We went on our first vacation without Bea last week. We went to St. Simon's Island, a lovely, hot and lazy little beach town on the southern tip of GA. It was a week of beach days, lunching at the 4th of May and eating ice cream at Moo Cow. A nice, simple week with an ocean view. Even the ocean there is lazy with waves barely hitting 6 inches tall.
Days like last week's are often very surreal for me. They seem more like a dream than days that are actually happening. I catch myself not believing that the moment is real and that Bea is truly gone. I never spend all day in this kind of non-real place but there are lots of those short moments where my breath leaves me and nothing makes sense. And then I breathe again and I know where I am and what I have to do.
I am still a mom and that keeps me focused and grounded. I still have a wonderful little man to care for and a personal life that's full of good things. I know that. I just wish so very badly that I had my Sweet Bea back to share them with, too.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
The Heavy Days
Like anybody else I'm a sentimental person and I pick and choose what I'm sentimental about. My tendency is to pine over days of past happiness and feel deeply that I could relive those days. I'll go over little details in my head and wish I were in that time and place.
Today I wish I were at Disneyworld in 2012.
One year ago we took the kids on their first of two amazing vacations to Disney World. I didn't post much about it because the trip over Memorial Day was just so magical and for some reason I didn't want to share too much.
One year ago today we were waking up at the Animal Kingdom Lodge with great expectations. Chances are we had brunch at the lodge because it was the best food. The plans for the day were to go to Magic Kingdom. I remember being there and watching a performance in front of the big castle. I remember Bea and Lewis sitting in their rented kid stroller enjoying the singing and dancing but not having much of a view. So Chris picked up Bea and I held Lewis up as high as we could so they could see.
I remember visiting Tomorrowland and going on the People Mover multiple times. I don't remember if this was the day when it rained in the morning and we spent lunch and some play time at the Contemporary Resort. I think it was. If so, we hung out there to eat and play in the arcade while the rain passed and then went onto Magic Kingdom.
I remember Bea being able to walk and talk like any normal, healthy child. I didn't have to hold her hand when she walked because she was steady and strong. I didn't have to worry about her running out of energy because she had plenty to spare.
I'm so glad that I have these wonderful memories. But, I want more. I've been told that Chris and I did so well to give Bea a great year. That gives us a small amount of peace but in the larger scheme of things that's hardly a prize. It's just something said to distract from the harsh reality of her absence. It's never going to be OK that she's gone. No number of happy stories is going to erase that fact.
Today I wish I were at Disneyworld in 2012.
One year ago we took the kids on their first of two amazing vacations to Disney World. I didn't post much about it because the trip over Memorial Day was just so magical and for some reason I didn't want to share too much.
One year ago today we were waking up at the Animal Kingdom Lodge with great expectations. Chances are we had brunch at the lodge because it was the best food. The plans for the day were to go to Magic Kingdom. I remember being there and watching a performance in front of the big castle. I remember Bea and Lewis sitting in their rented kid stroller enjoying the singing and dancing but not having much of a view. So Chris picked up Bea and I held Lewis up as high as we could so they could see.
I remember visiting Tomorrowland and going on the People Mover multiple times. I don't remember if this was the day when it rained in the morning and we spent lunch and some play time at the Contemporary Resort. I think it was. If so, we hung out there to eat and play in the arcade while the rain passed and then went onto Magic Kingdom.
I remember Bea being able to walk and talk like any normal, healthy child. I didn't have to hold her hand when she walked because she was steady and strong. I didn't have to worry about her running out of energy because she had plenty to spare.
I'm so glad that I have these wonderful memories. But, I want more. I've been told that Chris and I did so well to give Bea a great year. That gives us a small amount of peace but in the larger scheme of things that's hardly a prize. It's just something said to distract from the harsh reality of her absence. It's never going to be OK that she's gone. No number of happy stories is going to erase that fact.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
What I Have
It's hot in Georgia again. That's typical for late May in the deep south. The heat doesn't bother me. It elevates a lot of the smells I love in the summer. Fresh cut grass. Steamy rain. Dark, rich red mud that's full of clay.
Life today is a dichotomy. It is a day split into two very different feelings. Joy, or at least contentment and peace, and sadness. Learning to live with both has been difficult. The joy I experience comes with no guilt but I find that whenever I have any kind of extreme feeling - especially good ones - I quickly shift emotional gears and drift into feelings of loss and sadness. I wrote some weeks ago about the grief being close to the surface. It's still there and just about anything can trigger it. The most common trigger for me ironically is happiness.
It can be a very confusing place. A very fragile space. A little bit broken. Not quite whole.
I don't know what I would do if I didn't have Lewis. He keeps me strong and focused most days. His exhuberant happiness is contagious. And he loves me unconditionally and knows that I love him, too. He lets me care for him and be his best mommy. I so deperately need to be that person.
I am so grateful for Lewis. He gives me all that I have and everything I want to be.
Life today is a dichotomy. It is a day split into two very different feelings. Joy, or at least contentment and peace, and sadness. Learning to live with both has been difficult. The joy I experience comes with no guilt but I find that whenever I have any kind of extreme feeling - especially good ones - I quickly shift emotional gears and drift into feelings of loss and sadness. I wrote some weeks ago about the grief being close to the surface. It's still there and just about anything can trigger it. The most common trigger for me ironically is happiness.
It can be a very confusing place. A very fragile space. A little bit broken. Not quite whole.
I don't know what I would do if I didn't have Lewis. He keeps me strong and focused most days. His exhuberant happiness is contagious. And he loves me unconditionally and knows that I love him, too. He lets me care for him and be his best mommy. I so deperately need to be that person.
I am so grateful for Lewis. He gives me all that I have and everything I want to be.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Remembering an Important Moment
There are lots of moments everyday when I think of Bea. Sometimes they make me sad. Other times and, honestly less often, they lift my spirits. And then there are those singular moments when you recognize a shift in your person and know that that moment changed you and her from then on.
This little story is one of those moments. And it is one of the best examples of what a parent's love can do for a child that I can share.
It was early morning and Lewis was at summer camp. So, it was just me and Bea at home. I don't remember what was scheduled for the day but I do recall that it was summer. School hadn't started and she was still very active. But she was not well enough to go to camp anymore.
Bea had a headache. This wasn't unusual and so I gave her Tylenol to take the edge off and hopefully take it away. Bea was tired of headaches and became very impatient when the Tylenol didn't work quickly. She yelled "I have a headache" over and over and was very upset that I couldn't fix it.
I moved to sit next to her, took her face in my hands and said something to this effect: "Mommy never ever wants you to hurt and I don't like that you have headaches either. I am doing EVERYTHING I can to make you feel better because I love you so much. And sometimes I can't do better but I am doing my best."
It was a spontaneous little speech and I didn't think it would make her feel any better.
It did. She relaxed and her headache eventually went away. I remember feeling how important her trust was for me to care for her and knowing that I could never break that trust.
She trusted me completely. She knew I would care of her and make her feel better when she didn't feel good. Bea let me heal and soothe her the best way I knew how and, wow, what a gift that was.
This little story is one of those moments. And it is one of the best examples of what a parent's love can do for a child that I can share.
It was early morning and Lewis was at summer camp. So, it was just me and Bea at home. I don't remember what was scheduled for the day but I do recall that it was summer. School hadn't started and she was still very active. But she was not well enough to go to camp anymore.
Bea had a headache. This wasn't unusual and so I gave her Tylenol to take the edge off and hopefully take it away. Bea was tired of headaches and became very impatient when the Tylenol didn't work quickly. She yelled "I have a headache" over and over and was very upset that I couldn't fix it.
I moved to sit next to her, took her face in my hands and said something to this effect: "Mommy never ever wants you to hurt and I don't like that you have headaches either. I am doing EVERYTHING I can to make you feel better because I love you so much. And sometimes I can't do better but I am doing my best."
It was a spontaneous little speech and I didn't think it would make her feel any better.
It did. She relaxed and her headache eventually went away. I remember feeling how important her trust was for me to care for her and knowing that I could never break that trust.
She trusted me completely. She knew I would care of her and make her feel better when she didn't feel good. Bea let me heal and soothe her the best way I knew how and, wow, what a gift that was.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Close to the Surface
It's been awhile since I posted last and I'm getting close to posting my last words here. This may be because I'm feeling quiet about expressing how I really feel most days or maybe because I simply have nothing left to say. I don't know.
But, the reality is this... the grief is still very close to the surface. This means that it's always there just beneath my smiles and light conversation. It's very much present and I feel it almost all the time. It's not unbearable. It's just present.
Grief presents itself in all kinds of ways. Lately I've been feeling disappointed and that the world lacks fairness. There's no person or deity to blame. I don't believe in divine intervention. I do believe that every doctor Bea saw did everything they could for her, and more. It's just not fair that Bea got cancer to begin with. Or that the cancer she did get was so difficult to treat. Or that the initial treatment with radiation makes you believe that the doctors are wrong and that the cancer can be treated and go away.
Cancer sucker punches over and over again. You think it's over and life is great and then you find out that it's not and there's a lot more work to do to get rid of it. Or you find out that you can't but that there may be some medicine that could help but there's no guarantee and that this new medicine may make you or your loved one really sick in new and horrible ways.
But, this isn't about me and what I lost. It's about what Bea will never have. I could go through the list I have in my head but it's way too long and way too painful to do. No more milestones. No more little happy moments. For her. Not for me. She got seriously short changed. It's just not fair.
It's so easy to go to this place. Seeing the sun rise or my pink azaleas blooming or smelling fresh cut grass can set me off into the world of the unfair. Because it's not fair that Bea won't be able to see the sun rise or set or enjoy her favorite pink flowers or run barefoot in the grass. It's really, really, really not fair.
But, the reality is this... the grief is still very close to the surface. This means that it's always there just beneath my smiles and light conversation. It's very much present and I feel it almost all the time. It's not unbearable. It's just present.
Grief presents itself in all kinds of ways. Lately I've been feeling disappointed and that the world lacks fairness. There's no person or deity to blame. I don't believe in divine intervention. I do believe that every doctor Bea saw did everything they could for her, and more. It's just not fair that Bea got cancer to begin with. Or that the cancer she did get was so difficult to treat. Or that the initial treatment with radiation makes you believe that the doctors are wrong and that the cancer can be treated and go away.
Cancer sucker punches over and over again. You think it's over and life is great and then you find out that it's not and there's a lot more work to do to get rid of it. Or you find out that you can't but that there may be some medicine that could help but there's no guarantee and that this new medicine may make you or your loved one really sick in new and horrible ways.
But, this isn't about me and what I lost. It's about what Bea will never have. I could go through the list I have in my head but it's way too long and way too painful to do. No more milestones. No more little happy moments. For her. Not for me. She got seriously short changed. It's just not fair.
It's so easy to go to this place. Seeing the sun rise or my pink azaleas blooming or smelling fresh cut grass can set me off into the world of the unfair. Because it's not fair that Bea won't be able to see the sun rise or set or enjoy her favorite pink flowers or run barefoot in the grass. It's really, really, really not fair.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Opportunities
I've been told that I handled Bea's cancer with grace. That's a kind observation. From the inside looking out that's not how I saw things.
I saw every day as an opportunity. I still do. An opportunity for joy and sharing and love with my family. A day where I can do the things that I love the most. An exciting day or a peaceful day or a silly day. Many days were broken up so all of those moments were in the mix one after the other.
What is the point of being on this planet if you can't experience and share joy? Why sit around and complain about things that you really can fix? Why do we do things that are unsatisfying day in and day out and call that compromise? It's not compromise. It's unspirited and not joyful.
This opinion that I'm putting out there is not new to me and it didn't come to me after Bea got sick. Her illness cemented my resolve to never miss an opportunity for joy and to make sure that while she was alive that she didn't either. And, Lewis, too, of course.
Even today, after everything that our family has gone through, Lewis is the happiest little boy I know. He is five and STILL a bundle of joy. Those of you who know him understand what I mean. He is a happy, bouncing, laughing, silly, curious, entertaining little man who can't pass up a single chance for fun. And I don't want him to give up that love for life when he turns 6 or 16 or 60.
Bea won't have those chances again but at least she had a year. I feel for the parent who looses a child suddenly. Or the parent whose child becomes ill and never fully recovers. Bea had so many wonderfully healthy months and we filled them all with as much joy as we could fit. Knowing that gives me a lot of peace. I miss her terribly but she knows that and it won't change the amazing year she had before she died.
I saw every day as an opportunity. I still do. An opportunity for joy and sharing and love with my family. A day where I can do the things that I love the most. An exciting day or a peaceful day or a silly day. Many days were broken up so all of those moments were in the mix one after the other.
What is the point of being on this planet if you can't experience and share joy? Why sit around and complain about things that you really can fix? Why do we do things that are unsatisfying day in and day out and call that compromise? It's not compromise. It's unspirited and not joyful.
This opinion that I'm putting out there is not new to me and it didn't come to me after Bea got sick. Her illness cemented my resolve to never miss an opportunity for joy and to make sure that while she was alive that she didn't either. And, Lewis, too, of course.
Even today, after everything that our family has gone through, Lewis is the happiest little boy I know. He is five and STILL a bundle of joy. Those of you who know him understand what I mean. He is a happy, bouncing, laughing, silly, curious, entertaining little man who can't pass up a single chance for fun. And I don't want him to give up that love for life when he turns 6 or 16 or 60.
Bea won't have those chances again but at least she had a year. I feel for the parent who looses a child suddenly. Or the parent whose child becomes ill and never fully recovers. Bea had so many wonderfully healthy months and we filled them all with as much joy as we could fit. Knowing that gives me a lot of peace. I miss her terribly but she knows that and it won't change the amazing year she had before she died.
Monday, March 4, 2013
The Hard Part, Still
It's been over two months since Bea died and I'll admit that it is not one bit easier today. In many ways it's harder because it's been so long since I've seen her. I miss her more than ever.
If you have children it's hard to imagine them not returning from a weekend trip with their grandparents or not coming home from camp. You miss them but you know you'll get to hug them and spend time with them again. Your longing for their return will be satisfied.
I am not satisfied.
No amount of work or art classes or playing tennis or hanging with friends fills that void. It's all entertaining and I appreciate it but it's not what I need. And I can't have what I need.
This is where denial does you no good. Because I have no cute little foot to tickle in the car. Or long beautiful hair to brush before school. Or giggly hug-a-bug to love on all morning, afternoon and evening. Because that was what Bea gave me. When I need Bea I hit my wall of denial and crash right through it.
It's so incredibly painful.
This pain doesn't prevent me from doing the things I love to do and take care of Lewis and be with Chris. I am living a good life and appreciate everything I have. Losing Bea has motivated me to seize every opportunity for joy that am given and drives me to seek it out on my own. No regrets. Lots of tears but definitely no regrets.
If you have children it's hard to imagine them not returning from a weekend trip with their grandparents or not coming home from camp. You miss them but you know you'll get to hug them and spend time with them again. Your longing for their return will be satisfied.
I am not satisfied.
No amount of work or art classes or playing tennis or hanging with friends fills that void. It's all entertaining and I appreciate it but it's not what I need. And I can't have what I need.
This is where denial does you no good. Because I have no cute little foot to tickle in the car. Or long beautiful hair to brush before school. Or giggly hug-a-bug to love on all morning, afternoon and evening. Because that was what Bea gave me. When I need Bea I hit my wall of denial and crash right through it.
It's so incredibly painful.
This pain doesn't prevent me from doing the things I love to do and take care of Lewis and be with Chris. I am living a good life and appreciate everything I have. Losing Bea has motivated me to seize every opportunity for joy that am given and drives me to seek it out on my own. No regrets. Lots of tears but definitely no regrets.
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