I suspect I may no longer have an audience. It has been two full months since I wrote an entry, and I suspect you may all have given up on checking to see if I’ve written. Either way it’s okay – maybe it means we are all progressing.
I last wrote at the one year mark. Since then I have been reflecting a lot. The common wisdom in grieving is that one year somehow marks a transition in recovery – that it marks a point beyond which we will start to feel better. But I have learned from new friends in similar situations that this is not always true.
For me though, one year does seem to have made a difference. I don’t mean that I am through the sadness. It’s more that my head seems clearer somehow. The past two months have been a very reflective time for me. I see the grieving I have gone through in more of a rearview mirror now rather than being mired in it every minute. I remain amazed at the fact that grieving is so much more complex than I ever dreamed. I had always assumed that grieving simply equated to deep, extreme sadness. And of course that is a big component of it. But I was totally unprepared for how irrational and confusing and uncontrolled and crazed grief is. And now in hindsight, I see the strength you all have seen in me for the past year.
You know how much I have not liked to hear comments on my strength. I did not feel strong, and also felt that observations of my strength meant that I did not appear to be grieving Kirk as much as he was worth. I see now though what you all meant. The strength is in the sheer perseverance and fortitude it took just to survive this. To keep breathing, keep walking, keep getting up every day. To keep living and not give up. To somehow try to find myself inside me and not become someone I do not want to be – someone so lost and sad that the old me disappears forever.
So now I see what you saw all along. And also, I am finding new strength. I actually even feel powerful since one year passed. Why? Because I have survived the worst. I'm not done surviving it, but I'm still here, and I feel confident things will not get worse, so I will be able to keep going. Unless something happens to Erika or Matt, I have come through the worst thing that will ever happen in my lifetime. If someone I cared about got angry with me or hurt me, it would not be worse than losing Kirk. If I lost my job right now, it would not be worse than losing Kirk. If my house burned down or a tornado hit, it would not be worse than losing Kirk. If I piss off half the people in the legal system while trying to move the case forward, and they roll their eyes when I call, it won’t be worse than losing Kirk. If I found out I had a life threatening disease right now, it would not be worse than losing Kirk. This equates to a feeling of freedom and power. It enables me to take risks I previously would have hesitated to take. I am more open with people in general and worry less about them judging me. I confide more in those closest to me and do not fear their potential rejection once they know what is really inside me. I push the envelope at work more, to drive what I believe to be best for the company and the employees – I adopt more risk and do not concern myself with worrying I will step on someone’s toes. It's quite a freeing way to look at life, and allows me to throw off the conventions I would normally have leaned toward.
Sometimes though, I have moments where this feeling of power tips over the edge into a feeling of not caring. The other day I got up in the morning and as I stood in the shower before work, I realized that if someone told me it was time for me to die, right that minute, I would not care. Not even a little. I would just say okay and go about it. The feeling passed, but for a little while I didn't care if I lived or died. I didn't WANT to die - I just didn't care.
Another time I was driving on the back roads near my house. My car is pretty powerful, and I had a strong urge to just open it up and go – fast and hard without regard for the curves and blind spots. The only thing that held me back was the thought that it would be the exact behavior that someone else killed Kirk with. Had it not been for my concern for others, if I could have been assured I was the only one at risk, I think I would have done it, just for the feeling of freedom. I’m not talking about wanting to crash the car – I just wanted to feel the rush of it, and felt no sense of self-preservation. These moments don’t last too long, but they are disconcerting. I know I have to be careful not to let the power and freedom from risk I now feel turn into recklessness.
The biggest developments of all though since the anniversary happened about one week later. Our very close friends Mark and Nancy came for a visit. It was a visit I very much looked forward to, but also worried about. They visited us every year in early spring since we moved away from home six years ago. Mark Nancy Lisa Kirk. We met about 25 years ago, and our lives ran in parallel. Our kids are close in age, and grew up together, with many family outings and get-togethers (not to mention more than a few near-misses, injuries, even a trip to the emergency room, but everyone survived). We experienced financial struggles at the same time, and worried how we would ever make it sometimes. There were hard times in both marriages, but we all managed to persevere and end up in a much better place. Mark and Kirk both had job losses at times and the frustrations of starting over. We were initially bound by the similarities in our lives, and that bond strengthened and grew through shared experiences.
Like any close friends, we had our own dynamic, our own rhythms and patterns and habits. And of course we had subrelationships within the group. Kirk and Mark were best friends, and spent many many days hunting and fishing. They talked on the phone virtually every day since we moved away – sometimes multiple times a day. Any time one of them saw or did something funny, or caught a big fish, or got a new toy, they had to call the other one right away. I used to tell Kirk they were like a couple of women, they talked on the phone so much. Kirk and Nancy, on the other hand, were the reckless pair of the four of us. Always wanting to skinny dip or do some other ridiculous thing Mark and I would never do, and telling us we were no fun when we squashed the plan. They were close though too – they confided in each other, and had their own relationship that was not dependent on me or Mark for facilitation or ease. Within the group of four, Kirk was clearly the ringleader – always the one with the idea, the joke, the plan. Always the one out front, making the rest of us laugh, always doing something unexpected, even though we should never have been surprised at the behavior of a man we had known and loved for decades. But he could always find a new angle, a new twist. The last time we were all together we were in Wal-Mart, and when we were checking out Kirk (of course) was the one interacting with the cashier. He was making her laugh, and the other three of us were standing by and rolling our eyes and shaking our heads at the ridiculous things he was saying. Suddenly he pointed at the three of us, and said to the cashier “One of these three has been farting in the car. Which one do you think it was?” We were all shocked, including the cashier. Particularly since no one had been farting at all. We all started laughing, and of course it was even funnier when she decided to actually answer and picked Mark as the obvious culprit.
Although I have seen Mark and Nancy several times since Kirk died, and have kept in frequent touch, this visit would be the first time it would be just the three of us for an extended period of time. I was kind of worried about it - I think we all were. Would it be uncomfortable? Would we be able to be anything but sad? Nancy had been to the house since it all happened but Mark had not, and for anyone who had been there before Kirk died, coming to our home and not seeing him there is hard – how would it be for Mark to be there without him? What about the accident site – to go there or no? We were planning to go out on the boat – could we handle being out there without him? Lots of questions and trepidation. Most of all, who would we be without Kirk, the most defining and dominant member of the foursome? We all wanted to survive as three, and not lose what we had, but how?
As it turned out, it was the best visit we could have had. They stayed for four days, during which we laughed and cried over and over. We remembered, and we all felt him with us. For me, it was one of only a very few times I have actually felt him with me, and it meant more to me than I can possibly describe. We had a perfect day on the boat, and while it was not the same as having him alive with us, he was there nonetheless. I felt so close to him because of being with them. Four days of being able to talk about him without feeling like my audience didn’t want to listen or was uncomfortable. Four days of being able to tell stories that others knew and could remember with me, as well as learn some new ones. Four days of hearing their stories and memories. And of hearing their fears and sadness and not feeling so alone in mine. Four days of Mark to cuddle or hug me as much as I wanted – physical contact I crave and need but could only comfortably get from Mark because he is the only person who feels comfortable and easy and right (thank you Nancy for being completely unthreatened by your husband holding me). Four days of healing and comfort.
Mark gave me a great gift while he was here. One of the things that is quite hard for me is figuring out sometimes what Kirk would think or say about the decisions and choices I am making in my life. There are times when I do things I think he would not agree with, and it makes me uncomfortable. It can be something as small as a charitable donation he wouldn’t agree with (he did not like United Way, because he thinks they are devious in how they communicate about what happens to donations, but I gave pretty generously this year – something I never would have done when he was alive). Or it can be much bigger life choices. I know logically that these are my choices now, but I have enormous respect for his thoughts and opinions, and still use them as a touchpoint because I want him to be proud of me, and because his ethics and morals were such that I pretty much can’t go wrong if I do what he would have done. Nonetheless sometimes I face choices where it is unclear to me how he would feel about my decisions. Would he disapprove when I stumble around and make potentially bad choices, or would he understand that it comes from my confusion and uncertainty, and that I am doing the best I can to make my way in this new and unwanted life? I’d love to think he would understand, but the truth about Kirk is that he could be pretty black and white about things, and was not always tolerant of the poor choices of others. Would that extend to me? But during Mark and Nancy’s visit, Mark was talking about the fact that he had been worrying about how to handle something difficult, and had asked himself what Kirk would say. And it came to him – and it was not a definitive answer at all. Instead, it was Kirk’s voice saying “You’ll figure it out.”
And he was right – Kirk did always say that. I had forgotten, but he did. So many times I would ask his thoughts or advice when I faced a decision, and he would talk through it with me and give me his opinion, but in the end, he always said “You’ll figure it out.” A vote of confidence in me, that I will find my way. He never told me what I should do – just gave me the opinion I sought and left it up to me, knowing I would come out okay in the end. Even if I stumbled a bit along the way. Mark did figure it out, and I know I will too. Thank God he reminded me of this – it has given me an ease I have not felt in a long time. Permission to screw up, to do it differently than Kirk would have, yet still feel he would support me and approve of me.
And the most amazing breakthrough of all – some true happiness. On the second day of the visit, we were driving on the expressway. It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, the roof of the car open to the fresh air. We had music on the radio and had been talking of course about Kirk. I felt it all of a sudden, and actually didn’t know what it was – an unfamiliar sensation inside. Then it hit me – it was happiness. Real, honest happiness that I felt deep inside. A smile that finally reached my eyes instead of just my mouth. The first true happiness since losing Kirk. And I was okay about it. No guilt, no discomfort – I was happy to be happy. And during the next few days it happened several more times. I don’t know how long it would have taken me if they had not visited, and I wonder if I could have embraced the happiness, been okay with it, if it had happened with someone else.
So the first two months of my second year without Kirk have been pretty big. A lot of missing him still. No change in my desire to have him back, of fantasizing about him walking in the front door. But there are now some things that are not just sadness and confusion. A new appreciation for my own strength. A feeling of power and freedom to take risks. A little bit of recklessness. Some happiness at last, sometimes. Some peace. Some stumbling around, trying to make tough decisions. Living with both the decision making and its consequences alone. I like to think that he would be proud that I’m finally figuring it out.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
The First of Two Hard Days
Today is the first of the two day long anniversary of Kirk’s death. Tomorrow is the calendar anniversary, but today is just as much the one year mark as tomorrow. To me, he died on Friday at 4:30. I identify with that even more than I do the date. Which means I get to feel the one year mark twice – as if life after his death does not give me enough hard markers.
Many of you have started to call or contacted me in the past few days. I also know (some of you are better at keeping things quiet than others) that some of you have even questioned whether you should just travel here unannounced to spend the time with me. Your support and caring is so helpful and I appreciate it so much.
Leading up to this day, the past week or so has been very very difficult. I could feel the hard dates coming, and I have been through enough of them now to know how very rough they are, how much pain really comes with this kind of day. A year of experience is not very kind, because all it seems to do is get me even more panicked before the actual dates get here. I have at times over the past week been so thoroughly distraught that I literally felt claustrophobic, panicky, with my heart racing and an overwhelming urge to run as fast as I could to escape the feeling. I tried actually running a few times, when I could. It actually helps a little, but the distress doesn’t go away.
And now Day 1 is here. One year ago today I woke up from our last sleep together. The last morning I got ready for work while Kirk slept in the bed. The very last morning I ever heard him say “drive carefully, take a banana.” So how am I doing? Surprisingly, better than I expected. Better than earlier in the week. Very sad, but even more, very comforted by my good and happy memories.
Earlier this week, I made my Kirk playlist. This is a compilation of music that is very important for me. Each song has meaning for a different reason, and each has been very painful for me in the past year. When they came on the radio, I quickly turned to another station. I had most of them in my iPod, but rarely had the courage to listen to even one, and never all of them together. But I have been feeling for a while that maybe if I faced them, they could help me. So finally, when the pain this week got so bad I felt it couldn’t be worse, I took every one of these songs and made a playlist of them in my iPod. Then I played it over and over. In the car. Alone at night. While I ran and ran to escape, to explode out the grief. And what I found is that although they still all make me cry, what they do even more is bring me close to him, and that’s what I need more than anything.
On this day, I want to tell you about these songs. Every song is on the list for a different reason, but every one will tell you something about Kirk and me. They tell who we were, how we felt about each other, what it has been like to lose him, and what I have come to believe our relationship is now.
Bridge Over Troubled Water, by Simon and Garfunkel: Kirk always said this was the greatest song ever written (I know, some of you are thinking right now that you would have predicted he would have said that about Hulk Hogan’s theme song, but you’d be wrong…). He loved this song, and I did too. This CD often played while we floated quietly in the water next to our boat on some of our happiest and most peaceful days. So it brings back strong memories of him. But it has taken on new meaning for me in addition to the old. Now I really hear the words instead of just singing them. I hear someone speaking to a girl they love. The girl is in her very darkest hour, and the man is saying he will help her and bring comfort. It makes me think maybe there is some sort of fate in him loving a song so much that now speaks to my pain and hurt. But then there is the last verse, which I struggle with. “Sail on silver girl, sail on by. Your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way, see how they shine. If you need a friend, I’m sailing right behind, like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.” Clearly the girl is breaking through the darkness and there is hope and happiness coming. Can that apply to me? Do I want it to? If my most profound dream is to have him back, how can this part work for me? I listen to this song over and over, as if it was written for me, knowing the first part is just right, finding comfort in the thought that somehow he is with me and helping me, but trying to figure out how this last part can possibly work.
Crazy Love, by Van Morrison: This song describes the pure depth of how we felt about each other, and also speaks to our physical affection for each other. The coming home at the end of the day, so happy to see each other, to find him in the kiss chair. The ease we gave each other, the attraction we were still so lucky to feel. The strength and pull of the love he had for me, and the love I like to think I gave back. This is the last song we ever danced to, and I whispered the words of the song to him softly while he held me. It was the only time I ever sang to him, and I meant every word.
Fire and Rain, by James Taylor: A song about sudden loss of someone. The singer thought they had seen hard times before, but now realizes that those times pale in comparison to losing the person you love suddenly and forever. It speaks to the assumption we all make - that every time we separate from a person we love that we will see the person again. But sometimes you don’t. When I left the house a year ago, it never occurred to me that I was seeing him for the last time.
For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her, by Simon and Garfunkel: Another song from the boat CD. A man dreaming of a woman, looking for her. He sees her and she runs to him. They walk holding hands. They sleep, and when he wakes, he looks at her and sings of how much he loves her and how grateful he is for her. The last line is “I love you girl, oh I love you.” Several times since losing Kirk I have fallen asleep on a plane with my iPod on, and woken at the exact time these last words played. Enough said.
Her Diamonds, by Rob Thomas: A song about a woman in incredible pain, who can’t take anymore, crying and crying with her hopelessness. The song is being sung by the man who loves her and is helpless in the face of her sadness. He can’t take her sadness away so he cries too, and describes how deep her sadness is and how hard it is to watch her cry and be unable to fix it. I feel like this is what it must be like for Kirk to watch me.
I Could Not Ask For More, by Sara Evans: Kirk and I never had “a song” the way a lot of people do. I guess that’s what happens when you elope – you are never forced to pick a song :). However, we both did have one song (a different one for each of us) that deeply moved us and that we always related to the other person. We never really talked about these songs, but this was the one I had for him (he had another for me, and it comes later in the list). The song describes how the singer feels about the person she loves, and how she couldn’t ask for anything more than him. That’s exactly how I always felt – lucky and grateful for him and our life and family, and at peace with not needing anything more. It’s ironic now though, because as perfect as the song was before he died, I now realize that I did want more – more him. More days, more years.
I Run To You, by Lady Antebellum: This song came out right around the time Kirk died, and I couldn’t stand to hear it, because it is about the fact that whatever hard or good times the singer has, she goes straight to one person – the person she trusts and loves, the first person she turns to for everything she needs. This was one of the best things about having him, and is one of the hardest things about losing him – not being able to talk to the person I talked to about EVERYTHING.
Never Alone, by Jim Brickman and Lady Antebellum: This is the song I have written about before. The one about being with someone even when you are apart, about the fact that distance cannot fully separate us from someone we love.
Someday, by Rob Thomas: About someone who is grieving, trying to get through each day. About the confusion of grief – should you run? Try to kill time? Hide from people, shove your feelings down? Carry on normally when you just want to sit down and cry? I’ve done all these things, both figuratively and literally. But the song is also about the hope that someday things will be better somehow, that the person will figure out how to cope, how to end the doubt inherent in grief, how to find peace, or even happiness again. The song was written as the theme song to a movie about two grieving people – a woman who lost her husband and a man who lost his brother. They meet through their grief and eventually fall in love. The movie came out last year after Kirk died and the song and movie really infuriated me. The thought that someone could lose her husband and then have it all fixed by falling in love with someone else was just ludicrous – it is just not that convenient or simple. So initially I hated parts of this song, because it talks about starting over, about noticing that life can be good, and about eventually being “better off.” I heard it often though, because it plays on the station my hairdresser uses, and it would come on once or sometimes twice every time I went there. I still have some discomfort with the words, but I am starting to realize that it does not talk about being better off than BEFORE the grief, just being better off, which I now see can mean better off than the grieving. It is really about the confusion and distress of grieving, and finding your way through it to being able to “live out loud” again. And the song does not reference another relationship at all – it just talks about starting over, which is what I guess I have to do. So I listen to this one hard when it comes on and try to really think through the idea of not just existing, but eventually being happy somehow.
You Look Wonderful Tonight, by Eric Clapton: The last song on the list, and Kirk’s song. This was his secret song for me. If it was secret, how did I know? Because whenever it came on he got quiet, and found me. Whether we were at a party, a wedding, a bar, at home, it didn’t matter – he came and found me. He never really said anything about it. Just quietly held me, and softly rocked me, or sometimes pulled me by the hand to dance with him. It says everything about how he felt about me. How much he still thought I was beautiful, how proud he was to be with me. How he loved to watch me dress, put my makeup on, do my hair. I can still remember so clearly the times when I would be getting ready to go out, and I shooed him away and managed the transformation alone, only to come out of the bedroom and have him look at me and say in a husky quiet voice that told me he truly meant it, “You’re gorgeous.” I never saw myself the way he did, but there was no doubt about his feelings.
So that’s my Kirk playlist. Songs about how we felt about each other, about my grief, about the distance between us now, but also about still somehow being here for each other. It is a powerful list for me, and makes me feel close to him and to who we were whenever I listen to it. It clears my thinking and calms me even though I cry. I shouldn’t have waited so long to make it.
One year later, it is clear that words I put on his tombstone were the right ones.
Their love, deep and true
Was strengthened by life
And is undiminished by death.
Many of you have started to call or contacted me in the past few days. I also know (some of you are better at keeping things quiet than others) that some of you have even questioned whether you should just travel here unannounced to spend the time with me. Your support and caring is so helpful and I appreciate it so much.
Leading up to this day, the past week or so has been very very difficult. I could feel the hard dates coming, and I have been through enough of them now to know how very rough they are, how much pain really comes with this kind of day. A year of experience is not very kind, because all it seems to do is get me even more panicked before the actual dates get here. I have at times over the past week been so thoroughly distraught that I literally felt claustrophobic, panicky, with my heart racing and an overwhelming urge to run as fast as I could to escape the feeling. I tried actually running a few times, when I could. It actually helps a little, but the distress doesn’t go away.
And now Day 1 is here. One year ago today I woke up from our last sleep together. The last morning I got ready for work while Kirk slept in the bed. The very last morning I ever heard him say “drive carefully, take a banana.” So how am I doing? Surprisingly, better than I expected. Better than earlier in the week. Very sad, but even more, very comforted by my good and happy memories.
Earlier this week, I made my Kirk playlist. This is a compilation of music that is very important for me. Each song has meaning for a different reason, and each has been very painful for me in the past year. When they came on the radio, I quickly turned to another station. I had most of them in my iPod, but rarely had the courage to listen to even one, and never all of them together. But I have been feeling for a while that maybe if I faced them, they could help me. So finally, when the pain this week got so bad I felt it couldn’t be worse, I took every one of these songs and made a playlist of them in my iPod. Then I played it over and over. In the car. Alone at night. While I ran and ran to escape, to explode out the grief. And what I found is that although they still all make me cry, what they do even more is bring me close to him, and that’s what I need more than anything.
On this day, I want to tell you about these songs. Every song is on the list for a different reason, but every one will tell you something about Kirk and me. They tell who we were, how we felt about each other, what it has been like to lose him, and what I have come to believe our relationship is now.
Bridge Over Troubled Water, by Simon and Garfunkel: Kirk always said this was the greatest song ever written (I know, some of you are thinking right now that you would have predicted he would have said that about Hulk Hogan’s theme song, but you’d be wrong…). He loved this song, and I did too. This CD often played while we floated quietly in the water next to our boat on some of our happiest and most peaceful days. So it brings back strong memories of him. But it has taken on new meaning for me in addition to the old. Now I really hear the words instead of just singing them. I hear someone speaking to a girl they love. The girl is in her very darkest hour, and the man is saying he will help her and bring comfort. It makes me think maybe there is some sort of fate in him loving a song so much that now speaks to my pain and hurt. But then there is the last verse, which I struggle with. “Sail on silver girl, sail on by. Your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way, see how they shine. If you need a friend, I’m sailing right behind, like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.” Clearly the girl is breaking through the darkness and there is hope and happiness coming. Can that apply to me? Do I want it to? If my most profound dream is to have him back, how can this part work for me? I listen to this song over and over, as if it was written for me, knowing the first part is just right, finding comfort in the thought that somehow he is with me and helping me, but trying to figure out how this last part can possibly work.
Crazy Love, by Van Morrison: This song describes the pure depth of how we felt about each other, and also speaks to our physical affection for each other. The coming home at the end of the day, so happy to see each other, to find him in the kiss chair. The ease we gave each other, the attraction we were still so lucky to feel. The strength and pull of the love he had for me, and the love I like to think I gave back. This is the last song we ever danced to, and I whispered the words of the song to him softly while he held me. It was the only time I ever sang to him, and I meant every word.
Fire and Rain, by James Taylor: A song about sudden loss of someone. The singer thought they had seen hard times before, but now realizes that those times pale in comparison to losing the person you love suddenly and forever. It speaks to the assumption we all make - that every time we separate from a person we love that we will see the person again. But sometimes you don’t. When I left the house a year ago, it never occurred to me that I was seeing him for the last time.
For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her, by Simon and Garfunkel: Another song from the boat CD. A man dreaming of a woman, looking for her. He sees her and she runs to him. They walk holding hands. They sleep, and when he wakes, he looks at her and sings of how much he loves her and how grateful he is for her. The last line is “I love you girl, oh I love you.” Several times since losing Kirk I have fallen asleep on a plane with my iPod on, and woken at the exact time these last words played. Enough said.
Her Diamonds, by Rob Thomas: A song about a woman in incredible pain, who can’t take anymore, crying and crying with her hopelessness. The song is being sung by the man who loves her and is helpless in the face of her sadness. He can’t take her sadness away so he cries too, and describes how deep her sadness is and how hard it is to watch her cry and be unable to fix it. I feel like this is what it must be like for Kirk to watch me.
I Could Not Ask For More, by Sara Evans: Kirk and I never had “a song” the way a lot of people do. I guess that’s what happens when you elope – you are never forced to pick a song :). However, we both did have one song (a different one for each of us) that deeply moved us and that we always related to the other person. We never really talked about these songs, but this was the one I had for him (he had another for me, and it comes later in the list). The song describes how the singer feels about the person she loves, and how she couldn’t ask for anything more than him. That’s exactly how I always felt – lucky and grateful for him and our life and family, and at peace with not needing anything more. It’s ironic now though, because as perfect as the song was before he died, I now realize that I did want more – more him. More days, more years.
I Run To You, by Lady Antebellum: This song came out right around the time Kirk died, and I couldn’t stand to hear it, because it is about the fact that whatever hard or good times the singer has, she goes straight to one person – the person she trusts and loves, the first person she turns to for everything she needs. This was one of the best things about having him, and is one of the hardest things about losing him – not being able to talk to the person I talked to about EVERYTHING.
Never Alone, by Jim Brickman and Lady Antebellum: This is the song I have written about before. The one about being with someone even when you are apart, about the fact that distance cannot fully separate us from someone we love.
Someday, by Rob Thomas: About someone who is grieving, trying to get through each day. About the confusion of grief – should you run? Try to kill time? Hide from people, shove your feelings down? Carry on normally when you just want to sit down and cry? I’ve done all these things, both figuratively and literally. But the song is also about the hope that someday things will be better somehow, that the person will figure out how to cope, how to end the doubt inherent in grief, how to find peace, or even happiness again. The song was written as the theme song to a movie about two grieving people – a woman who lost her husband and a man who lost his brother. They meet through their grief and eventually fall in love. The movie came out last year after Kirk died and the song and movie really infuriated me. The thought that someone could lose her husband and then have it all fixed by falling in love with someone else was just ludicrous – it is just not that convenient or simple. So initially I hated parts of this song, because it talks about starting over, about noticing that life can be good, and about eventually being “better off.” I heard it often though, because it plays on the station my hairdresser uses, and it would come on once or sometimes twice every time I went there. I still have some discomfort with the words, but I am starting to realize that it does not talk about being better off than BEFORE the grief, just being better off, which I now see can mean better off than the grieving. It is really about the confusion and distress of grieving, and finding your way through it to being able to “live out loud” again. And the song does not reference another relationship at all – it just talks about starting over, which is what I guess I have to do. So I listen to this one hard when it comes on and try to really think through the idea of not just existing, but eventually being happy somehow.
You Look Wonderful Tonight, by Eric Clapton: The last song on the list, and Kirk’s song. This was his secret song for me. If it was secret, how did I know? Because whenever it came on he got quiet, and found me. Whether we were at a party, a wedding, a bar, at home, it didn’t matter – he came and found me. He never really said anything about it. Just quietly held me, and softly rocked me, or sometimes pulled me by the hand to dance with him. It says everything about how he felt about me. How much he still thought I was beautiful, how proud he was to be with me. How he loved to watch me dress, put my makeup on, do my hair. I can still remember so clearly the times when I would be getting ready to go out, and I shooed him away and managed the transformation alone, only to come out of the bedroom and have him look at me and say in a husky quiet voice that told me he truly meant it, “You’re gorgeous.” I never saw myself the way he did, but there was no doubt about his feelings.
So that’s my Kirk playlist. Songs about how we felt about each other, about my grief, about the distance between us now, but also about still somehow being here for each other. It is a powerful list for me, and makes me feel close to him and to who we were whenever I listen to it. It clears my thinking and calms me even though I cry. I shouldn’t have waited so long to make it.
One year later, it is clear that words I put on his tombstone were the right ones.
Their love, deep and true
Was strengthened by life
And is undiminished by death.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
In Memory of Codie
Yesterday I had Codie put to sleep. For those of you who did not have the privilege of knowing her, Codie was our chocolate lab. She was 15, and we had had her since she was 5 months old. She was the family dog, but most of all, she was Kirk’s dog. They loved each other with a passion that often made me think it was a good thing I met him first because I don’t know how she (and maybe even he!) ever would have made room for me if she had come before me. He and I both had many pets during our lives, but there was no doubt that Codie was the best of them all. For our family, she was so much more than a pet – she was as much a member of our family as any of the people were, and we loved her more than you can imagine. So today’s entry is my tribute to another lost member of our family.
I didn’t want her. It was 1995, and we already had a beagle, a cat, and two kids in a house that was bursting at the seams. The beagle was charming but completely untrainable, and as much as we loved him, he was not the easiest dog to own. We had no capacity or time for another pet, but Kirk dreamed of a hunting dog. When a woman he worked with mentioned she had a lab puppy that she had bought but now had to get rid of, he decided this could be the one. She offered the puppy to Kirk for $350 – a bargain since the dog was pure bred, from good hunting stock; she had paid $500 for her only two months earlier. Her name was Serene. And so the campaign began. That night he came home with a picture of the puppy. I said no. He hung the picture on a cabinet that was a beeline from our font door – it was our family communication area where we would leave notes for each other as we came and went. At first it was just the picture. Then he enlisted the aid of the kids and they started writing things like “Aren’t I cute?” on post-it notes and putting them next to her picture (yes – she was awfully cute). More pictures appeared, each one more appealing than the last. This went on for weeks, but I remained steadfast. Her owner kept dropping the price – desperate to find a home for the dog or face eviction. Finally, he came home one night to say the price was down to $50. I still said no. The next morning, I was leaving on a business trip for a week. As he drove me to the airport, he again tried to convince me. I knew that he knew that it was not the right decision, so instead of saying no again, I put it back on him. I told him that I was leaving it up to him, but that we both knew what the right thing was, and that I trusted him to make a good decision. I was convinced he would tell her he could not take the puppy.
One week later he and the kids picked me up at the airport. We went out to dinner, and then headed home. As I walked in the front door, I heard a noise – sort of a rattling or banging. I asked what it was and he said I don’t know. Then I heard the telltale whine of a puppy in her crate – her tail banging against the sides as she wiggled with excitement that her people were home. I was truly stunned, and not at all happy. The kids excitedly informed me that her name was now Dakota – Codie for short (we soon came to wonder what could possibly have possessed anyone to name such an active, rambunctious, tomboy of a dog “Serene”). Kirk promised me he would take her to obedience school and get her really well trained. I remained upset.
In a few days however, my opinion of owning her changed. One thing that was evident from the start was that she loved our beagle, Sherlock. She followed him everywhere, so closely that if he stopped short she literally ran into him. One day they were in the back yard and he got out of the fence somehow. This was one of the most difficult things about him – he was not very bright about most things, but he could escape any sort of confinement – leashes, leads, fences, anything. He really should have been named Houdini. We had to look for him at least once a week, and more than once he ended up in the pound. Usually when he got out we would get in the car and cruise the neighborhood, calling him out the window. If he heard us he would come running to get a ride in the car. The problem was that he roamed far and wide, and figuring out where he had gone was a major challenge, so we could spend hours calling him in vain. The first day he went missing after we got Codie, I prepared to get the car and go on the hunt. Kirk said we should see if Codie could find him. I thought that was ridiculous – how was this little puppy going to find him? But he wanted to try so we took her outside and told her “Go find Sherlock.” She put her nose to the ground and started sniffing, and pretty soon she was on the move. We followed her between houses and through yards, her nose down the whole way, and pretty soon lo and behold, there was Sherlock rooting around in someone’s garden. He was most disappointed not to get a car ride home. Kirk was thrilled – Codie clearly had the makings of a great hunting dog. I was just thrilled she found the damn beagle. From that day on I decided she was worth her keep and more. That was the day she was christened the Blue Light Special – the best bargain we ever got.
He kept his promise and took her to school. She learned fast – she was smart, and even more importantly, she lived to please him, so she had a powerful desire to obey. He would come home and teach the rest of us the commands they learned, and she quickly grew into one of the most well trained, obedient dogs I have ever met.
She did indeed become an excellent hunting dog, and they spent many happy days hunting pheasants, chuckers, and their favorite, ducks. She loved the water, and would happily leap into the iciest river or lake to bring back a duck. For those who have never seen a dog in action, you should know that theirs is not an easy task, and requires strong communication between the dog and its master. Imagine you are swimming in a lake, and need to find something dark on the surface of dark water. The water is in constant motion, and the item is very far away – impossible to see from the distance and level you are at. So instead you watch your master, who stands in the boat or on shore, and using a combination of hand signals and simple verbal directions (like “Back” if you need to swim further out), he tells you what to do and you do it. You follow his instructions, looking back at him every so often and adjusting course if need be. You swim blindly, trusting that if he points to the left and calls “Back” you can swim there and find the prize. And sure enough, much to your excitement, it works! And when you swim all the way back and crawl up into that boat with the bird, he is happy with you! She lived for it.
Codie often hunted with Kirk and his friends or his dad, and she retrieved for them all. At night she would be so sore she could barely move, but the next morning she’d be raring to go. Once, he sent her after a duck that turned out to be alive, and it flew off low over the water. He called her back, but for once she refused to obey him, so determined to get the duck she watched it in the air and just kept swimming toward it, trying to catch up. He had to go after her in the boat, and he later told me that before he got to her she got so far and was so tired that he thought she was in danger of drowning. Her dad had sent her after a duck and dammit, she was bound and determined she was going to bring that duck back no matter what it took.
He always said they had a deal – he promised to always hit the birds if she promised to always find them and bring them back. Normally this was not a difficult promise to keep for either of them. He was a good shot and rarely missed, and I don’t think she ever failed to find and retrieve a bird. I remember one day, though, that he came home and said he had let her down. He was hunting with his dad, and they were a ways apart on the shore. As I said before, Codie would retrieve for anyone Kirk hunted with, but she always sat next to Kirk while she waited to be told to go get the bird. If it was someone else’s, she would retrieve it, bring it to whoever shot it, and then come back and sit with Kirk to wait for the next one. On this particular day, Kirk was not shooting well, and missed quite a few birds. Each time, she would look at him, wondering what was going on, first with disappointment, and as he told it, eventually with something more like dismay and even disgust. During all this, his dad successfully shot several times, and she retrieved everything he brought down, returning to Kirk each time. Finally, Kirk shot and missed again. She looked at him, stood up, walked down the shore, and sat down next to his dad, where she remained the rest of the day. It was the only time she ever gave up on her dad.
I remember the first deer hunting season that happened after she had learned to hunt birds. He was worried about her seeing him leave on opening day. It was always his habit to pile all his clothing, gear, and guns on the floor just inside the door, and when he had everything set he would carry it out to the car. Bird season is before deer season, so by now she knew this routine well and knew fun things happen when Daddy starts making the pile inside the door. This would be the first time she would watch this now-familiar activity and not get to go with him. Sure enough, as he gathered all the clothing and gear, she got very excited, and followed him closely as he prepared to leave. When it was time to go, he squeezed out the door, closing it in her face and leaving her behind. She was crushed. So the next day, instead of following him around as he prepared to leave, she stayed in one place, just inside the door, leaning against it. She had clearly decided he couldn’t leave her behind if she blocked the door. So this day, he snuck out the other door. The third morning, she had a new strategy. This time, as he made the pile, she laid down across his gun. She knew that was the one item he was not leaving without. He had to drag it out from underneath her, and once again she was disappointed.
Hunting can be tough on a dog, and over the years she had her share of cut paws, sprains and strains. The worst she was ever hurt was during pheasant hunting, which of course is done in fields. She started limping while hunting that day, but it initially didn’t seem too bad, and she clearly wanted to continue. Eventually, though, the limp got pretty bad, so even though she still wanted to hunt, Kirk called it a day. He inspected her paw several times and could not find anything. Over the next few days, the paw was clearly in bad shape, but we still couldn’t see anything wrong. She went to the vet twice, but he couldn’t find anything either, even on an x-ray. Her paw became badly infected and it wouldn’t respond to antibiotics. Finally the vet felt he had to operate so he could go in and see what was happening. To our shock, he found that she had a several inch long stick in her paw. It was just about the exact size and shape of one of those little pencils you keep score in golf with. It had pierced her skin in between two toes, and been driven lengthwise straight up into her foot parallel to her bones, and then the entry point had closed back over so you couldn’t see it. She had that chunk of wood in her foot for about two weeks before the surgery, but I think what really bothered her was to watch Kirk leave to go hunting without her until she healed.
Codie loved Kirk more than anything. She knew him as Daddy, and when daddy was home she was always nearby. Sometimes she would lie at his feet and just stare at him with a mooning look on her face – like he was a movie star or something and she was an infatuated fan. But next to Kirk, Codie LOVED to eat. Because of her love of food, she would eat anything from your hand – so fast she inhaled it. Whenever she needed pills we would just hold them out and she would gobble them up without flinching. I’m convinced she would eat a rock if you held it in the palm of your hand for her. Just a few months ago, I didn’t realize she was in the pantry and I closed the door and locked her in there for over four hours. She never made a peep – I thought she was outside the whole time. She just sat there in the pitch dark and quietly stuffed herself with the dog food kept in there. By the time I found her her stomach was bulging as if there was a bowling ball in there.
Food was really the only area of her life where she could be sneaky and disobedient. She was obsessed with butter, and loved to steal butter wrappers form the garbage. She also loved bread, and would eat a whole loaf in a flash if she could get it. Once, she stole a whole raw turkey. Fortunately it was partially frozen still so she couldn’t eat enough to make her sick. One year on Thanksgiving, we figured out that she had eaten the little bag of desiccant that was in a bag of beef jerky. She was terribly sick and in horrible pain and had to be taken to an emergency vet visit in the middle of the Cowboys game – not good timing when Kirk is your dad.
Although she would ignore the rules when it came to food, she knew she was wrong, and the most amazing thing was that she would actually punish herself. She did not often require discipline, and we never ever hit her the way many people do with dogs. Instead, her punishment for any infraction was always that she had to sit in the corner, facing the wall. She hated to go in the corner, and would wear a terribly sad face until we let her come out. But whenever she stole food, she would eat it in the punishment corner. It was clear she knew what she was doing was wrong, so she figured she better go there. We would come home to find the garbage tipped over and all the food wrappers clustered in the punishment corner.
She loved holidays, because we have a big family and everyone convened at our house, where Kirk would prepare large and elaborate meals. This meant lots of crumbs, kids who would sneak her treats, and tons of food scraps in the trove of treasures that was the garbage. She eventually figured out that the youngest and the oldest of the crowd were most likely to drop food by accident, so toddlers and grandmas got special attention from her on holidays. She earned her keep by doing tricks for everyone. She would do all the normal dog stuff like shake, or stay still while you threw a treat to the other side of the room, and not go get it until we told her she could. But the hands-down crowd favorite, which she performed at more holidays and parties than I can count, was known as “Nose.” This required her to sit perfectly still and hold her nose flat and straight out in front of her. We would then place a piece of food on top of her nose – pretzel nuggets worked the best, but almost anything would do. We would say “Nose” and she would freeze, holding perfectly still, her eyes crossing as she stared at the food on the end of her muzzle. She would stay like that indefinitely, until we finally released her with the word “Okay.” Upon that command, she would flip the food in the air and catch it in her mouth before it hit the floor. This was quite the crowd pleaser, and I’m sure many of you reading this saw her do it many times. As you know, she rarely missed.
Our past two moves were tough for Codie. She was growing older, and adjusting to life in warm climates was especially tough on her, as she is a winter loving dog. When we moved to Georgia, we had an in ground pool put in, mostly for Codie. That pool was her salvation – she lived in it in the summer. She would lie down on the first step so everything but her head was immersed in water, and sleep with her head on the edge of the pool. The last time she hunted was in 2006, when Kirk took her dove hunting. He had not hunted with her in over two years, because it is hard to find good bird hunting spots in Georgia. When he got the chance to go, he debated whether she would be able to handle it, as she was definitely aging. But it was an easy hunt, on flat terrain, and the temperatures were pretty moderate – in the 70s. He knew she would love to go, and thought it might be their last chance to hunt before she had to give it up for good, so he decided to take her. To make a long story short, they had only been out there a few minutes when she collapsed. He thought she was having a heart attack. He ran for the truck and drove it to where she was. He was in the middle of nowhere and didn’t know where to get help, and she was clearly in trouble. He called me, and I called the vet and told him what was happening. The vet said it sounded like heat stroke, and that Kirk had 20 minutes from the time of onset to get her immersed in water or she would have irreversible brain damage. I called him back and told him – by now probably 10 of the 20 minutes had passed. There were no bodies of water anywhere near him. Another hunter told him there was an abandoned farmhouse down the road, and he drove there, praying there would be water, and fortunately, there was not only running water, but someone had left a hose attached to the faucet. That hose saved her life – without it he could not have gotten enough water on her body to cool her down adequately. He felt horrible about it, and never forgave himself for putting her at risk. After that, she became even more susceptible to heat, and had to have air-conditioning available at all times in the summer.
For the past few years, we continually wondered how much longer she would live. She had arthritis, and was getting pretty sore, but continued to soldier on. Before every visit they made, the kids would ask if we thought Codie would make it until they came, and every time they left, they said goodbye like it was the last time. Yet she always seemed to make it to the next one. Kirk could not talk about her eventually dying – it was heartbreaking for him. Finally, about two weeks before he died, he told me something that I am now very grateful to know. He said that he had decided that when she died, he wanted her cremated, and he planned to keep her ashes to be buried with him when he died someday. We had never before done this with a pet, so if he had not said anything I would never have known he wanted it. I never dreamed he would be the first to go.
As you would guess, she has not been the same since he died. The first few weeks she just seemed to be waiting patiently for him to come home. When he didn’t, she started staying in the laundry room all the time, and wouldn’t come out. After a month or so of that, she finally emerged and rejoined the family, but she just seemed quieter and didn’t seem to have joy anymore. Lately, her health has been declining more and more, and finally after much soul searching and advice/consultation from the kids, Jenny, Nancy, etc., and many many tears, I made the decision that it was time to give her back to him. Matt told me he imagines Kirk in heaven and that there is some sort of receptionist at the front gate, and that when Kirk got there, he told the person he was expecting his dog Codie soon, and that they had to let him know as soon as she got there. Since then though, he worries they will forget to tell him, so he bugs the person constantly – “are you sure she hasn’t come yet?” That would be typical.
When we chose the cemetery for him, I asked if we could bury her ashes above him when she died. I was told no, that we cannot disturb his grave for any reason. So instead, I plan to buy some stone planters to put on either side of his (our) tombstone. Her ashes will go in the bottom of one, with a planting on top of it. It’s the closest I can come to fulfilling his wishes.
I hope so much that they are really together now. That would be the most joyous reunion imaginable. For the past year, I have not said the word “Daddy” to her or in front of her – I was worried she would think he was there and go looking for him. As she lay on the table in the vet’s office, and they were getting ready to let her rest, I knelt down and held her head. She looked in my eyes, peacefully, not blinking, and finally I was able to say his name to her, over and over – “Go find Daddy.” And I like to think she did.
I didn’t want her. It was 1995, and we already had a beagle, a cat, and two kids in a house that was bursting at the seams. The beagle was charming but completely untrainable, and as much as we loved him, he was not the easiest dog to own. We had no capacity or time for another pet, but Kirk dreamed of a hunting dog. When a woman he worked with mentioned she had a lab puppy that she had bought but now had to get rid of, he decided this could be the one. She offered the puppy to Kirk for $350 – a bargain since the dog was pure bred, from good hunting stock; she had paid $500 for her only two months earlier. Her name was Serene. And so the campaign began. That night he came home with a picture of the puppy. I said no. He hung the picture on a cabinet that was a beeline from our font door – it was our family communication area where we would leave notes for each other as we came and went. At first it was just the picture. Then he enlisted the aid of the kids and they started writing things like “Aren’t I cute?” on post-it notes and putting them next to her picture (yes – she was awfully cute). More pictures appeared, each one more appealing than the last. This went on for weeks, but I remained steadfast. Her owner kept dropping the price – desperate to find a home for the dog or face eviction. Finally, he came home one night to say the price was down to $50. I still said no. The next morning, I was leaving on a business trip for a week. As he drove me to the airport, he again tried to convince me. I knew that he knew that it was not the right decision, so instead of saying no again, I put it back on him. I told him that I was leaving it up to him, but that we both knew what the right thing was, and that I trusted him to make a good decision. I was convinced he would tell her he could not take the puppy.
One week later he and the kids picked me up at the airport. We went out to dinner, and then headed home. As I walked in the front door, I heard a noise – sort of a rattling or banging. I asked what it was and he said I don’t know. Then I heard the telltale whine of a puppy in her crate – her tail banging against the sides as she wiggled with excitement that her people were home. I was truly stunned, and not at all happy. The kids excitedly informed me that her name was now Dakota – Codie for short (we soon came to wonder what could possibly have possessed anyone to name such an active, rambunctious, tomboy of a dog “Serene”). Kirk promised me he would take her to obedience school and get her really well trained. I remained upset.
In a few days however, my opinion of owning her changed. One thing that was evident from the start was that she loved our beagle, Sherlock. She followed him everywhere, so closely that if he stopped short she literally ran into him. One day they were in the back yard and he got out of the fence somehow. This was one of the most difficult things about him – he was not very bright about most things, but he could escape any sort of confinement – leashes, leads, fences, anything. He really should have been named Houdini. We had to look for him at least once a week, and more than once he ended up in the pound. Usually when he got out we would get in the car and cruise the neighborhood, calling him out the window. If he heard us he would come running to get a ride in the car. The problem was that he roamed far and wide, and figuring out where he had gone was a major challenge, so we could spend hours calling him in vain. The first day he went missing after we got Codie, I prepared to get the car and go on the hunt. Kirk said we should see if Codie could find him. I thought that was ridiculous – how was this little puppy going to find him? But he wanted to try so we took her outside and told her “Go find Sherlock.” She put her nose to the ground and started sniffing, and pretty soon she was on the move. We followed her between houses and through yards, her nose down the whole way, and pretty soon lo and behold, there was Sherlock rooting around in someone’s garden. He was most disappointed not to get a car ride home. Kirk was thrilled – Codie clearly had the makings of a great hunting dog. I was just thrilled she found the damn beagle. From that day on I decided she was worth her keep and more. That was the day she was christened the Blue Light Special – the best bargain we ever got.
He kept his promise and took her to school. She learned fast – she was smart, and even more importantly, she lived to please him, so she had a powerful desire to obey. He would come home and teach the rest of us the commands they learned, and she quickly grew into one of the most well trained, obedient dogs I have ever met.
She did indeed become an excellent hunting dog, and they spent many happy days hunting pheasants, chuckers, and their favorite, ducks. She loved the water, and would happily leap into the iciest river or lake to bring back a duck. For those who have never seen a dog in action, you should know that theirs is not an easy task, and requires strong communication between the dog and its master. Imagine you are swimming in a lake, and need to find something dark on the surface of dark water. The water is in constant motion, and the item is very far away – impossible to see from the distance and level you are at. So instead you watch your master, who stands in the boat or on shore, and using a combination of hand signals and simple verbal directions (like “Back” if you need to swim further out), he tells you what to do and you do it. You follow his instructions, looking back at him every so often and adjusting course if need be. You swim blindly, trusting that if he points to the left and calls “Back” you can swim there and find the prize. And sure enough, much to your excitement, it works! And when you swim all the way back and crawl up into that boat with the bird, he is happy with you! She lived for it.
Codie often hunted with Kirk and his friends or his dad, and she retrieved for them all. At night she would be so sore she could barely move, but the next morning she’d be raring to go. Once, he sent her after a duck that turned out to be alive, and it flew off low over the water. He called her back, but for once she refused to obey him, so determined to get the duck she watched it in the air and just kept swimming toward it, trying to catch up. He had to go after her in the boat, and he later told me that before he got to her she got so far and was so tired that he thought she was in danger of drowning. Her dad had sent her after a duck and dammit, she was bound and determined she was going to bring that duck back no matter what it took.
He always said they had a deal – he promised to always hit the birds if she promised to always find them and bring them back. Normally this was not a difficult promise to keep for either of them. He was a good shot and rarely missed, and I don’t think she ever failed to find and retrieve a bird. I remember one day, though, that he came home and said he had let her down. He was hunting with his dad, and they were a ways apart on the shore. As I said before, Codie would retrieve for anyone Kirk hunted with, but she always sat next to Kirk while she waited to be told to go get the bird. If it was someone else’s, she would retrieve it, bring it to whoever shot it, and then come back and sit with Kirk to wait for the next one. On this particular day, Kirk was not shooting well, and missed quite a few birds. Each time, she would look at him, wondering what was going on, first with disappointment, and as he told it, eventually with something more like dismay and even disgust. During all this, his dad successfully shot several times, and she retrieved everything he brought down, returning to Kirk each time. Finally, Kirk shot and missed again. She looked at him, stood up, walked down the shore, and sat down next to his dad, where she remained the rest of the day. It was the only time she ever gave up on her dad.
I remember the first deer hunting season that happened after she had learned to hunt birds. He was worried about her seeing him leave on opening day. It was always his habit to pile all his clothing, gear, and guns on the floor just inside the door, and when he had everything set he would carry it out to the car. Bird season is before deer season, so by now she knew this routine well and knew fun things happen when Daddy starts making the pile inside the door. This would be the first time she would watch this now-familiar activity and not get to go with him. Sure enough, as he gathered all the clothing and gear, she got very excited, and followed him closely as he prepared to leave. When it was time to go, he squeezed out the door, closing it in her face and leaving her behind. She was crushed. So the next day, instead of following him around as he prepared to leave, she stayed in one place, just inside the door, leaning against it. She had clearly decided he couldn’t leave her behind if she blocked the door. So this day, he snuck out the other door. The third morning, she had a new strategy. This time, as he made the pile, she laid down across his gun. She knew that was the one item he was not leaving without. He had to drag it out from underneath her, and once again she was disappointed.
Hunting can be tough on a dog, and over the years she had her share of cut paws, sprains and strains. The worst she was ever hurt was during pheasant hunting, which of course is done in fields. She started limping while hunting that day, but it initially didn’t seem too bad, and she clearly wanted to continue. Eventually, though, the limp got pretty bad, so even though she still wanted to hunt, Kirk called it a day. He inspected her paw several times and could not find anything. Over the next few days, the paw was clearly in bad shape, but we still couldn’t see anything wrong. She went to the vet twice, but he couldn’t find anything either, even on an x-ray. Her paw became badly infected and it wouldn’t respond to antibiotics. Finally the vet felt he had to operate so he could go in and see what was happening. To our shock, he found that she had a several inch long stick in her paw. It was just about the exact size and shape of one of those little pencils you keep score in golf with. It had pierced her skin in between two toes, and been driven lengthwise straight up into her foot parallel to her bones, and then the entry point had closed back over so you couldn’t see it. She had that chunk of wood in her foot for about two weeks before the surgery, but I think what really bothered her was to watch Kirk leave to go hunting without her until she healed.
Codie loved Kirk more than anything. She knew him as Daddy, and when daddy was home she was always nearby. Sometimes she would lie at his feet and just stare at him with a mooning look on her face – like he was a movie star or something and she was an infatuated fan. But next to Kirk, Codie LOVED to eat. Because of her love of food, she would eat anything from your hand – so fast she inhaled it. Whenever she needed pills we would just hold them out and she would gobble them up without flinching. I’m convinced she would eat a rock if you held it in the palm of your hand for her. Just a few months ago, I didn’t realize she was in the pantry and I closed the door and locked her in there for over four hours. She never made a peep – I thought she was outside the whole time. She just sat there in the pitch dark and quietly stuffed herself with the dog food kept in there. By the time I found her her stomach was bulging as if there was a bowling ball in there.
Food was really the only area of her life where she could be sneaky and disobedient. She was obsessed with butter, and loved to steal butter wrappers form the garbage. She also loved bread, and would eat a whole loaf in a flash if she could get it. Once, she stole a whole raw turkey. Fortunately it was partially frozen still so she couldn’t eat enough to make her sick. One year on Thanksgiving, we figured out that she had eaten the little bag of desiccant that was in a bag of beef jerky. She was terribly sick and in horrible pain and had to be taken to an emergency vet visit in the middle of the Cowboys game – not good timing when Kirk is your dad.
Although she would ignore the rules when it came to food, she knew she was wrong, and the most amazing thing was that she would actually punish herself. She did not often require discipline, and we never ever hit her the way many people do with dogs. Instead, her punishment for any infraction was always that she had to sit in the corner, facing the wall. She hated to go in the corner, and would wear a terribly sad face until we let her come out. But whenever she stole food, she would eat it in the punishment corner. It was clear she knew what she was doing was wrong, so she figured she better go there. We would come home to find the garbage tipped over and all the food wrappers clustered in the punishment corner.
She loved holidays, because we have a big family and everyone convened at our house, where Kirk would prepare large and elaborate meals. This meant lots of crumbs, kids who would sneak her treats, and tons of food scraps in the trove of treasures that was the garbage. She eventually figured out that the youngest and the oldest of the crowd were most likely to drop food by accident, so toddlers and grandmas got special attention from her on holidays. She earned her keep by doing tricks for everyone. She would do all the normal dog stuff like shake, or stay still while you threw a treat to the other side of the room, and not go get it until we told her she could. But the hands-down crowd favorite, which she performed at more holidays and parties than I can count, was known as “Nose.” This required her to sit perfectly still and hold her nose flat and straight out in front of her. We would then place a piece of food on top of her nose – pretzel nuggets worked the best, but almost anything would do. We would say “Nose” and she would freeze, holding perfectly still, her eyes crossing as she stared at the food on the end of her muzzle. She would stay like that indefinitely, until we finally released her with the word “Okay.” Upon that command, she would flip the food in the air and catch it in her mouth before it hit the floor. This was quite the crowd pleaser, and I’m sure many of you reading this saw her do it many times. As you know, she rarely missed.
Our past two moves were tough for Codie. She was growing older, and adjusting to life in warm climates was especially tough on her, as she is a winter loving dog. When we moved to Georgia, we had an in ground pool put in, mostly for Codie. That pool was her salvation – she lived in it in the summer. She would lie down on the first step so everything but her head was immersed in water, and sleep with her head on the edge of the pool. The last time she hunted was in 2006, when Kirk took her dove hunting. He had not hunted with her in over two years, because it is hard to find good bird hunting spots in Georgia. When he got the chance to go, he debated whether she would be able to handle it, as she was definitely aging. But it was an easy hunt, on flat terrain, and the temperatures were pretty moderate – in the 70s. He knew she would love to go, and thought it might be their last chance to hunt before she had to give it up for good, so he decided to take her. To make a long story short, they had only been out there a few minutes when she collapsed. He thought she was having a heart attack. He ran for the truck and drove it to where she was. He was in the middle of nowhere and didn’t know where to get help, and she was clearly in trouble. He called me, and I called the vet and told him what was happening. The vet said it sounded like heat stroke, and that Kirk had 20 minutes from the time of onset to get her immersed in water or she would have irreversible brain damage. I called him back and told him – by now probably 10 of the 20 minutes had passed. There were no bodies of water anywhere near him. Another hunter told him there was an abandoned farmhouse down the road, and he drove there, praying there would be water, and fortunately, there was not only running water, but someone had left a hose attached to the faucet. That hose saved her life – without it he could not have gotten enough water on her body to cool her down adequately. He felt horrible about it, and never forgave himself for putting her at risk. After that, she became even more susceptible to heat, and had to have air-conditioning available at all times in the summer.
For the past few years, we continually wondered how much longer she would live. She had arthritis, and was getting pretty sore, but continued to soldier on. Before every visit they made, the kids would ask if we thought Codie would make it until they came, and every time they left, they said goodbye like it was the last time. Yet she always seemed to make it to the next one. Kirk could not talk about her eventually dying – it was heartbreaking for him. Finally, about two weeks before he died, he told me something that I am now very grateful to know. He said that he had decided that when she died, he wanted her cremated, and he planned to keep her ashes to be buried with him when he died someday. We had never before done this with a pet, so if he had not said anything I would never have known he wanted it. I never dreamed he would be the first to go.
As you would guess, she has not been the same since he died. The first few weeks she just seemed to be waiting patiently for him to come home. When he didn’t, she started staying in the laundry room all the time, and wouldn’t come out. After a month or so of that, she finally emerged and rejoined the family, but she just seemed quieter and didn’t seem to have joy anymore. Lately, her health has been declining more and more, and finally after much soul searching and advice/consultation from the kids, Jenny, Nancy, etc., and many many tears, I made the decision that it was time to give her back to him. Matt told me he imagines Kirk in heaven and that there is some sort of receptionist at the front gate, and that when Kirk got there, he told the person he was expecting his dog Codie soon, and that they had to let him know as soon as she got there. Since then though, he worries they will forget to tell him, so he bugs the person constantly – “are you sure she hasn’t come yet?” That would be typical.
When we chose the cemetery for him, I asked if we could bury her ashes above him when she died. I was told no, that we cannot disturb his grave for any reason. So instead, I plan to buy some stone planters to put on either side of his (our) tombstone. Her ashes will go in the bottom of one, with a planting on top of it. It’s the closest I can come to fulfilling his wishes.
I hope so much that they are really together now. That would be the most joyous reunion imaginable. For the past year, I have not said the word “Daddy” to her or in front of her – I was worried she would think he was there and go looking for him. As she lay on the table in the vet’s office, and they were getting ready to let her rest, I knelt down and held her head. She looked in my eyes, peacefully, not blinking, and finally I was able to say his name to her, over and over – “Go find Daddy.” And I like to think she did.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Adjusting
You have probably been wondering where I’ve been. Perhaps thinking - maybe she isn’t writing because she is getting better. And because she is “better” she is not so full of words and feelings and confusion bursting to get out so she has not written. You would be partially right.
It is true that I am not bursting all the time anymore. However, I would not call myself “better.” More accurate I think to call it “adjusting.” The best I can describe it is that eleven months, one week, and five days ago, a staggering weight was thrust on me, like the biggest, heaviest, most painful bag of rocks was loaded onto my back, my shoulders, everywhere – more crushing than anyone can imagine. The weight felt like it was literally sucking my breath out, paralyzing me, making even the simplest task virtually impossible. My mind was so numb from it that it seemed I was underwater, and the world was thick and far away, yet at the same time had a sharpness and clarity that only added to the pain.
To describe who I am now as “better” would imply that the bag of rocks has lightened, and that would be inaccurate. The truth is that I have just gotten accustomed to carrying it. The weight has become a part of who I am. It’s as heavy as ever, and I am always aware it’s there, but I have toughened and adapted. I desperately want to get rid of the bag, to have him back, to never have had it happen, but I know this is not possible and I have to soldier on. The weight is harder to carry on some days than on others, and I guess that will always be the case. But since around the nine to ten month mark I find I have hardened enough, become calloused enough, that the burden has become more manageable.
So why haven’t I said this to you before? If much of my purpose in writing is to tell you how I’m doing, why haven’t I? Why not reassure you when I know how much you worry about me and care? The truth is, I was struggling with what it says about Kirk. I have been terribly unhappy and uncomfortable with this. If I have adapted, does that mean that’s all he was worth? Only ten months or so of raw pain? If I say out loud that I am adjusting, will you think his “specialness” was that limited? Not equal to forever - or even a year? I haven’t wanted anyone to know how I'm doing, because I didn’t want you to cap his worth. Better to let you think I am still a mess, still crying all the time, better to let you worry about me, even to let you think that if I have stopped writing it means I am worse. To let you think I have withdrawn, that maybe you should get on a plane and come check on me, anything other than to let you think he was only worth ten months.
This probably hurts to hear. I can imagine you all thinking right now that you know how special he was, that you would never think he was any less worthy based on my state of mind. And I do know you are right. But I LOVE HIM and I could not stand to reveal anything that might make him seem less big and special and wonderful and worth it than he was. I’m not talking about making him a saint, just that I want him to have his due. Let me assure you, he was worth forever. He was worth a crushing bag of rocks – a never-ever-adjusted-to crushing bag of rocks. In a lot of ways I wish I couldn’t manage the weight, because it feels like a more fitting tribute to him to have it be unmanageable, and I so much want him to have what he deserves, the tribute he earned with all the love and passion and support and laughter and family and caring and just sheer happiness he gave me.
So what has finally made me able to say all this out loud? Allowed to me overcome my fear of reducing his value? Once again, it was the book. As a reminder, “the book” refers to "Healing After Loss," the Martha Whitmore Hickman book I told you about many months ago. The book you should all give as a gift to the people in your life you want so desperately to help when they lose someone they love. The book that sometimes makes me mad, sometimes gives me clarity, sometimes calms me, or makes me feel understood, or helps me see things in a new light. This time, it pointed me right at the blindingly obvious. With a simple, one-sentence quote, it set me on the road to accepting my progress, to adjusting to my own adjustment. Here is the quote:
“The greatest tribute to the dead is not grief, but gratitude.” (Thomas Wilder)
This is the single most powerful thought I have encountered since this nightmare began. It is in the introduction to the book, and I had never read it before, but a few weeks ago I was thumbing through the book and stumbled across it. I am glad I didn’t find it nine months, or six months, or even three months ago, because I would not have been ready to hear it. I would have rejected it, or not “gotten” it. But it came when I needed it, and it was like someone shone a spotlight on the one thing I needed to realize in order to start to accept where I am in this process and to be able to say it out loud. Because it gives me a different but still acceptable and right way to pay tribute to Kirk, and to give him everything he deserves. Because while the rawness of the grief has diminished, the gratitude I feel for him keeps growing and will continue to do so. The need for sheer survival seems to limit uncontrolled mourning, but there is not, and never will be, a limit to my gratitude. And that proclaims his value, his worth, as limitless, which it was and is.
I still mourn him and miss him terribly. I often – probably too often - fantasize what it would be like to have him walk through the front door. I see it so clearly in my mind – he has on his favorite jeans or plaid shorts, with his famous loafers and no socks. He wears a golf shirt (solid color or vertical stripes – never horizontal), and a cap with a golf or fishing logo on it. He has his big grin on his face, and he walks in with that distinctive walk I cannot describe but every one of you who knows him is seeing in your mind right now. And he is, as always, happy to see me. He wraps his arms around me so tightly, and I am home. I hold on to him like I am drowning - I don’t know how I will ever let go of him. We stand there in the front hall while the dogs dance around us wanting his attention. But they will have to wait because we are in our own place, the world with only us in it, and he rocks me and comforts me and kisses my head like he did the minute he first loved me, while I cry and cry with the incredible joy and relief I feel at having him back.
I know it cannot happen, but I fantasize anyway. It hurts, like salt on a wound, but also allows me to feel, however briefly, the happiness that would be in that moment. And it makes me feel grateful to him for giving me the kind of love and partnership that creates the fantasy at all.
It is true that I am not bursting all the time anymore. However, I would not call myself “better.” More accurate I think to call it “adjusting.” The best I can describe it is that eleven months, one week, and five days ago, a staggering weight was thrust on me, like the biggest, heaviest, most painful bag of rocks was loaded onto my back, my shoulders, everywhere – more crushing than anyone can imagine. The weight felt like it was literally sucking my breath out, paralyzing me, making even the simplest task virtually impossible. My mind was so numb from it that it seemed I was underwater, and the world was thick and far away, yet at the same time had a sharpness and clarity that only added to the pain.
To describe who I am now as “better” would imply that the bag of rocks has lightened, and that would be inaccurate. The truth is that I have just gotten accustomed to carrying it. The weight has become a part of who I am. It’s as heavy as ever, and I am always aware it’s there, but I have toughened and adapted. I desperately want to get rid of the bag, to have him back, to never have had it happen, but I know this is not possible and I have to soldier on. The weight is harder to carry on some days than on others, and I guess that will always be the case. But since around the nine to ten month mark I find I have hardened enough, become calloused enough, that the burden has become more manageable.
So why haven’t I said this to you before? If much of my purpose in writing is to tell you how I’m doing, why haven’t I? Why not reassure you when I know how much you worry about me and care? The truth is, I was struggling with what it says about Kirk. I have been terribly unhappy and uncomfortable with this. If I have adapted, does that mean that’s all he was worth? Only ten months or so of raw pain? If I say out loud that I am adjusting, will you think his “specialness” was that limited? Not equal to forever - or even a year? I haven’t wanted anyone to know how I'm doing, because I didn’t want you to cap his worth. Better to let you think I am still a mess, still crying all the time, better to let you worry about me, even to let you think that if I have stopped writing it means I am worse. To let you think I have withdrawn, that maybe you should get on a plane and come check on me, anything other than to let you think he was only worth ten months.
This probably hurts to hear. I can imagine you all thinking right now that you know how special he was, that you would never think he was any less worthy based on my state of mind. And I do know you are right. But I LOVE HIM and I could not stand to reveal anything that might make him seem less big and special and wonderful and worth it than he was. I’m not talking about making him a saint, just that I want him to have his due. Let me assure you, he was worth forever. He was worth a crushing bag of rocks – a never-ever-adjusted-to crushing bag of rocks. In a lot of ways I wish I couldn’t manage the weight, because it feels like a more fitting tribute to him to have it be unmanageable, and I so much want him to have what he deserves, the tribute he earned with all the love and passion and support and laughter and family and caring and just sheer happiness he gave me.
So what has finally made me able to say all this out loud? Allowed to me overcome my fear of reducing his value? Once again, it was the book. As a reminder, “the book” refers to "Healing After Loss," the Martha Whitmore Hickman book I told you about many months ago. The book you should all give as a gift to the people in your life you want so desperately to help when they lose someone they love. The book that sometimes makes me mad, sometimes gives me clarity, sometimes calms me, or makes me feel understood, or helps me see things in a new light. This time, it pointed me right at the blindingly obvious. With a simple, one-sentence quote, it set me on the road to accepting my progress, to adjusting to my own adjustment. Here is the quote:
“The greatest tribute to the dead is not grief, but gratitude.” (Thomas Wilder)
This is the single most powerful thought I have encountered since this nightmare began. It is in the introduction to the book, and I had never read it before, but a few weeks ago I was thumbing through the book and stumbled across it. I am glad I didn’t find it nine months, or six months, or even three months ago, because I would not have been ready to hear it. I would have rejected it, or not “gotten” it. But it came when I needed it, and it was like someone shone a spotlight on the one thing I needed to realize in order to start to accept where I am in this process and to be able to say it out loud. Because it gives me a different but still acceptable and right way to pay tribute to Kirk, and to give him everything he deserves. Because while the rawness of the grief has diminished, the gratitude I feel for him keeps growing and will continue to do so. The need for sheer survival seems to limit uncontrolled mourning, but there is not, and never will be, a limit to my gratitude. And that proclaims his value, his worth, as limitless, which it was and is.
I still mourn him and miss him terribly. I often – probably too often - fantasize what it would be like to have him walk through the front door. I see it so clearly in my mind – he has on his favorite jeans or plaid shorts, with his famous loafers and no socks. He wears a golf shirt (solid color or vertical stripes – never horizontal), and a cap with a golf or fishing logo on it. He has his big grin on his face, and he walks in with that distinctive walk I cannot describe but every one of you who knows him is seeing in your mind right now. And he is, as always, happy to see me. He wraps his arms around me so tightly, and I am home. I hold on to him like I am drowning - I don’t know how I will ever let go of him. We stand there in the front hall while the dogs dance around us wanting his attention. But they will have to wait because we are in our own place, the world with only us in it, and he rocks me and comforts me and kisses my head like he did the minute he first loved me, while I cry and cry with the incredible joy and relief I feel at having him back.
I know it cannot happen, but I fantasize anyway. It hurts, like salt on a wound, but also allows me to feel, however briefly, the happiness that would be in that moment. And it makes me feel grateful to him for giving me the kind of love and partnership that creates the fantasy at all.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Stuck
I feel stuck. Nothing is changing, getting better, getting worse. The last few weeks are the longest I have gone with so little variation in emotion and mental state. I keep feeling like I should be pushing myself to take more baby steps back into the world, because I feel like I will never go back out there, never have any semblance of normal life, unless I make myself.
For example, I feel like I should be able to go to a bar. Just to hang out with friends or neighbors. But I am frozen at the thought. Why? Two reasons. First, I don’t want anyone to think I’m over him. The simple act of going out with friends seems loaded with meaning, seems to misinform the world that I am okay now. I hate the thought of anyone thinking I don’t miss him, that I wouldn’t rather be home with him. Also, I am consumed with the thought that people will think I am looking for a guy. It’s stupid, I know. After all, when I had Kirk and I went out with friends and he wasn’t with me, I never assumed that anyone thought I was looking for someone. I guess I feel like I now emanate aloneness, and that everyone will think I’m there looking for companionship. I know this is crazy, but it’s all I can think about, and I can’t stand that anyone might think it. I have no concern at all that anyone will actually approach me – that thought doesn’t even occur to me. I am only worried that people will think I WANT to be approached, when in fact it is absolutely the last thing I would want.
All my neighbors go to the only bar in town and they often ask me to go. There are live bands that play, which in my other life I would have enjoyed. I don’t really want to go, but I do want to WANT to go – to feel able to go. So far I haven’t said yes, because I don’t know how I will do, and don’t want to have to explain myself if I leave after 5 minutes. So when my sister was here recently, I decided that we should go - a practice run if you will. That way if I got freaked out and had to leave I could just go home and she of course would understand. We got ready to leave the house, and as I was about to get my coat, I realized I had taken my rings off to wash my hands and hadn’t put them back on. The thought that I almost left the house without my rings made me feel panicked, like I couldn't breathe. They are my armor - my signal to the world that I love someone, I belong to someone, I don’t need or want anyone else.
Then when we got there, we walked in, and standing just inside the front door was the chief of police from our town. The one who came to the house to tell me Kirk was dead. The one who has been passionate about wanting to see the person who killed Kirk held responsible. The one who was quoted in the paper saying that telling me Kirk had been killed was the hardest moment of his entire career. The last person I wanted to have see me in a bar, looking normal on the outside, only 9 months after my husband died. I think I only lasted 30 minutes before I needed to leave,and the whole time I was self-conscious, worried what he was thinking. And now I keep feeling like I need to call him and explain – tell him it was an only an experiment, tell him I am still lost, ask him to please still care. I hate that he saw me there. So much for that experiment.
I also feel like I should be making small steps toward not having Kirk’s things be just like he left them. I should try something small. Maybe get rid of his shampoo bottle in the shower. Or the sliver of his soap that is still there. Or I could clean his sink or mirror – wipe away his toothpaste spatters, the tiny hairs that fell from his electric razor. I could give some of his clothes to charity – just a jacket or some pants or something. Or even do something as small as pick up the shirts he left hanging to dry in the laundry room and just move them to our closet. But I can’t stand the thought of even these small steps. And yet I am very worried that twenty years from now I will still be here, nothing different, the house a shrine to him, frozen in time. I don’t want to be that widow – the one who gets stuck in the past forever. But how do I stop her from happening if after almost 10 months I can’t even move a shirt from the laundry room to the closet?
I guess I just don’t know if making progress will happen if I just wait long enough, or if it will only happen if I make it happen one step at a time. So here I sit – stuck.
For example, I feel like I should be able to go to a bar. Just to hang out with friends or neighbors. But I am frozen at the thought. Why? Two reasons. First, I don’t want anyone to think I’m over him. The simple act of going out with friends seems loaded with meaning, seems to misinform the world that I am okay now. I hate the thought of anyone thinking I don’t miss him, that I wouldn’t rather be home with him. Also, I am consumed with the thought that people will think I am looking for a guy. It’s stupid, I know. After all, when I had Kirk and I went out with friends and he wasn’t with me, I never assumed that anyone thought I was looking for someone. I guess I feel like I now emanate aloneness, and that everyone will think I’m there looking for companionship. I know this is crazy, but it’s all I can think about, and I can’t stand that anyone might think it. I have no concern at all that anyone will actually approach me – that thought doesn’t even occur to me. I am only worried that people will think I WANT to be approached, when in fact it is absolutely the last thing I would want.
All my neighbors go to the only bar in town and they often ask me to go. There are live bands that play, which in my other life I would have enjoyed. I don’t really want to go, but I do want to WANT to go – to feel able to go. So far I haven’t said yes, because I don’t know how I will do, and don’t want to have to explain myself if I leave after 5 minutes. So when my sister was here recently, I decided that we should go - a practice run if you will. That way if I got freaked out and had to leave I could just go home and she of course would understand. We got ready to leave the house, and as I was about to get my coat, I realized I had taken my rings off to wash my hands and hadn’t put them back on. The thought that I almost left the house without my rings made me feel panicked, like I couldn't breathe. They are my armor - my signal to the world that I love someone, I belong to someone, I don’t need or want anyone else.
Then when we got there, we walked in, and standing just inside the front door was the chief of police from our town. The one who came to the house to tell me Kirk was dead. The one who has been passionate about wanting to see the person who killed Kirk held responsible. The one who was quoted in the paper saying that telling me Kirk had been killed was the hardest moment of his entire career. The last person I wanted to have see me in a bar, looking normal on the outside, only 9 months after my husband died. I think I only lasted 30 minutes before I needed to leave,and the whole time I was self-conscious, worried what he was thinking. And now I keep feeling like I need to call him and explain – tell him it was an only an experiment, tell him I am still lost, ask him to please still care. I hate that he saw me there. So much for that experiment.
I also feel like I should be making small steps toward not having Kirk’s things be just like he left them. I should try something small. Maybe get rid of his shampoo bottle in the shower. Or the sliver of his soap that is still there. Or I could clean his sink or mirror – wipe away his toothpaste spatters, the tiny hairs that fell from his electric razor. I could give some of his clothes to charity – just a jacket or some pants or something. Or even do something as small as pick up the shirts he left hanging to dry in the laundry room and just move them to our closet. But I can’t stand the thought of even these small steps. And yet I am very worried that twenty years from now I will still be here, nothing different, the house a shrine to him, frozen in time. I don’t want to be that widow – the one who gets stuck in the past forever. But how do I stop her from happening if after almost 10 months I can’t even move a shirt from the laundry room to the closet?
I guess I just don’t know if making progress will happen if I just wait long enough, or if it will only happen if I make it happen one step at a time. So here I sit – stuck.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Lisa W Is...
I am the only person I know from my generation or younger who does not have a Facebook account. Even Kirk had one that he started just a short time before he died. Everyone tells me I need one. I’ve thought about it, mainly because I would like to see the pictures that friends and family post. What I do not want, though, is to have a virtual drink, discuss what color I would be if I were a Converse sneaker, hear about the imaginary corn that people have grown, take meaningless quizzes, or have one more thing in my life to babysit or take care of. So I have resisted.
Then yesterday, Erika called to tell me she had set up a Facebook account for me. She said my sisters all have one, and I cannot be less cool than them. All I have to do is accept it. The confirmation is in my email, as are several “friend requests.” Yet still I drag my feet and cannot decide what to do. As I think about whether to accept, I keep thinking that one of the elements of Facebook is the status section. You know, where people say “Laurie Davis is…taking a shower.” “Mike Jones is…at the grocery store.” “Katie Smith is…excited about tomorrow.”
If I do this, what will I say I am? I have run through options in my head all day today. Lisa W is…
Lonely
Finally feeling successful at work again
Missing Kirk
Tired of waiting for justice
Knowing it probably won’t help
Getting used to sleeping alone
Not eating or exercising properly
Shopping too much
Working too much
Wishing she still loved music the way she used to
Horribly socially uncomfortable
Weary
Thinking that if she has a Facebook account everyone will think she is normal again
Sad
Too numb sometimes to be sad
Bothered that she does not always think of him as soon as she wakes up; glad that she still always thinks of him as she falls asleep
Not ready to get rid of any of his things
Worried she will never be ready to get rid of any of his things
Looking forward to her grief support group (how warped is that?)
Still learning how to take care of the house, the car, the bills
Tired looking
Smiling more, but not sure how she feels about it
Isolating herself, and feeling guilty about it
Missing the kids
Wishing she could undo all this and have him back
Never dreaming of him and wanting to so much
Not sure who she is anymore
Unable to come up with anything truthful that she is willing to say to the world on Facebook
I started writing this because I couldn’t figure out why I can’t seem to just make a decision one way or the other about this. Why am I so frozen with indecision about something so silly? But as my thoughts come out of my fingers, I am starting to think my real hesitation about Facebook doesn’t have anything to do with quizzes or virtual drinks. I suspect it just feels like too much exposure for me. Why I would feel that way when I expose myself much more by writing this? I think the difference is that so many people can find you on Facebook. Technology hunts you down and holds you up in front of the world, and I’m just not ready for that. This blog is known only to two groups of people – those I told about it, and strangers I will never know who have found me by accident. I am strangely helped by being exposed to the first group, and the second will never even meet me. But somehow the thought of casual acquaintances and ex-high school classmates “seeing” me right now doesn’t feel good. Lisa W is…still hiding.
Then yesterday, Erika called to tell me she had set up a Facebook account for me. She said my sisters all have one, and I cannot be less cool than them. All I have to do is accept it. The confirmation is in my email, as are several “friend requests.” Yet still I drag my feet and cannot decide what to do. As I think about whether to accept, I keep thinking that one of the elements of Facebook is the status section. You know, where people say “Laurie Davis is…taking a shower.” “Mike Jones is…at the grocery store.” “Katie Smith is…excited about tomorrow.”
If I do this, what will I say I am? I have run through options in my head all day today. Lisa W is…
Lonely
Finally feeling successful at work again
Missing Kirk
Tired of waiting for justice
Knowing it probably won’t help
Getting used to sleeping alone
Not eating or exercising properly
Shopping too much
Working too much
Wishing she still loved music the way she used to
Horribly socially uncomfortable
Weary
Thinking that if she has a Facebook account everyone will think she is normal again
Sad
Too numb sometimes to be sad
Bothered that she does not always think of him as soon as she wakes up; glad that she still always thinks of him as she falls asleep
Not ready to get rid of any of his things
Worried she will never be ready to get rid of any of his things
Looking forward to her grief support group (how warped is that?)
Still learning how to take care of the house, the car, the bills
Tired looking
Smiling more, but not sure how she feels about it
Isolating herself, and feeling guilty about it
Missing the kids
Wishing she could undo all this and have him back
Never dreaming of him and wanting to so much
Not sure who she is anymore
Unable to come up with anything truthful that she is willing to say to the world on Facebook
I started writing this because I couldn’t figure out why I can’t seem to just make a decision one way or the other about this. Why am I so frozen with indecision about something so silly? But as my thoughts come out of my fingers, I am starting to think my real hesitation about Facebook doesn’t have anything to do with quizzes or virtual drinks. I suspect it just feels like too much exposure for me. Why I would feel that way when I expose myself much more by writing this? I think the difference is that so many people can find you on Facebook. Technology hunts you down and holds you up in front of the world, and I’m just not ready for that. This blog is known only to two groups of people – those I told about it, and strangers I will never know who have found me by accident. I am strangely helped by being exposed to the first group, and the second will never even meet me. But somehow the thought of casual acquaintances and ex-high school classmates “seeing” me right now doesn’t feel good. Lisa W is…still hiding.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Little Known Facts and Causes for Celebration
Happy Groundhog’s Day to all! Today was Kirk’s second favorite holiday of the year (only Thanksgiving ranks higher). A strange second choice to be sure, but as you know, he loved to be different. So in honor of Kirk and his love of Puxatawney Phil, here are some little known facts that he would be happy for you to know:
(Disclaimer – I cannot be held responsible for the spelling of Puxatawney. I am in fact spelling it wrong and I do not care - there are too many letters for even the most uptight person to type correctly over and over)
1. Puxatawney Phil has been predicting the duration of winter for over 220 years. The hog you see today is the original varmint from the 1880s - he is immortal due to the dose of groundhog punch that he consumes every year at a special summer ceremony.
2. The care and feeding of Puxatawney Phil and the management of his high profile forecasting career fall to a group of professional handlers known as the Inside Circle.
3. This year, for the first time, one of the handlers was put in charge of Phil’s social networking activities, and arranged for Phil to Tweet his forecast to the world immediately. However a hacker hijacked Phil’s Twitter broadcast this morning, causing it to fail. Something to look forward to in 2011…
4. Puxatawney Phil does not actually predict the forecast by seeing or not seeing his shadow. Instead, he whispers his prediction to his handler.
5. PETA has petitioned the Inner Circle to replace Phil with a robot, as they believe that waking him up from his winter nap is cruel and negatively impacts his quality of life. (Seriously?! Don't they know he's immortal?)
6. Puxatawney Phil’s forecasts were studied by National Geographic and found to have a historical average of 40% accuracy. Not too impressive - until you discover that they also analyzed the accuracy of human weather forecasters and found them to be accurate (you guessed it!) about 40% of the time.
7. There is only ONE Puxatawney Phil, and only he is qualified to predict the end of winter. Staten Island Chuck, Ohio Chuck, General Beauregard Lee, Jimmy the Groundhog, and Sir Walter Wally are but a few of the Puxatawney Phil wannabes. Do not be fooled by imitators!
And finally, one more little known fact courtesy of Kirk. In case Groundhog’s Day is not reason enough for you to celebrate, I am happy to tell you that it is also (drum roll please) National Grapefruit Month! Party responsibly everyone…
(Disclaimer – I cannot be held responsible for the spelling of Puxatawney. I am in fact spelling it wrong and I do not care - there are too many letters for even the most uptight person to type correctly over and over)
1. Puxatawney Phil has been predicting the duration of winter for over 220 years. The hog you see today is the original varmint from the 1880s - he is immortal due to the dose of groundhog punch that he consumes every year at a special summer ceremony.
2. The care and feeding of Puxatawney Phil and the management of his high profile forecasting career fall to a group of professional handlers known as the Inside Circle.
3. This year, for the first time, one of the handlers was put in charge of Phil’s social networking activities, and arranged for Phil to Tweet his forecast to the world immediately. However a hacker hijacked Phil’s Twitter broadcast this morning, causing it to fail. Something to look forward to in 2011…
4. Puxatawney Phil does not actually predict the forecast by seeing or not seeing his shadow. Instead, he whispers his prediction to his handler.
5. PETA has petitioned the Inner Circle to replace Phil with a robot, as they believe that waking him up from his winter nap is cruel and negatively impacts his quality of life. (Seriously?! Don't they know he's immortal?)
6. Puxatawney Phil’s forecasts were studied by National Geographic and found to have a historical average of 40% accuracy. Not too impressive - until you discover that they also analyzed the accuracy of human weather forecasters and found them to be accurate (you guessed it!) about 40% of the time.
7. There is only ONE Puxatawney Phil, and only he is qualified to predict the end of winter. Staten Island Chuck, Ohio Chuck, General Beauregard Lee, Jimmy the Groundhog, and Sir Walter Wally are but a few of the Puxatawney Phil wannabes. Do not be fooled by imitators!
And finally, one more little known fact courtesy of Kirk. In case Groundhog’s Day is not reason enough for you to celebrate, I am happy to tell you that it is also (drum roll please) National Grapefruit Month! Party responsibly everyone…
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Am I Back?
Hello to all -
After almost a month without writing, I think I might be back. Why haven't I written? I'm not sure - I think maybe I was just out of words for a while (hard to imagine isn't it?!). I thought it was because I was emotionally drained, and working a ton of hours. But I realized tonight that there is something else different now. I go to a grief support group every Sunday. It runs for eight weeks at a time. I started in October, and it finished just before the holidays. I missed it terribly - I felt I had lost an outlet I really needed. A new 8 week session started January 14, and I am relieved to be back, relieved to be letting stuff out again. Tonight was the third week, and when I got home afterward, I felt like maybe my voice was back, and I was ready to write again. It makes me wonder whether letting stuff out there makes me more ready or able to let it out here. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I'm happy to be writing. We'll see if it lasts.
When I went to the first night of this group a few weeks ago, I had a really tough night. The group is completely different than the last group of people, so the stories of loss were all new, and much harder to hear than the stories in the last group. The last group was smaller. This time, it is a much bigger group, so there are many more painful stories. I left that first night not sure I could come back again - it felt like too much to bear. How could I hear so much grief every week on top of my own? But I went back the next week and it was easier, and it helped me. So I went back again tonight, and now I feel I will be able to stick with it, and that this group may be even better for me than the last one.
The third week of the support group is the week where everyone brings a picture of the person they lost. I like the picture night - I like seeing the people who are gone, being able to put a face to the stories that are told about them. I like seeing them happy in the photos. I like that in the pictures you can see something about their lives - a sport they played, a trip they took, a family moment captured forever. I brought two pictures of Kirk, both of which are in the revolving pictures in the blog. One was the picture of Kirk when I first met him, and the other is the one labeled "My Very Favorite Picture" on the right side of the blog. I also brought a booklet of the blog that my friend Mimi made, because she printed all the pictures in the blog in the booklet.
So it was a good night, relatively speaking. It's too late tonight to write much more, but hopefully I'll be back soon. In the meantime - look at the next post down - I wrote it a few weeks ago but never posted it until now.
It's nice to be back.
After almost a month without writing, I think I might be back. Why haven't I written? I'm not sure - I think maybe I was just out of words for a while (hard to imagine isn't it?!). I thought it was because I was emotionally drained, and working a ton of hours. But I realized tonight that there is something else different now. I go to a grief support group every Sunday. It runs for eight weeks at a time. I started in October, and it finished just before the holidays. I missed it terribly - I felt I had lost an outlet I really needed. A new 8 week session started January 14, and I am relieved to be back, relieved to be letting stuff out again. Tonight was the third week, and when I got home afterward, I felt like maybe my voice was back, and I was ready to write again. It makes me wonder whether letting stuff out there makes me more ready or able to let it out here. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I'm happy to be writing. We'll see if it lasts.
When I went to the first night of this group a few weeks ago, I had a really tough night. The group is completely different than the last group of people, so the stories of loss were all new, and much harder to hear than the stories in the last group. The last group was smaller. This time, it is a much bigger group, so there are many more painful stories. I left that first night not sure I could come back again - it felt like too much to bear. How could I hear so much grief every week on top of my own? But I went back the next week and it was easier, and it helped me. So I went back again tonight, and now I feel I will be able to stick with it, and that this group may be even better for me than the last one.
The third week of the support group is the week where everyone brings a picture of the person they lost. I like the picture night - I like seeing the people who are gone, being able to put a face to the stories that are told about them. I like seeing them happy in the photos. I like that in the pictures you can see something about their lives - a sport they played, a trip they took, a family moment captured forever. I brought two pictures of Kirk, both of which are in the revolving pictures in the blog. One was the picture of Kirk when I first met him, and the other is the one labeled "My Very Favorite Picture" on the right side of the blog. I also brought a booklet of the blog that my friend Mimi made, because she printed all the pictures in the blog in the booklet.
So it was a good night, relatively speaking. It's too late tonight to write much more, but hopefully I'll be back soon. In the meantime - look at the next post down - I wrote it a few weeks ago but never posted it until now.
It's nice to be back.
The End of an Awful Year
Note: This post was actually written on January 3, 2010, but not posted until today.
Tomorrow I go back to work. I am relieved – this past week, since Christmas, has been awful. Christmas itself was manageable – the kids and I went home for the holiday with my whole family, just like we used to have when we lived there. There was one big missing piece without Kirk there, but we got through it okay – better than I expected actually.
But since coming back here on the 28th, it has gotten really tough. The 29th was our anniversary, and as I expected, it was really difficult. By far the worst day since his birthday, maybe the worst day since the first few weeks of all this. It was especially tough because the weather got bad here and it was not safe to drive, so I couldn’t go to the accident site, which I had really wanted to do that day. I felt upset and also guilty, almost as if I was neglecting him by not going. He hated for me to drive in bad weather, and I knew he would not have wanted me to do it. Mostly though, all I could think of is what if I am sitting by the side of the road where he died and someone slides on the ice and kills me – then the kids will have lost both their parents in the same spot. Paranoid maybe, but it kept me home.
I had thought that once I got through that day I would get an emotional break on the 30th and during the day on New Year’s Eve, and then struggle again on New Year’s Eve. It was not to be. To my surprise, the 30th and all of the 31st were every bit as difficult as the anniversary. The sadness was as intense as it was six months ago, with frequent tears, and more ready to break through at all times. The day of New Year’s Eve felt especially strange, because I was going to the neighborhood party that night, and I found myself apprehensive, nervous, even fearful about it. While I know the neighbors right around me well now, I do not know the rest of the neighborhood, and I was irrationally uncomfortable about going to an event that included strangers.
It was reminiscent of the first few weeks after Kirk died, a time during which I had an overwhelming feeling that people were staring at me in public. I felt they could see the weakness and pain in me, and that it made me a spectacle. The worst time was in the airport here, leaving to fly home for the funeral. I felt incredibly weak, trembly, and breathless, like I was going to have a panic attack. This discomfort in public went away after the first few weeks, but it came back (although not quite as strongly) when I thought about attending the New Years Eve Party. I suspect it was because I know that the whole neighborhood knows what happened, and felt that they would be looking at me – “there’s the woman who lost her husband.” I hate being someone everyone else whispers about.
Feeling this way made me realize how much I hate that this has become my story, his story, our story. I am the woman who lost her husband in the awful accident. We are the couple whose happy life ended when he was killed. He is the funny, great guy who died tragically, and too soon. This is not who I want us to be, who I want me to be, and I know it is absolutely not who he would want to be. His death has defined every waking moment, every decision, every emotion for over eight months, and it seems so wrong – there is so much more to us than that. I can’t stand it – it makes me want to scream. It makes me so sad that this should be our legacy, or at least an unavoidable part of it.
But I made myself go to the party, and it was okay. Everyone was nice, and I didn’t feel whispered about (although I think I must have been, in a caring way). It was hard though, to see everyone in couples. I see couples every day of course, but usually I am moving – at the grocery store, the movies, Home Depot - so I am not confronted with them for long. It was harder to be in a contained space for several hours with all of them. There was one couple in particular who clearly really loved each other, and it showed in the same way it would have if someone was watching me and Kirk. No big yukky PDA went on. It was more the way they held hands or leaned into each other when they were standing together. And when they weren’t together, they would look up from time to time and make eye contact across the room. Once when they had been apart for a while he stepped away from the group he was with, and went up behind her. He put his arms around her and lowered his head into her neck and just held her, kind of rocking her, inhaling her. She reached up and held his head in her arms, without ever stopping the conversation she was in. You could tell that it was not unexpected for him to embrace her this way – it was natural and easy. That would have been us. It made me happy for them, and sad for me. I stayed until 11:30 and then came home. I could not be there at midnight – everyone paired off and me wishing I was.
When I got home I turned on a movie and tried to ignore the clock. As it got closer to midnight I realized that for the first time since I lost him, I was about to have a moment where I would know exactly what we were doing together one year ago. There is no other moment I can know that about. I can know that on a certain day (like a birthday) we did a specific thing last year – went to a certain restaurant, gave each other a specific gift, had a party at our house. But the only actual moment on which I can know our history is midnight on New Year’s Eve. For thirty years, at that very moment, we kissed each other. Every time, every year. Even if I fell asleep, he would stay awake and then wake me up and kiss me at midnight. This year as the clock crept toward that moment, I couldn’t breathe for the want of him. I missed him so very much. I stared at the TV, willing myself not to look at the clock, afraid to see the moment of midnight, the moment that had held happiness for so many years and now held only sadness.
I managed to not look at the time, and stayed up way past midnight so I would be exhausted when I got into bed and could hopefully fall asleep. It didn’t work – I had to break out the Tylenol PM. I have needed it most nights since coming back home after Christmas. I haven’t used it since the first two weeks of all this, but this past week it has been impossible to sleep without it. I don’t like needing it. I got up super early today so I would be really tired tonight – I don’t want to take it the night before I have to get up for work.
I think this was just too much time off of work without companionship, and with the added effect of the holidays, it was overwhelming. I am exhausted, weary, like I have no strength to keep facing this. Another grief lesson – two weeks of vacation sounds appealing, but in the reality of my new life, it can backfire.
I want to say that maybe 2010 will be better than 2009. The problem is, 2009 held both the loss of Kirk, and the last few months of Kirk. So was it a horrible year, or a wonderful year? Can 2010 – a year in which I will not have him for even one day - be better than the last year in which he was with me? Can it be worse than the year in which I lost him? I wish I didn’t have to find out.
Tomorrow I go back to work. I am relieved – this past week, since Christmas, has been awful. Christmas itself was manageable – the kids and I went home for the holiday with my whole family, just like we used to have when we lived there. There was one big missing piece without Kirk there, but we got through it okay – better than I expected actually.
But since coming back here on the 28th, it has gotten really tough. The 29th was our anniversary, and as I expected, it was really difficult. By far the worst day since his birthday, maybe the worst day since the first few weeks of all this. It was especially tough because the weather got bad here and it was not safe to drive, so I couldn’t go to the accident site, which I had really wanted to do that day. I felt upset and also guilty, almost as if I was neglecting him by not going. He hated for me to drive in bad weather, and I knew he would not have wanted me to do it. Mostly though, all I could think of is what if I am sitting by the side of the road where he died and someone slides on the ice and kills me – then the kids will have lost both their parents in the same spot. Paranoid maybe, but it kept me home.
I had thought that once I got through that day I would get an emotional break on the 30th and during the day on New Year’s Eve, and then struggle again on New Year’s Eve. It was not to be. To my surprise, the 30th and all of the 31st were every bit as difficult as the anniversary. The sadness was as intense as it was six months ago, with frequent tears, and more ready to break through at all times. The day of New Year’s Eve felt especially strange, because I was going to the neighborhood party that night, and I found myself apprehensive, nervous, even fearful about it. While I know the neighbors right around me well now, I do not know the rest of the neighborhood, and I was irrationally uncomfortable about going to an event that included strangers.
It was reminiscent of the first few weeks after Kirk died, a time during which I had an overwhelming feeling that people were staring at me in public. I felt they could see the weakness and pain in me, and that it made me a spectacle. The worst time was in the airport here, leaving to fly home for the funeral. I felt incredibly weak, trembly, and breathless, like I was going to have a panic attack. This discomfort in public went away after the first few weeks, but it came back (although not quite as strongly) when I thought about attending the New Years Eve Party. I suspect it was because I know that the whole neighborhood knows what happened, and felt that they would be looking at me – “there’s the woman who lost her husband.” I hate being someone everyone else whispers about.
Feeling this way made me realize how much I hate that this has become my story, his story, our story. I am the woman who lost her husband in the awful accident. We are the couple whose happy life ended when he was killed. He is the funny, great guy who died tragically, and too soon. This is not who I want us to be, who I want me to be, and I know it is absolutely not who he would want to be. His death has defined every waking moment, every decision, every emotion for over eight months, and it seems so wrong – there is so much more to us than that. I can’t stand it – it makes me want to scream. It makes me so sad that this should be our legacy, or at least an unavoidable part of it.
But I made myself go to the party, and it was okay. Everyone was nice, and I didn’t feel whispered about (although I think I must have been, in a caring way). It was hard though, to see everyone in couples. I see couples every day of course, but usually I am moving – at the grocery store, the movies, Home Depot - so I am not confronted with them for long. It was harder to be in a contained space for several hours with all of them. There was one couple in particular who clearly really loved each other, and it showed in the same way it would have if someone was watching me and Kirk. No big yukky PDA went on. It was more the way they held hands or leaned into each other when they were standing together. And when they weren’t together, they would look up from time to time and make eye contact across the room. Once when they had been apart for a while he stepped away from the group he was with, and went up behind her. He put his arms around her and lowered his head into her neck and just held her, kind of rocking her, inhaling her. She reached up and held his head in her arms, without ever stopping the conversation she was in. You could tell that it was not unexpected for him to embrace her this way – it was natural and easy. That would have been us. It made me happy for them, and sad for me. I stayed until 11:30 and then came home. I could not be there at midnight – everyone paired off and me wishing I was.
When I got home I turned on a movie and tried to ignore the clock. As it got closer to midnight I realized that for the first time since I lost him, I was about to have a moment where I would know exactly what we were doing together one year ago. There is no other moment I can know that about. I can know that on a certain day (like a birthday) we did a specific thing last year – went to a certain restaurant, gave each other a specific gift, had a party at our house. But the only actual moment on which I can know our history is midnight on New Year’s Eve. For thirty years, at that very moment, we kissed each other. Every time, every year. Even if I fell asleep, he would stay awake and then wake me up and kiss me at midnight. This year as the clock crept toward that moment, I couldn’t breathe for the want of him. I missed him so very much. I stared at the TV, willing myself not to look at the clock, afraid to see the moment of midnight, the moment that had held happiness for so many years and now held only sadness.
I managed to not look at the time, and stayed up way past midnight so I would be exhausted when I got into bed and could hopefully fall asleep. It didn’t work – I had to break out the Tylenol PM. I have needed it most nights since coming back home after Christmas. I haven’t used it since the first two weeks of all this, but this past week it has been impossible to sleep without it. I don’t like needing it. I got up super early today so I would be really tired tonight – I don’t want to take it the night before I have to get up for work.
I think this was just too much time off of work without companionship, and with the added effect of the holidays, it was overwhelming. I am exhausted, weary, like I have no strength to keep facing this. Another grief lesson – two weeks of vacation sounds appealing, but in the reality of my new life, it can backfire.
I want to say that maybe 2010 will be better than 2009. The problem is, 2009 held both the loss of Kirk, and the last few months of Kirk. So was it a horrible year, or a wonderful year? Can 2010 – a year in which I will not have him for even one day - be better than the last year in which he was with me? Can it be worse than the year in which I lost him? I wish I didn’t have to find out.
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