my hand every time we walked together for all thirty years. For still being attracted to me, no matter how much weight I gained or how much older I got, and always saying (and meaning) that I was gorgeous, even when I clearly wasn’t. For setting such a good example for the kids, for being clear about right and wrong, for teaching them how to treat people. For surprising me so much and making every day new. For the “Welcome Back!!” sign you made for me after I left the room for only 10 minutes.
Thank you for sticking with me and fighting for me in the early years when sometimes I thought maybe we had made a mistake. For the secret and romantic Christmas gift you gave me a few years ago that I am not allowed to tell anyone about, that you didn’t want to give me, but you knew I wanted so much, so you bought it anyway just to make me happy. For not being perfect, but being perfect for me. For silently taking my hand and pulling me out of a chair to dance with you whenever “You Look Wonderful Tonight” came on. For changing – keeping and growing the best parts of you as you matured, and leaving the not so good parts behind. Thank you for being mine.
I know he knew while he was alive that I appreciated him, but I’m not so sure he knew just what for, or exactly how much. I hope he always felt it even though I didn’t spell it out the way I wish I had. I hope he heard me on his birthday. I know I didn’t say it exactly the way I just wrote it. Mostly I just said “thank you” over and over because the list is far too long to articulate. Hopefully he can fill in the blanks.
I also cleaned the stone that day. At the beginning of the visit, I left the cleaning stuff in the car, and went down the hill for my visit with him. Near the end of my visit, I got up to walk back up the hill to the car to get what I needed. I saw that while I had been laying with him, two men – one much older than me, and one about my age - had arrived and were visiting a new gravesite across the path. I think they were father and son, visiting a woman who must have been the older man’s wife. The son was clearly supporting the father, physically and emotionally – holding his dad’s arm as he walked, hugging him while his dad cried, fastening his dad’s coat. It made me cry – partly because I was sad they had lost their wife and mother, but also overwhelmingly sad for me. Seeing the father, much older than me, visiting his wife, hit me like a wall – all I could think is I am TOO YOUNG to be cleaning my husband’s tombstone. No woman my age, married to a man the same age, should be spending his birthday at the cemetery scrubbing grass clippings off of something that tells the world he isn’t there to celebrate.
I did it though. He wouldn’t like for his grave to be messy. Between me, his Dad and Sandy, and Matt, we try to keep it looking nice. It’s the closest we can come to taking care of him now. So I scrubbed the grass off, washed the stone, rinsed and dried it, and filled the bird feeder.
Then I went back to my sister’s house to get ready for the “party.” I made Kirk’s macaroni salad and “hard vegetable” salad, and did a good enough job that they actually tasted like his, which made me happy. My mom made her cheese ball that he loved, my sister Lauren made her appetizers, Matt made a big pot of hot sauce, and we had Zweigle’s hotdogs. The meal was not as elaborate as he would have put on, but it was good all the same, with lots of his staple picnic foods. Everyone came over, and I visited, talked about him, got hugs, and cried on the front porch by myself a couple of times. The best thing was that Kirk’s dad gave me a wonderful gift that day – two memories he had of Kirk that I had not known. The first was how Kirk won the Little League championship for his team as a kid. I had known they won, but never knew before that Kirk made the winning play. The second was that he said that Kirk had told him shortly after he met me that he had met the girl he was going to marry. Thank you, Kirk, for picking me.
Enough for today – I’ll tell you about my birthday another time.
So how am I doing? Well, the season of big events I had been dreading has commenced. So far, I have made it through both of our birthdays. How did it go?
I got through Kirk’s birthday as well as can be expected. For those who don’t know, I went back home to family and friends, and we had a get together to remember him. Friends in at least two other states also celebrated him that day – some even had birthday candles. The day was up and down for me. I went to the cemetery in the morning to have a visit and say happy birthday. I lay down with him like always. I talked some of the time, and lay quietly the rest of the time. I feel close to him there – sad but close. I decided that the topic of the day would be to tell him what I would have told him before he died if I had had the chance. All the way there, I thought about what I would say, and there was so much I couldn’t keep it all in my head. When I got there, I spread my blanket on the ground, laid down with him, and tried to organize it in my mind so I could say it out loud. All of a sudden, it was clear. It was “Thank you.”
Thank you for loving me beyond all reason. For giving me two beautiful children that I am so proud of and so happy to have for mine. For making me laugh every single day. For making me feel good about myself and for making me feel capable and confident. For not just loving me, but for telling and showing the world how much you loved me. For being my shower lifeguard so I could get clean without fear of drowning. For being proud of me and for being someone I could be proud of too. For being so delighted about life and seeing so much humor in the world that you made the rest of us feel and see it too.
Thank you for being my partner, not just my housemate. For working so long and hard to take care of us. For being romantic, like the time you kept sending me anonymous cards and gifts pretending to be a secret admirer until I got scared cause I thought they were from a crazy stalker. For taking me seriously, while making sure I didn’t take myself too seriously. For all the flowers you bought for no reason except to make me happy, most especially the ones you sent the day before you died. For being so delighted when I came home every day, and for waking up every morning when I left to say “Take a banana, drive carefully, I love you.”
Thank you for taking care of me when I got sick, for letting me sleep late all those weekends, for knowing when I needed comfort food. For reaching for my hand every time we walked together for all thirty years. For still being attracted to me, no matter how much weight I gained or how much older I got, and always saying (and meaning) that I was gorgeous, even when I clearly wasn’t. For setting such a good example for the kids, for being clear about right and wrong, for teaching them how to treat people. For surprising me so much and making every day new. For the “Welcome Back!!” sign you made for me after I left the room for only 10 minutes.
Thank you for sticking with me and fighting for me in the early years when sometimes I thought maybe we had made a mistake. For the secret and romantic Christmas gift you gave me a few years ago that I am not allowed to tell anyone about, that you didn’t want to give me, but you knew I wanted so much, so you bought it anyway just to make me happy. For not being perfect, but being perfect for me. For silently taking my hand and pulling me out of a chair to dance with you whenever “You Look Wonderful Tonight” came on. For changing – keeping and growing the best parts of you as you matured, and leaving the not so good parts behind. Thank you for being mine.
I know he knew while he was alive that I appreciated him, but I’m not so sure he knew just what for, or exactly how much. I hope he always felt it even though I didn’t spell it out the way I wish I had. I hope he heard me on his birthday. I know I didn’t say it exactly the way I just wrote it. Mostly I just said “thank you” over and over because the list is far too long to articulate. Hopefully he can fill in the blanks.
I also cleaned the stone that day. At the beginning of the visit, I left the cleaning stuff in the car, and went down the hill for my visit with him. Near the end of my visit, I got up to walk back up the hill to the car to get what I needed. I saw that while I had been laying with him, two men – one much older than me, and one about my age - had arrived and were visiting a new gravesite across the path. I think they were father and son, visiting a woman who must have been the older man’s wife. The son was clearly supporting the father, physically and emotionally – holding his dad’s arm as he walked, hugging him while his dad cried, fastening his dad’s coat. It made me cry – partly because I was sad they had lost their wife and mother, but also overwhelmingly sad for me. Seeing the father, much older than me, visiting his wife, hit me like a wall – all I could think is I am TOO YOUNG to be cleaning my husband’s tombstone. No woman my age, married to a man the same age, should be spending his birthday at the cemetery scrubbing grass clippings off of something that tells the world he isn’t there to celebrate.
I did it though. He wouldn’t like for his grave to be messy. Between me, his Dad and Sandy, and Matt, we try to keep it looking nice. It’s the closest we can come to taking care of him now. So I scrubbed the grass off, washed the stone, rinsed and dried it, and filled the bird feeder.
Then I went back to my sister’s house to get ready for the “party.” I made Kirk’s macaroni salad and “hard vegetable” salad, and did a good enough job that they actually tasted like his, which made me happy. My mom made her cheese ball that he loved, my sister Lauren made her appetizers, Matt made a big pot of hot sauce, and we had Zweigle’s hotdogs. The meal was not as elaborate as he would have put on, but it was good all the same, with lots of his staple picnic foods. Everyone came over, and I visited, talked about him, got hugs, and cried on the front porch by myself a couple of times. The best thing was that Kirk’s dad gave me a wonderful gift that day – two memories he had of Kirk that I had not known. The first was how Kirk won the Little League championship for his team as a kid. I had known they won, but never knew before that Kirk made the winning play. The second was that he said that Kirk had told him shortly after he met me that he had met the girl he was going to marry. Thank you, Kirk, for picking me.
Enough for today – I’ll tell you about my birthday another time.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Finally - Some Movement in the Justice System
Just a quick update to let everyone know that there is finally some progress in the criminal case. The DA has decided that the final charge against the other driver will be manslaughter. The case will go in front of the grand jury on October 22. Since I know many of you have not had exposure to the criminal system (no, Law and Order doesn't count) I will explain. My apologies if you already know this.
The grand jury does not decide guilt or innocence, nor does the defendant present any defense. The grand jury hearing is basically round one of the bigger process. The grand jury is composed of normal people from the jury pool. The DA's office goes in front of this jury and presents the basics of their case, and asks for an indictment on the charge the DA feels the defendant is guilty of. If the grand jury agrees that there is enough evidence against the person that he should be indicted, they return what is called a "true bill." This basically means the charges will go forward and an actual criminal trial will be scheduled. It does not mean the person is guilty or will be found guilty - just that the DA has enough evidence to hold a trial.
Grand jury proceedings are closed to the public, so we cannot attend. The defendant is also not there the whole time, and cannot have a defense attorney present. One of the things that is different about a grand jury is that they can ask questions of the DA, of the defendant, and of witnesses. I am told that in this case the grand jury proceeding is a slam dunk and that there is no doubt that they will indict him.
I am happy that this has been scheduled, but frustrated at the system still. You may recall that about 5 weeks ago I wrote that I had talked to the DA's office and they had just gotten the case. They told me that the very earliest I could expect anything to progress was the end of September. I waited until yesterday, and then called them. I was told these things take time, you need to be patient, we have a ton of cases, yada, yada, yada. No one seemed to know the exact status of THIS case - they kept giving me generic answers about how the process works in general, but no one knew what the current state of this particular case was. They just kept saying it is in "intake." In a nice but firm way, with a few unintentional tears thrown in, I pitched a fit and talked to about four people. They all reassured me that it was not buried on someone's desk and that it was being "reviewed." I pushed and pushed until someone went and found the file and told me that it had been reviewed, and that the current state was that the DA was deciding what charge to bring to the grand jury. They told me that even after that was decided, I should expect it to be at least another two months before it would be ready to go to a grand jury, because the DA has to be sure first that the evidence is solid enough to support the charge. I requested updates every two weeks and they reluctantly agreed. Then lo and behold, at 9 a.m. today I get a call saying the charges are set and it has been scheduled. I think the case was never looked at at all until I made them go open the file, and that they then realized it is such a clear cut case they could go ahead and schedule. How much more "minimum evidence" do you need than a confession from the defendant, a police officer who witnessed the accident, and a mathematical reconstruction of the accident proving that the guy crossed into Kirk's lane while going in excess of 100 mph?
If I hadn't pushed I think the case would still be sitting there. How else do you explain them telling me it would take two more months, and then all of a sudden it's scheduled? At any rate, I'm learning what gets action and what doesn't.
I will know at the end of the day on Oct. 22 whether he's been indicted. I'll keep you posted.
The grand jury does not decide guilt or innocence, nor does the defendant present any defense. The grand jury hearing is basically round one of the bigger process. The grand jury is composed of normal people from the jury pool. The DA's office goes in front of this jury and presents the basics of their case, and asks for an indictment on the charge the DA feels the defendant is guilty of. If the grand jury agrees that there is enough evidence against the person that he should be indicted, they return what is called a "true bill." This basically means the charges will go forward and an actual criminal trial will be scheduled. It does not mean the person is guilty or will be found guilty - just that the DA has enough evidence to hold a trial.
Grand jury proceedings are closed to the public, so we cannot attend. The defendant is also not there the whole time, and cannot have a defense attorney present. One of the things that is different about a grand jury is that they can ask questions of the DA, of the defendant, and of witnesses. I am told that in this case the grand jury proceeding is a slam dunk and that there is no doubt that they will indict him.
I am happy that this has been scheduled, but frustrated at the system still. You may recall that about 5 weeks ago I wrote that I had talked to the DA's office and they had just gotten the case. They told me that the very earliest I could expect anything to progress was the end of September. I waited until yesterday, and then called them. I was told these things take time, you need to be patient, we have a ton of cases, yada, yada, yada. No one seemed to know the exact status of THIS case - they kept giving me generic answers about how the process works in general, but no one knew what the current state of this particular case was. They just kept saying it is in "intake." In a nice but firm way, with a few unintentional tears thrown in, I pitched a fit and talked to about four people. They all reassured me that it was not buried on someone's desk and that it was being "reviewed." I pushed and pushed until someone went and found the file and told me that it had been reviewed, and that the current state was that the DA was deciding what charge to bring to the grand jury. They told me that even after that was decided, I should expect it to be at least another two months before it would be ready to go to a grand jury, because the DA has to be sure first that the evidence is solid enough to support the charge. I requested updates every two weeks and they reluctantly agreed. Then lo and behold, at 9 a.m. today I get a call saying the charges are set and it has been scheduled. I think the case was never looked at at all until I made them go open the file, and that they then realized it is such a clear cut case they could go ahead and schedule. How much more "minimum evidence" do you need than a confession from the defendant, a police officer who witnessed the accident, and a mathematical reconstruction of the accident proving that the guy crossed into Kirk's lane while going in excess of 100 mph?
If I hadn't pushed I think the case would still be sitting there. How else do you explain them telling me it would take two more months, and then all of a sudden it's scheduled? At any rate, I'm learning what gets action and what doesn't.
I will know at the end of the day on Oct. 22 whether he's been indicted. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Progress
It is a little over five months now, and I can feel myself moving ahead. I still often cannot grasp or accept that Kirk is gone, but the rawness of it all has largely dissipated, and the grief and sadness is not as wrenching. Instead, it has become something normal that I carry with me all the time. It is quieter and no longer shocking. And although I still never seem to feel truly happy, there are moments, usually when I see someone I really like, when my smile feels like it is getting closer to being a REAL smile. Closer to being a smile with my eyes as well as my mouth. Closer to being an inside smile, not just an outside smile.
This often does not feel like a relief. I don’t think I like that the emotional extremes have worn off, because it makes me feel further away from him. In some ways I would prefer to still be overcome with pain, just so I won’t be moving through life without him. You will notice that in the first sentence of this entry I said I was moving AHEAD, not moving ON. I don’t know what the difference is, but I guess to me, “moving on” sounds like a choice, whereas “moving ahead” feels unbidden. Whatever it is, it is definitely not a choice – this “progress” is just happening to me. I don’t understand it, but it is not in my control and I cannot change it.
Are you shocked? That I am beginning to progress? I am. Shocked, I mean. I could accept ADJUSTMENT after five months, but PROGRESS? How can I be doing better so soon? How can only five months be enough for me to feel even a tiny bit better, after 30 years of truly loving him? It doesn’t make sense to me, and I feel kind of guilty and sad and uncomfortable about it.
I just read the last paragraph and looked hard at the word “better.” Am I actually a little bit “better?” That’s the word that comes out of my fingers when I type, but is it the right word? I’m not sure it is. I don’t necessarily feel better, but I do know that I am different than I have been, and I’m not worse, and that this is easier than it has been, so I can’t find another word for it.
I finally took the sheets off the bed last night. Remember, the ones I have not washed or changed since he died? Sounds disgusting, I know, and in my other life, I would have thought so too. Five months on the same sheets? Inconceivable. But when you have forever lost the person who shared those sheets with you, changing them is what becomes unthinkable. I have long since accepted that they do not smell like him, the way I had hoped they would. But he died while I was at work, and when I left that morning, he was in bed, barely awake. That means those sheets are the last place we were together. And that the last time I ever saw him, or heard his voice, he was wrapped in them. "I love you. Drive carefully. Take a banana." The same thing he said every day.
Taking the sheets off is the closest thing to a religious experience I have had in a long time – maybe ever. I literally mean I felt reverent, even spiritual, as I did it, like the sheets were a symbol of worship, of something big and important. I didn’t just pull them off like I normally would. I handled them with care, like a priest with an altar cloth. I stroked them, smelled them, inspected them. I looked to see if maybe there was a piece of his hair somewhere. I didn’t find one. I saw that the fitted sheet is starting to fray in one spot, and I knew instantly what it was – the place where his feet touched every night, wearing thin because he always rubbed them over and over on the same spot as he fell asleep. He would rub them so hard against the sheet I could hear it. The sound sometimes kept me awake and I’d have to ask him to stop. I tried to ignore it usually though, because somehow the feeling was soothing to him, like a baby stroking a blanket while drifting off.
In the section where my head goes, the sheets have water spots – big ones. My first thought was drool – do I drool?! Then I realized – no, not drool. It’s tears. Five months and ten days worth of tears. I cried again taking those sheets off. I kept going though, not because I am grossed out by sleeping on them, but because I am as ready as I will ever be to take this step. I folded them carefully, and placed them, unwashed, in the drawer that has been dedicated to the only piece of clothing I have that smells like him – the shirt he wore the day before. The one with the hair clippings inside the neck from the haircut he had the day he wore it. The one I take out and hold when things are really really tough. I held it again last night, then closed the drawer, put the new sheets on the bed, and crawled in for the night. Baby steps.
I’m kind of scared to post this entry. Mainly because of the kids and his parents. What will they think? Will they be hurt? Because I have inched forward a little bit, so soon? Will they think less of me? Will they think I’m “getting over” losing him? I don’t think they will. I think they will be glad. I know I want them to be inching forward too, and would not see their progress as a lack of love or commitment to him. I would not think it would mean they are okay with the loss of him.
But maybe my progress will be hurtful to them. I am his wife, his partner. I am the only one of us who CHOSE him, who made a promise to him. I know the vow was “until death do us part.” How bizarre that vow sounds to me now – as if when someone dies, their spouse is instantly off the hook, no longer committed, free to walk away. Ridiculous. So as our family watches me, how do they reconcile the promise I made to him with seeing me moving ahead? Aren’t I the one who is supposed to show the most commitment? Shouldn’t I be the slow one? The one who should move ahead last? Or NEVER? I am struggling with these questions – why wouldn’t they? I hope they can tell that my vow – to love, to cherish, to honor - still lives. It is not eliminated by death, nor is it diminished by my progress.
I had expected that this journey would take me from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other – that over a long period of time, I would move from extreme sadness back to real happiness again. I thought that when I got “there” (wherever in the future “there” is) I would sometimes feel happy, and sometimes feel sad, but that the happy moments would eventually come to be much more frequent than the sad. And that the happy and sad would be discrete – one or the other at any given time. But I am beginning to think I was wrong, and that this is not about moving along one emotional line, or having one feeling at a time. I think it may turn out to be parallel lines, and that where I will end up is carrying both feelings with me all the time. That I will eventually come to be happy even though I am also still sad.
I guess that’s okay. Maybe even good. Maybe if the moving ahead does not include fully giving up the sadness, it will make it more okay to keep going.
This often does not feel like a relief. I don’t think I like that the emotional extremes have worn off, because it makes me feel further away from him. In some ways I would prefer to still be overcome with pain, just so I won’t be moving through life without him. You will notice that in the first sentence of this entry I said I was moving AHEAD, not moving ON. I don’t know what the difference is, but I guess to me, “moving on” sounds like a choice, whereas “moving ahead” feels unbidden. Whatever it is, it is definitely not a choice – this “progress” is just happening to me. I don’t understand it, but it is not in my control and I cannot change it.
Are you shocked? That I am beginning to progress? I am. Shocked, I mean. I could accept ADJUSTMENT after five months, but PROGRESS? How can I be doing better so soon? How can only five months be enough for me to feel even a tiny bit better, after 30 years of truly loving him? It doesn’t make sense to me, and I feel kind of guilty and sad and uncomfortable about it.
I just read the last paragraph and looked hard at the word “better.” Am I actually a little bit “better?” That’s the word that comes out of my fingers when I type, but is it the right word? I’m not sure it is. I don’t necessarily feel better, but I do know that I am different than I have been, and I’m not worse, and that this is easier than it has been, so I can’t find another word for it.
I finally took the sheets off the bed last night. Remember, the ones I have not washed or changed since he died? Sounds disgusting, I know, and in my other life, I would have thought so too. Five months on the same sheets? Inconceivable. But when you have forever lost the person who shared those sheets with you, changing them is what becomes unthinkable. I have long since accepted that they do not smell like him, the way I had hoped they would. But he died while I was at work, and when I left that morning, he was in bed, barely awake. That means those sheets are the last place we were together. And that the last time I ever saw him, or heard his voice, he was wrapped in them. "I love you. Drive carefully. Take a banana." The same thing he said every day.
Taking the sheets off is the closest thing to a religious experience I have had in a long time – maybe ever. I literally mean I felt reverent, even spiritual, as I did it, like the sheets were a symbol of worship, of something big and important. I didn’t just pull them off like I normally would. I handled them with care, like a priest with an altar cloth. I stroked them, smelled them, inspected them. I looked to see if maybe there was a piece of his hair somewhere. I didn’t find one. I saw that the fitted sheet is starting to fray in one spot, and I knew instantly what it was – the place where his feet touched every night, wearing thin because he always rubbed them over and over on the same spot as he fell asleep. He would rub them so hard against the sheet I could hear it. The sound sometimes kept me awake and I’d have to ask him to stop. I tried to ignore it usually though, because somehow the feeling was soothing to him, like a baby stroking a blanket while drifting off.
In the section where my head goes, the sheets have water spots – big ones. My first thought was drool – do I drool?! Then I realized – no, not drool. It’s tears. Five months and ten days worth of tears. I cried again taking those sheets off. I kept going though, not because I am grossed out by sleeping on them, but because I am as ready as I will ever be to take this step. I folded them carefully, and placed them, unwashed, in the drawer that has been dedicated to the only piece of clothing I have that smells like him – the shirt he wore the day before. The one with the hair clippings inside the neck from the haircut he had the day he wore it. The one I take out and hold when things are really really tough. I held it again last night, then closed the drawer, put the new sheets on the bed, and crawled in for the night. Baby steps.
I’m kind of scared to post this entry. Mainly because of the kids and his parents. What will they think? Will they be hurt? Because I have inched forward a little bit, so soon? Will they think less of me? Will they think I’m “getting over” losing him? I don’t think they will. I think they will be glad. I know I want them to be inching forward too, and would not see their progress as a lack of love or commitment to him. I would not think it would mean they are okay with the loss of him.
But maybe my progress will be hurtful to them. I am his wife, his partner. I am the only one of us who CHOSE him, who made a promise to him. I know the vow was “until death do us part.” How bizarre that vow sounds to me now – as if when someone dies, their spouse is instantly off the hook, no longer committed, free to walk away. Ridiculous. So as our family watches me, how do they reconcile the promise I made to him with seeing me moving ahead? Aren’t I the one who is supposed to show the most commitment? Shouldn’t I be the slow one? The one who should move ahead last? Or NEVER? I am struggling with these questions – why wouldn’t they? I hope they can tell that my vow – to love, to cherish, to honor - still lives. It is not eliminated by death, nor is it diminished by my progress.
I had expected that this journey would take me from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other – that over a long period of time, I would move from extreme sadness back to real happiness again. I thought that when I got “there” (wherever in the future “there” is) I would sometimes feel happy, and sometimes feel sad, but that the happy moments would eventually come to be much more frequent than the sad. And that the happy and sad would be discrete – one or the other at any given time. But I am beginning to think I was wrong, and that this is not about moving along one emotional line, or having one feeling at a time. I think it may turn out to be parallel lines, and that where I will end up is carrying both feelings with me all the time. That I will eventually come to be happy even though I am also still sad.
I guess that’s okay. Maybe even good. Maybe if the moving ahead does not include fully giving up the sadness, it will make it more okay to keep going.
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