christmas

What’s there to say about Christmas?  Just another day.  One of many in the long road ahead.  Last year Mary and I got so excited about Christmas because we promised each other that we would not spend any money.  We would make everything or spend very, very little.  I printed out pictures from years past and put them in frames for everyone.  Mary crocheted hats, gloves, scarves, and made other things.  I made her a clock from an old 1950’s gardening book.  We had such fun opening presents. 

Tony said Christmas was Mary’s favorite time of the year.  She would leave their Christmas tree up for several months because she worked so much she didn’t get to enjoy it long enough each day. 

I only got stockings down from the attic this year.  No decorations, no lights, nothing.  Well, wrapping paper, but that’s all.  The box with Mary’s decorations was sitting front and center of all my boxes.  I couldn’t get past it.  So this year we bought almost the last tree at Walmart (for half price) and the kids decorated it with paper cut outs, Christmas cards, and just stuff.  I plan to leave it up for a long, long time.

I hung stockings for everyone including Mary.  We put a little candy in each.  Mary’s favorite in hers.  None of the stockings are the same ones we’ve used for the last 10 years.  These are random ones I’ve collected to use as decorations.  Only Mary’s means something.  It is one from around 5^th grade that Ann made.  Julie, Mary, and I had matching stockings made from a gingham dress I had as a teenager.

The kids left at 2pm to go to their dad’s.  After that, the dull quiet sadness settled in and we sat and watched the wall in between TV shows.  I had cooked a turkey and roast dinner the day before so we ate leftovers.

Kerry has been out of work since 12/11.  His right knee and leg in general is causing pain and torture.  Once again, nothing I can do to ease the pain.  Not that I could have done something last year but I might have felt less fatalistic about the uncontrollables in life.  He would certainly have been less depressed about life in general. 

At least the kids had a good Christmas.

is there a god?

Is there a god?  If so, is he (she, it, they...) vengeful?  Because sometimes I get the feeling he’s getting even with me for past character deficiencies.  Not that I don’t have a few now, but there were more in years past when I thought I had everything I ever wanted.  Is there such a thing as Karma, Kismet, destiny?  If so, then life sucks.  It seems that we are in control of other people’s lives more than our own.  We can only control our outlook on life.  If you don’t like it, you’re a pessimist , if you accept it, you’re an optimist.  Notice I didn’t say if you “like” what’s happening in your life. 

If bad things do happen to good people, then why shouldn’t it happen to me and mine?  So far, all the “bad” things in my life have not been caused by our actions.  Well, all but one, but we won’t go into that here.  My kids didn’t do anything to cause the thorns in their sides.  And only Mary’s was caused by someone who could have made a better choice.  Why do some people go their whole life with everything going their way and others get kicked in the butt on their way through the birth canal?  There really can’t be someone “up there” deciding who gets what.  If we are all equal then it’s just a roll of the die.

These are all questions that everyone asks themselves all the time.  Well, most everyone.  I have to remember not to make generalizations anymore.  I used to think what I considered life changing events would wake people up to what’s important in life.  But, for the second time, I was shot down (hit me once shame on you, hit me twice, shame on me).  I found out that some people who get a life saving transplant do not want to be organ donors.  They probably wouldn’t have been one before their transplant so why would I expect them to be one afterward?  Oh, I don’t know, paying forward maybe?  If that event doesn’t change your way of thinking, nothing will.  Maybe I’m naïve, maybe I’m stupid to think this way.  Maybe people are inherently born to think one way and nothing in the world that happens to them is going to change it no matter how many events like the movie “It’s a wonderful life” happens to them.  In that case, is there a destiny?

My head is spinning.....

Not ready yet

Christine, Bonni, and I went to the annual candle lighting for The Compassionate Friends.  The formal meeting was cancelled (weather) but a few people were there.  I am just not ready for that group.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be.  They are wonderful people.  But I feel like I have to resign myself to telling the world that Mary is dead.  And every time I say that I fall apart.  She is not.  She’s alive and well in us all.  I have stopped crying so much because I don’t think like that.  The CF people don’t say it that way either in so many words.  They just are all so sad it brings me down.  If I’m going to cry I want it to be when I am celebrating her life and the things we do for her and in her name.  If I go back to pining away for her out loud for all to see, I will not be able to function.  So I choose to act like she’s a phone call away, out of sight, in another place.  Am I fooling my self, I don’t think so.  Reality is what you make it. 

Some of the stories of the children of TCF are unbearable.  I told someone last month that having someone to blame did not make it any easier to live with the loss.  After hearing about a 14 year old’s suicide, maybe it does.  I’m not sure if I could go on living with that knowledge.

Every time I see Mary’s things down stairs, tears start to form.  Because I know they will be there in the same place forever.  Some I can use, some I can’t. Some still smell like her.  I stopped sniffing. 

Here’s the interesting thing, all of what I said above could completely change tomorrow.  I just never know how I’m going to feel until the moment I’m living it.  Yesterday afternoon was better than the morning and this morning.   

What is remorse?

So, now I’ve heard for the 3rd time that the person, entity, monster, that killed Mary was very remorseful when he got sober enough to figure out what he did.  Big, freakin’ deal.  I wrote in my victim impact statement that I wanted him dead.  Does that make me as evil a person as he is?  Is he evil?  Did he just make a “mistake” as I’m sure the defense will try to say he did?  If he were to kill himself because of the remorse he feels would I fell bad and regret my feelings of hatred and anger toward another human being?   Seeing him as a monster and not a person make hating easier.  That’s why lawyers always try to juries see their clients as everyday people with similar lives, problems, dreams, etc. 

Ok, so he’s sorry for what he did.  What’s he going to do about it now?  What can he do?  Nothing that will make any difference to me but he could spend the rest of his life, his time and energy, every waking moment in the service of others - keeping nothing for himself and getting nothing in return.  This should be his “life changing event” but some how I don’t’ think it is.  People think that being “sorry” should be enough.  That they have a right to get on with their lives after they have admitted their wrong doing.  Then why, in days of yore, when you wronged someone you owed them the equivalent of your initial action (his life in this case) until you could pay the person back in like manner.  Or, if they saved your life, you were in service to them until they let you go. 

Well, Mary saved his butt big time.  He would have driving right off the side of the mountain that night if she had not been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  So, he owes her his life.  And spending a minimal amount of years in jail is not repayment even if the courts say he has paid his debt to society.  He hasn’t. 

Time to Restrict

I am going to restrict who can read my journal.  If you want to continue reading it, please send an email to racouey@yahoo.com.  I will add you to the list.  

Sorry for this inconvenience but some things become necessary as life moves on.
Love to all...

I want, I want

Why do I always have to be the responsible one.  Why can’t I just go away and not have to worry about anything.  Just sit in the sun with my eyes closed so I don’t have to know about anything that’s going on around me.  I want to just veg out and exist without any attachments.  Like the Paul Simon song says “I am a rock, I am an island”.  If nobody touches me I won’t get hurt.

My friend is leaving Atlanta.  She is getting away from everything, starting new.  She’s tired of the feelings that come with remembering Mary and what happened to her.  I don’t blame her.  I do it in a minute if it were possible.  Just for a little while. Just to regain some strength, some will, some want to keep going.  To want to do things is a lot different than to have to do things.   I want someone to take care of me for awhile.  I used to tell Mary that every so often.  She said she would and I knew that was true.

I just need a refresher course in living.

I really need to get back to writing every day.  It does help release the tension.

talk, talk, talk

Danny’s check up.  He has to take another one of those pills to boost his diuretic.  Needs to loose about 10 pounds.  I took the day off to go to Emory and work on the house in the afternoon. We will eventually get the house in shape.  One room at a time probably.  Hope I don’t run out of money.

I found someone in Colorado for Tony to talk to.  I hope it does him some good.  Just talk and talk and talk for awhile.

Lost???

Tony has come and gone back to Colorado.  It was so wonderful seeing him.  It felt like Mary was just around the corner.  He is still very lost without her.  We talked, we cried, we cursed together.  I told him how much talking to someone about Mary helps me.  And I’m not sure why it helps so much.  It’s like a release valve.  He knows he needs some kind of reason to keep going but he can’t find it.  He seems to be looking for something, which is good.  He doesn’t have all the distractions we have. 

His parents came home on Saturday.  Tony ate dinner with them but didn’t stay with them at night.  We all ate together on Sunday night too.  Mary bought dinner for us.  I wish he had a better relationship with his parents.  But there’s nothing I can do.

When we started eating Thanksgiving dinner no one said anything about Mary.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  I kept talking about Mary’s coleslaw.  Tony pulled me aside and wondered why no one said anything.  So, I got everyone together and we toasted Mary.  It’s very hard sometimes to even think about her without bursting into tears.  And then sometimes I can talk about her for awhile and be very calm. 

I bought Tony a punching bag so he could have something to hit and release his anger on but he didn’t use it.  Not sure if I’m going to keep it or not.

We re-did Kerry’s computer room so he could have a ‘retreat’ from the world.

Black holes

Life Link came to my work and gave a presentation on donating life.  Yes, it’s more than just “organs”, it’s LIFE.  Only 5 people attended.  The Life Link lady, a kidney recipient, and my friend who donated one of her kidney’s (living donor) all talked for around an hour just as if there had been 40 or 50 people watching.  Yes, many had excellent reasons they didn’t come.  I guess I should assume other people didn’t come because they were already signed up to be organ donors.  Still, there was still much to be learned, and I did.  I wasn’t embarrassed, I was disappointed.  But I have come to find out, just as I was told I would, others don’t live and breathe things to do with Mary.  I may want the world to acknowledge her every minute of every day as I do but it’s not realistic.  I have to learn to accept this.  It’s hard.  The world lost a life of immeasurable vastness.  You cannot imagine what she could have accomplished.  There is a hole in the “life force” (as Star Wars calls it) that I don’t want to be filled in.  I want it to remain empty so all will see.  But, as with holes everywhere in the universe, over time, something is sucked into it and it fills up.  Especially black holes.  That’s what’s left right now – a freakin’ BLACK HOLE.

I cried going home.  But I got over it.  I truly don’t want anyone to understand what I feel or how I feel.  I want them to appreciate how I feel by appreciating their families and to realize the support they give me is so needed and appreciated by me. 

Random thoughts

I went to Compassionate Friends meeting last Thursday.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  There were about 14 people there.  2 others were also there for the first time.  One young mother had new born triplets and lost each of them one at a time.  How do you get through something like that?  Is it different when the child is very young, when you don’t know their personality?  When you haven’t seen the gifts they have to offer the world and know they’ve been erased forever?  I guess the only person who could answer that is someone who has lost both an adult child and a baby.  How awful.  People like to say that when you get to heaven you will be reunited and you will know each other.  How would you know your baby?  Are they still a baby in heaven?  Or did they grow up with a snap of god’s fingers?  Why do people tell you things they can’t possibly know?  Is it really to make you feel better or to make them feel better? 

I’ve been shopping for thanksgiving dinner.  Family is coming.  Mary will have a dish at dinner.  She made the most amazing coleslaw one year.  So, she will be making it again.  I just have to find all the ingredients.  We will toast to Mary with our Amaretto slushies and talk about how much we love each other.  We will spend hours just holding hands and kissing each others cheeks just one more time.  Just to make sure that the last time we see each other we will have said “I love you”.  Love doesn’t protect, it’s just the glue that keeps us together.

Now that someone has twisted my words into something they are not, it is very hard to write.  Like someone watching you paint a masterpiece....it turns into trash with every stroke.  Feels like they are laughing at every letter I type.  So I will write to myself for now.  Will the hurting of people ever stop?  Were evil people ever sweet little babies when they were born?  What changed them in their life to make them so awful?  So unlovable to themselves and others?  So mean and vengeful?  How can a mother prostitute her 5 year old daughter?  What plan is this?  It’s just free will, I guess, and evil people.

Ghosts

Went to Drake today to ask them to donate some money to the computer science scholarship for Mary.  There were 8 of her friends plus the president of the company.  They came up will all kinds of fund raisers they want to do in Franklin.  It was pretty awesome that they want to keep Mary’s spirit going as much as I do.  And Mary didn’t think very many people knew who she was at Drake!  She touched so many more lives than she ever imagined.  It is incredible.

 

Let me tell you what it feels like walking in Mary’s footsteps around Franklin , NC.  F---- horrible.  I’m trampling on the images of her walking, talking to her friends, working at her desk, laughing and eating with her friends.  She is still very much alive at Drake in all their work days.  Her name is still in all the code she wrote, the manuals she wrote for training, at least once a day she is mentioned somewhere.  At least that’s what they tell me.  I believe them.  I have to.

 

I walked along the streets and paths that she walked every day.  Talked to the same people she did.  Probably ate at the same restaurant.  This is why people don’t go “back” to places where their loved ones were.  I realize that I’m still living in the house she grew up in.  But she wasn’t living here.  I didn’t see every single day, 8 hours a day.  All of my memories were always about her as a child.  All the pictures, the school papers, and report cards.  I can deal with those.  It’s the pictures of her from last year, the last month, last week memories that are tearing me apart.  I look at them and it’s as if she’s just around the corner.

 

They have rearranged the desks in the office so her “desk” is gone.  No one has “taken her place”.  Her plaque is beautiful.  She will be remembered long after I’m gone.  My thoughts are bouncing like a beach ball lest they stop and I decompose.

 

I’ve got so many things to do. I’ve got to get organized.  I need my Mary to help me.  Where are you, girl?  Speak to me.

Regrets

I believe I have the mostly amazingly patient son ever born.  He puts up with my nagging about taking his pills and getting his blood tests done with a smile after each word.  Then he does what he wants on his own time!  When you look up the word patience in the dictionary, you see a picture of Danny. 

 

I wanted to say something else today but I can’t for the life of me think of what it was.  I’m always reciting long winded speeches in my head while I’m driving, sitting around, painting, or even watching TV.  Many of them are directed at “that man”.  Many are aimed at other possible/probable drunk drivers in an effort to warn them and hope they have enough conscience to understand the pain they might cause.  Unfortunately, most can’t see beyond the end of their noses which is why the do what they do.  Other times I’m merely ranting to myself about how much I miss Mary and all the things we should be doing together.  Then there are the poems and songs I compose.  I usually forget the words minutes after I say them.  I’ve even tried to record them.  But driving and recording goes together about as well as driving and crying.  Should have a sign posted that says “if you are not a professional, don’t try this in the car”......

Sometimes the things I think in my head I can only say in a poem.

Regrets 

Regrets Regrets

Feels just like sand upon my teeth

Regrets Regrets

Or like pins on the cushions of my feet

 

Every single time I said good bye

Whether on the phone or staring in her eyes

I said “I love you”,  I said “I love you”

 

My regrets are for what could have been

Not for what I should have done and when

Time cannot heal …….what isn’t said

 

Regrets Regrets

They are the mud upon my shoes

Regrets Regrets

They are the sadness in the news

 

Some would say that I’m the lucky one

Luck is only for when you’re having fun

This pain is real……it will not fade

 

Every single time I said good bye

I said “I love you’…..

Mary's blankie

Sunday I met with the promotions manager at McCray’s Tavern where I’m having Mary’s birthday party.  It’s a fund raiser for Mary and Danny’s funds.  All last year Mary wanted to raise money for Danny’s transplant fund so we could reach the $10,000 level.  But most of the time to raise the money was during the development season at her work.  That meant she hardly had time to breathe much less eat. 

So this is Mary’s chance to help Danny’s fund.  The girl I talked to went to school with Danny and walked in the walk-a thon the school had for Danny.  Small world.  They have done events like this before and will help gather donations for the raffle.  As I was riding to work Monday morning talking to someone (on a hands free headset) telling them all about my plans for the birthday party when I realized the emptiness of celebrating without Mary.  She loves to have birthday parties for other people.  The three of us went to Mc Cray’s the Friday before Julie’s birthday.  Saturday she decorated the house for Julie’s 30^th birthday party.  Friends and relatives came to wish Julie happiness.  Julie went home around 9pm.  That was the last time she saw Mary.  They did talk and text over the next few days.  But the last hug and kiss was on Julie’s birthday. 

People still tell me “Mary would want you to …..” or “Mary wouldn’t want you to ……”.  But all I can think is that Mary is still pretty damn pissed at not being here to do all the fund things with us.  And I’m not talking about all the things we are doing “in her honor or memory”.  We wouldn’t need to be doing those things if she were here.

As I keep planning for parties and doing all the new things I’m trying out, I am pushing the reality of Mary being gone under the grief blanket I created.  I didn’t even realize what I was doing but I know I’m ignoring the truth that hurts.  Tears come only when I allow my self to think about where she is.  I know I’m balancing fantasy with reality but it helps me get through the days.  I don’t ever ask “when will the pain go away or lessen” because the pain keeps Mary alive and beside me.  It keeps me from even considering the idea that I’ll “get over it in time”.  I just haul that “blankie” (as Mary used to call her baby blanket) around with me all the time.  Speaking of “the blankie” – Mary slept with her blankie until the edges were so ragged it started unraveling.  She kept cutting it back and when she was in 4^th or 5^th grade she made it into a pillow case.  She took it with her when she spent the night with friends.  She always had her blankie with her and no one knew it!  Sometime in high school I think it finally fell apart.  Although, if I ever finish going through all her things downstairs I wouldn’t be surprised if I found the remnants.

Candles in my brain

I remember in years past when we, as a family, were making our first trip together on a plane.  We were going to Alaska.  I told Kerry that I think he and I are supposed to travel separately, each with the kids split between us.  This was in case something happened to the others there would still be a parent alive to take care of the other children.  He told me if anything happened to the kids he didn’t want to be around so we all traveled together.  Nothing ever happened.

The sayings “never say never” and “you won’t know what you will do till you get there” are probably the most accurate of any I have ever known.  Although I’ve always lived by the first, I did think I would know how I would respond in most situations.  After all, who knows me better than me?  But I was wrong.  Dead wrong.  So wrong that I surprised even myself.  Even today I still don’t know what I will be doing tomorrow or even the next hour.  Never have I lived “minute to minute” like I do now.  Although that should bother me, it doesn’t anymore.  I’ve always been somewhat of a planner.  I used to think that’s what mothers do.  Or at least one parents.  Someone has to remember to carry all the necessary health care products and extra clothing on outings.  I’ve always assumed that’s what purses were created for. 

Because of Danny’s heart there has always been this little candle light of knowledge flickering in the back of my mind that he might not make it.  There, I’ve said it.  This is something I’ve never actually said out loud.  Danny has said in the past that he probably won’t make it past 30.  I, of course, shun his every negative thought with grandiose pictures of old age.  His thoughts aren’t really that negative, more like stating a fact.  So this little candle light is bright enough to cause me to envision what I would do if something happened to Danny.  I have no freakin idea now what I would do.  Probably go into a catatonic state – that sounds reasonable – then I can just ignore life and dream my fantasy of life as it was.  Or maybe just stop breathing......My counselor says not to go there.  Planning for disasters doesn’t make it any less painful when it happens (true). It just makes you live the pain longer (also true).  Now, you go tell my psyche that.

I think I’ve said this before but I have noticed lately that little things irritate me more.  Stupid little inanimate objects that fall over (cups on the shelf), stick to you (lint), burn (toast), and most especially talking inanimate objects – like the pot hole commercial.  I almost gagged when I heard that one.  I used to not be so irritable.  I can feel it in my shoulders all the time.    

I have to force myself to slow down and take a breath.  I never find time to write anymore because of all the other things I want to do.  I can feel the words backing up in my brain causing a blockage.  I know there is ‘writers block’.  Is there something called ‘writers constipation’?

What to do???

Today starts month number 8 of my new life.  It has been 7 months and 1 day since I last talked to Mary.  Today Tony’s mom held a dog walk fund raiser for her UGA funds.  It rained the whole time, sometimes hard sometimes only misting.  But we had about 25 people and dogs show up.  Many of the dogs were mutts, rescued from the pound or from abusive owners.  It was bitter sweet.  Mary’s doggies were all rescued from some place, our house or the pound.  She loved each of the fiercely.  Now they are what Tony holds on to so he can be close to Mary.  Yes, Taco even sleeps with him.  She used to sleep with Mary when Tony was out of town.  She would go to bed with Taco’s head laying on the pillow beside her and wake up with Taco’s butt beside her.  Mary loves her doggies.

But Choda was their special baby.  They picked him from all the pound dogs in Athens the first year they started dating.  Each told their parents that Choda belonged to the other.  He lived at both their apartments equally.  He didn’t’ like the color red (so Mary says) and wasn’t fond of men.  But he did love Tony.  Choda loved the outdoors as much as Mary and Tony.  Mary crocheted a back pack for Choda to haul his food when they went hiking.  Dried dog food weights a lot and if you’re going to enjoy the outdoors you have to pay the price of hauling your own food. 

Choda was killed by a drunk driver in front of their house.

The dog walk was a great success (even with the rain) and will be even bigger next year.  This is going to be an annual fund raiser. 

As I said last time I read other journals on line.  One is about a family with 3 children.  The middle girl is about 1.½ and has a heart transplant.  The have a new born and a 4 year old, I think.   All was well with them until around last April.  The little girl has been sick with complications related to being immuno-suppressed in general.  Her heart is fine.  She has been in and out of the hospital since April.  I wish I could say something to the mom (she writes the journal) to help her smile.  I have absolutely no words at all that could possibly comfort her.  I can only say to myself, hold on to SaraKate and hug her tightly while you have her.  Every parent should remember that whether their child is ill or not. 

There are so many reasons why a child dies.  Only old age is acceptable.  I’ve read comments on TCF website – drug overdose, suicide, incurable illness, murder, child abuse, “accident”, etc.  There are so many and they are so varied.  I can’t imagine what a parent goes through for any other reason than ours.  There are no better or worse scenarios.  There is just death and the absence of your child.  I can’t bear to hear or think about someone else’s loss because it makes mine so much more vivid and alive.  Yes, it moves, it crawls, it breathes.  It eats you up and spits you out.  All I can do is put a blanket over it for awhile so it will sleep.  Then it starts to move again.  Brace yourself.

Will I always have to fake the laughter that I knew before

he took you away from me?

 

Will I always have to pretend to smile at the jokes that people tell

to try to make be feel relief?

 

Will I always feel your love sheltering my pain? 

Taking all the hits that this new life portrays?

Will I always see your smile looking up at me?

Finding memories that help me through my day?

 

Will I always have to blink the tears from my eyes that come

whenever I think of you?

Will I always have to have to wear your clothes and jewelry next to my

heart to feel close to you?

 

Will I ever find the peace that your love gave everyone?

To continue with this life empty of your grace?

Will I ever find the steps that I need to take?

This path is so dark you need to light my way.

 

Will I ever?

 

Will I never?

 

What will I do?

For Danny, too

I only need to hear your voice

Just for one moment

To remind me you’re still here

If only for now

I only need to see your smile

Just for one second

To remind me of your love

If only for now

But I still need to know that you’ll always be with me

No matter what happens at the end of the day

I only need to feel your touch

Just for one second

To know you will hug me tight

Forever and a day.

Just a phone call away

I read the journal entries of several different families as they go through the before and after transplant process with their children.  Other journals are just life in general with the problems and trauma’s in life .  For some the days have been good to them for some their life is constantly churning with issues and stress.  I would give anything to be one of the ones who are walking on the edge because it would mean Mary was with me no matter how bad the situation.  I almost said I would trade places with them but I would not trade places with anyone.  No one should know the path I walk, that my family walks.  More so because Mary’s death was so fu*^&% preventable.   I would not even trade places with her killer because I believe the only thing as bad as where I am is where he is or should be.  At least it it would be for someone who gives a damn about people.  It would also mean one of his children would be gone.  I wish that on NO one.  But I hope he is tormented to the day he dies with the knowledge of what he has done.

On the Compassionate Friends website people leave updates about themselves and those they lost.  So many of them say “I lost my child (any age) 7, 12, 18 (etc) years ago….  It is hard for me to grasp that many years going by without Mary beside me.  It’s hard to grasp 7 months coming up.  Time does not heal.  It just screws everything up to where I don’t know what’s coming or going.  Sometimes it gets me through the day, some times it doesn’t.  Tonight it didn’t.  I was watching a TV show, a musical.  The mother was singing about watching her child grow up and leave her.  Wondering if she would ever get her back.  Well, that sent me to the laundry room to finish washing clothes and cry on the floor.  I called Danny just to hear his voice.  Even as I sit here and write this the tears are blocking my vision like rain drops on a windshield.  Too bad I don’t have eye wipers.

Many of the parents from TCF group have found solace in contacting mediums or spiritual readers to contact their children.  They have “after life communications” with their children.  Believe me, I have considered it often although I haven’t acted on any suggestions from psychics.  Where are all the billions of people who have died since Adam and Eve?  Just a phone call away?  Do you need something special to talk to a loved one?  Wouldn’t everybody be standing in line at every mediums door begging to talk to someone?  Just a thought….  I want so badly to talk to and see Mary again that I think I could twist every leaf dropping, door opening, bird call at 3 am, ray of sunlight, rainbow overhead, etc… as a “sign” from her.  I don’t want to rely on signs other people tell me are my link to Mary.  I want to see her standing in front of me.  I know I will see her when I leave this earth.  But I want to see her now.  I don’t want to “think” I see or hear her.  I want to know.

So, for now, I’ll just get by as I have been for now.  She has gone away for awhile.  She’s still my sweetie and I’m still her mom and we still take care of each other.

I only need to hear your voice

Just for one moment

To remind me you’re still here

If only for now

 

I only need to see your smile

Just for one second

To remind me of your love

If only for now

 

But I still need to know that you’ll always be with me

No matter what happens at the end of the day

 

I only need to feel your touch

Just for one second

To know you will hug me tight

Forever and a day.

One of those nights

This is one of those nights. Everything yesterday and today reminded me of Mary.  I could not get away from the sights and sounds of her life. I even dreamed about her for the 2nd time since she left.  But this time she was laying on a bed downstairs with her arms around me waiting to die from some long, slow disease.  Don't know if she was in pain just that she was holding me.  Aren't dreams weird?  Wonder if they really mean anything.  Wonder what anything means anymore.  

Tuesday was Kerry and my 36th wedding anniversary.  Just not the same..........

Cars cars cars.....

Some day I'm going to start off this journal with "today has been and ok day".  But not today.  My nerves are scrunching up my neck and I can feel the weight of the world, my world, hanging over my head.  I guess the days I'm breathing ok are the ones I don't write much. 

Last weekend Danny, Amanda, and I went to Augusta for the Mustang Car Show and the Boshears Air Show.  We left Saturday and it rained the entire ride over so the air show was rained out and we sat in the hotel room and waited for Sunday.  The car club gave Danny's transplant fund $1,000 last April, even before they knew about Mary.  He was chosen out of a group of people waiting on hearts who have funds.  Then they asked him to be their special guest for the car show and pick the 4 "Best of Show" cars/trucks on Sunday.  They told me all proceeds from the show will go to Danny.  I cried.  The first time since "before" I actually put a dab of mascara on and it all came dripping down my face.  Thank goodness for sunglasses.  Danny got to ride in the very first Mustang Fastback every made.  

We got to go to the air show for an hour - it was right beside the car show so we saw most of it without being in the audience.  It was awesome also.  

Then Monday comes with the mail and rains on my smiles.  Julie's divorce is getting bumpy and there's nothing I can do.  I've had to accept the fact that there is nothing I could ever do for anything in my life, even when I thought I could or was.  They say all you have control over is your attitude and right now, that's even out of my control.  I couldn't tell you from one minute to the next if I'm going to breathe or break down.  Lack of control is a very hard lesson to learn, kind of like learning to have patience.  I guess the only thing I can REALLY control is who and what I love.  It's mine to give to take away.  That's all that matters.


Nicole came over last night and I went through Mary's things looking for her cold weather clothes.  Some of them Nicole can wear, some were too small.  They'll get used doing what Mary loved, playing in the outdoors.  Tony and Nicole are heading to a little town near Denver for the winter. 

The Gap

This is from The Compassionate Friends web site.  

By Sharon Throop 

We lost our only daughter, Wendy, 13 years ago the 12th of next month. I was just sent a prose, that sums up so much for so many who walk this road. You may have read it before, but if not, send it on to some of your friends and realize that it sums up the loss of our children.

The Gap

The gap between those who have lost children and those who have not
is profoundly difficult to bridge. No one whose children are well
and intact can be expected to understand what parents who have lost
children have absorbed, what they bear. Our children now come to us
through every blade of grass, every crack in the sidewalk, every
bowl of breakfast cereal, every kid on a scooter. We seek contact
with their atoms - their hairbrushes, toothbrushes, their clothing.
We reach out for what was integrally woven into the fabric of our
lives, now torn and shredded. A black hole has been blown through
our souls and, indeed,it often does not allow the light to escape.
It is a difficult place. For us to enter there is to be cut deeply
and torn anew, each time we go there, by the jagged edges of our
loss. Yet we return, again and again, for that is where our
children now reside. This will be so for years to come and it will
change us, profoundly. At some point, in the distant future, the
edges of that hole will have tempered and softened, but the empty
space will remain--a life sentence.

Our friends will change through this. There is no avoiding it. We
grieve for our children in part, through talking about them, and our
feelings for having lost them. Some go there with us; others cannot
and, through their denial, add a further measure, however unwitting,
to an already heavy burden.. Assuming that we may be feeling
"better" 6 months later is simply "to not get it". The excruciating
and isolating reality that bereaved parents feel is hermetically
sealed from the nature of any other human experience. Thus it is a
trap--those whose compassion and insight we most need are those for
whom we abhor the experience that would allow them that sensitivity
and capacity. And yet, somehow, there are those, each in their own
fashion, who have found a way to reach us and stay, to our
immeasurable comfort. They have understood, again each in their own
way, that our children remain our children through our memory of
them. Their memory is sustained through speaking about them and our
feelings about their death. Deny this and you deny their life.
Deny their life and you have no place in ours.

We recognize that we have moved to an emotional place where it is
often very difficult to reach us. Our attempts to be normal are
painful, and the day to day carries a silent, screaming anguish that
accompanies us, sometimes from moment to moment. Were we to give it
its own voice, we fear we would become truly unreachable and so we
remain "strong" for a host of reasons even as the strength saps our
energy and drains our will. Were we to act out our true feelings, we
would be impossible to be with. We resent having to act normal, yet
we dare not do otherwise. People who understand this dynamic are
our gold standard. Working our way through this over the years will
change us as does every experience-- and extreme experience changes
one extremely. We know we will have actually managed to survive
when, as we have read, it is no longer so painful to be normal. We
do not know who we will be at that point nor who will still be with
us.

We have read that the gap is so difficult that, often, bereaved
parents must attempt to reach out to friends and relatives or risk
losing them. This is our attempt. For those untarnished by such
events, who wish to know in some way what they, thankfully, do not
know, read this. It may provide a window that is helpful for both
sides of the gap.

O M G

Today I emailed Mc Cray's Tavern with the details of Mary and Danny's life for her birthday party in January.  I tried to send a link to the newpaper article from April with pictures of her and Tony in it.  I mistakenly opened the other one and saw her car.  I ended up laying under my desk crying uncontrollably but I did manage to close my office door so no one would hear.  There are not enough words in any language to describe what I felt when I saw that picture. It was only for a second or two until it registered what I had done.  But it was enough.  It was even worse that I had imagined.  My counselor told me there would be set backs in this journey and this is one of them.  I am numb.  I am empty.  I am broken.  I am, once again, seeing images that now are not speculation but fact.  I hate that man even more that I thought possible.  Mary could not have come out of that wreckage in one piece.  Now, you imagine what I saw.

Tomorrow Danny and I are going to Augusta for the weekend to the Mustang car show.  It will be better than sitting around here.

Sleeping

Today has not been the best of days.  I have not cried today, not one tear.  But there’s been an overwhelming cloud of sadness hovering over me all day long.  I walked around like I was dragging a hundred pound weight on my leg.  I didn’t smile much.  When something got in my way on my desk I threw it across the room.  Temper tantrum…  And, of course, my chest had a weight sitting on it.  Just acting like a zombie with no feelings except irritability. 

I don’t like taking anything that makes me sleep.  And, I don’t sleep all that much.  So I stay up until I’m so tired I fall asleep and then I go to bed.  Last night I fell asleep on the sofa watching TV.  Then woke up at 1am and went to bed.  I laid there for awhile and finally fell back asleep.  This morning Kerry tells me he had a huge anxiety attack around midnight, got up to look for me, found me on the sofa, and let me sleep because I looked peaceful.  Ha.  That’s why I don’t want to take anything.  If I can’t wake up when someone needs me when I sleep naturally, I sure as hell won’t wake up if I took a sleep aide.   When Mary was little she would come and stand by my bed and stare at me in the middle of the night when she got scared.  She didn’t want to wake me.  After about 15 seconds of staring I would wake up.  Something about eyes piercing into my mind or else her breathing hard would wake me.  The point is, I WOKE UP.  I could wake at the sound of a mosquito, someone tip toeing down the hall, any little sound.  Whenever my babies needed me I was ready.

When I sleep now I hear NOTHING.  The ice maker used to wake me up, corn popping, microwave humming, dishwasher running (Danny is a night owl).  I don’t like not knowing what’s going on even when I’m sleeping.  Usually I can’t get to sleep.  I just lay there and toss and turn.

The other night while Julie was channel surfing the news popped up and described a house fire where three sisters died from smoke inhalation.  The new caster was actually interviewing the mother.  Unbelievable.  You could see shock stamped all over her face and body and yet they kept asking questions of her while showing the remains of the house behind her.  Everyone is different I realize but to loose three children at one time and still be able to talk and breathe is not in my universe of life.  I don’t know what caused the fire.  We changed the channel before getting any details.  I can’t stand knowing how someone else must feel and I can’t imagine what that mother is going through.

Take my hand

Move aside

See me run

Let me hide

Touch my heart

Tell me no

See my face

Let me go

I don’t wanna ever turn you loose

I don’t wanna ever reach the end

Give me something to hang on to for awhile

Cuz I’m gonna need another shot of your smile

I need you here

Need you to stay

Need you everywhere

Hug me tight

Into the night

See me cry

Watch me die

I don’t wanna ever turn you loose

I don’t wanna ever reach the end

Give me something to hang on to for awhile

Cuz I’m gonna need another shot of your smile

Please don’t go

I need to know

You’ll be here

Forever…..

I Don't ...

I don't like the poems I write anymore.  I don't like the way I write them.  They are too much alike now, not the words but the meter or rhythm.  Like listening to someone sing different songs to the same tune.  So I will have to figure out a different way of writing.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid life now more than ever.  I've never been afraid of much other than spiders and drowning.  Mostly because I've had a nest of daddy long legs jump on me and I swallowed too much salt water at the beach.  Both happened when I was young and impressionable as opposed to be old and stoic.  Now I'm afraid of tomorrow, today, even yesterday.  Afraid life won't go on without Mary but really afraid it will.  I'm not supposed to worry about what might happen tomorrow, next week, next month.  "Don't cross that bridge till you get there because you might never get there."  I'm afraid the bridge won't be there.  I want to scream and punch something but I'm afraid if I start I won't be able to stop.  I'm afraid I will never forget 2am March 31st and yet I'm afraid I will.  It's quite the Catch 22.

I'm afraid to answer the phone when it rings and I used to be afraid of not answering it and missing a call that could be really important.  Kerry would always say "if it's important they'll call back".  I want Emory to call but every time they do call my heart jumps in my throat and it's always an appointment reminder.  But when the call finally does come it will mean someone, some family has, is going through what we went through.  I can't wish that on someone.  But I can't not hope for life for Danny.  It's a really horrible place to be sitting.

I'm afraid of going back to a full time job as if nothing has changed when the entire world has.  But I'm afraid if I don't the world will change again and not in a good way. But then, how could it get much worse that living each day without Mary.  Don't say it.  It could get worse and I'm afraid of that.  I can't see it getting better.

I'm afraid of living and dying at the same time.  I'm afraid of living the future and re-living the past.  I'm stuck somewhere between here and there and I don't know where they are.  I want to leave everything and everybody behind and run away but I'm afraid of letting them out of my sight lest I never see them again. Or they might never see me again.

It's been over six months since I last hugged Mary.


I don't want to feel you but I can't let go
I don't want to see you but I can't look away
It seems like yesterday was only last month
And tomorrow is an eternity's wait


The pain is unbearable but it's comforting to know
The hurt will remind me of what I'll never forget
Life will go on but I don't have to watch
Always has now turned into not yet.

Happy Birthday Danny!

H A P P Y   B I R T H D A Y!

You were 27 years old today at at around 4pm born on a Tuesday.  Some things a mother never forgets.  I can remember going to the doctor's office on Monday afternoon by myself because your dad was in bed with something, a stomach virus, the flu, something. But whatever it was he got over it and showed up at the doctors office after I waited several hours in the "waiting" room for him to wake up.  I had to call my neighbor to go over and find him because he wasn't answering the phone. No, he was laying in bed, wishing I was there to take care of him, while I was wishing the same thing from him.  But he finally picked me up before the doctor's office kicked me out.  I guess I could have called a cab but I didn't want to have you born in a cab, in our car, fine, not in a cab.

So, I spent the rest of Monday hooked up to wires and cords waiting for you to come out.  But come out, you did not.  No, you just laid in my tummy making little contractions just often enough for me NOT to be sent home but enough to irritate me.  I was starving (can't eat lest you did pop out) while I smelled the pizza the nurses were eating.  I was drooling as I watched them walk past my door but they couldn't be bribed.  I watched the monitor  mark my contractions way up on the scale but really didn't feel much pain.  I had an eerie feeling they'd be sending me home in the morning and I did not want to go home.  These contractions had been bothering me since Saturday and I was damn tired of them.  I knew you were 3 weeks from your due date but I'd also been having contractions for the last 6 weeks and I was TIRED.  Maybe the doctor was wrong about the dates. Maybe I was just impatient.  I had been known to be that in the past.

I woke up Tuesday morning with NO contractions, nada, zilch.  Rats.  Great.....  But, I was starting to dilate a little and your heart rate was slower than normal they thought so they decided to keep me.  They gave me some meds to increase the contractions.  And increase they did, one on top of another but...... no real pain.  I thought this fairly interesting.  I kept asking if the anesthesiologist was around just incase the pain got worse.  They kept saying, "yeah, sure, right upstairs".  Then they decided to attach an electrode to your head to follow your heart beat. Again, rather archaic in today's standards.  Unfortunately it showed your heart rate at 78 and started quite a commotion until I reminded them that I had a pacemaker.  At noon they wanted to move things along and some bright doctor broke my water. All hell broke loose. OMG!!!!!!!  Pain like I never felt before.  Where was that anesthesiologist?  I yelled, I screamed, I bite your dad's hand, I begged for the pain meds.  But nnnooooooooo - by the time they found the anesthesiologist, I was too dilated.  (Now, 20 years in the future, you are NEVER too dilated - wish they had known that back then). Your poor dad was standing there trying to gently remove my teeth from his hand asking if there was SOMETHING they could give me.  Again, nnnoooooo.  I told the nurse I had to use the bathroom.  She looked and said, "No - that was you popping out".   I said, "I don't care what it is, I'm going".  She said, "NO you're not", and slapped me.  Well!  In my state of mind it probably seemed a lot more dramatic than it was but it did get my attention.  I was told to stop pushing.  Try telling a drowning man to stop swimming.  No such luck.  My doctor was not at the hospital and I was not going to wait for him.

Your dad jumped into the hospital gown, mask, and shoe covers (today you can come from the beach wearing a bikini and watch a baby being born) just as they rolled me into the delivery room.   One, two, three and you were out just as the intern sat down in front of me.  No waiting, no coaxing, just push, scream, and POP!  I heaved a sign of relief and THEN they gave me some sleepy time meds.  My first sight of you was in your dad's arms.  They wouldn't let me hold you because I was so groggy I couldn't raise my arms.  Which is probably why my recollection of you is with a full head of bright red hair.  Actually you were as bald as grandpa was.  Just like your sisters.  But it did cause a problem for me several hours later when they brought you in my room so I could feed you.  I looked in the crib and said "that is not my baby".  Daddy said, "yes, it is".  It took a few minutes for them to convince me that, yes, that was you.  Your grandma had red hair, but you definitely did not.  I did watch you closely for the next few weeks to see if someone dyed your hair (or what there was of it) and it would grow out red.

We stayed until Friday.  Now days they kick you out after two days.  I have to admit that not having any anesthesia did get me back onto my feet a lot faster than with the girls. But I still sat around for a few days and let your dad wait on me hand and foot.  Friday came and they said you needed to stay awhile longer.  Your temperature was lower than normal and they wanted to watch you for awhile longer. Watch you what? Sleep? Now, how does a mother who just gave birth go home and leave her baby at the hospital?  Not very happily.  (I won't go into the heartbreak situations that could occur here.)   I did NOT want to leave empty handed.  I laid out your little outfit on the bed I had ready so the doctor could see it and maybe feel guilty enough to let me take you home.  But, it didn't work.  We went home without you.  But only for 6 hours.  So, maybe it worked a little.  We got home (without you) and Julie met us at the door.  I knelt down, spread my arms, said "sweetie.....", and she ran right past me looking for you.  She didn't even see me.  She started crying when daddy told her we had to leave you, I started crying because she didn't want me, and Mary started crying because she was left standing at the top of the stairs unable to climb over the gate.  What noise!   

But 6 hours later all were well and happy!  They told me to keep you wrapped up tight and warm, hat, mittens, blankets.  It may have been October but it was NOT cold out. We had the attic fan on and you were under lots of covers.

Your childhood has not been that of the average child.  Your twenties has seen more downs that ups and you've spent most of it sitting waiting for a heart when you should have been out and about.  But mostly you have been living every single second to the fullest you possibly can.  I admire you for the qualities I don't have - patience, wisdom past your years, and the ability to see truth where it hides.  You are my little boy blue, my friend, my mentor and my guide.

I love you more....
Momma xoxo

Sour Grapes

So, here it is 1:45 am Saturday morning. All day long I have seen or heard things that pin point reality, Mary's gone, and it takes my breath away each time.  It causes me to squeeze my eyes shut, scrunch up my shoulders, grit my teeth, and hold my breath until the pain is pushed way back.  But sometimes the tears leak out.  Thursday night I could feel my heart breaking right through my smiles.  Oct 1st marks 6 months without hearing Mary's voice, feeling her hugs, seeing her face.  Six long, agonizing, anxious, painful, screaming months.  I wanted to run and hide so many times from all the people having a good time.  Christine hit it on the head when she said after you finish smiling and "having fun", the emptiness is overwhelming.  The hollow part of your heart echos the memories that should bring happiness but are only sour grapes.  

Yes, I have many things I am trying to get into to keep me occupied.  Sometimes I can get submerged but more likely than not they seem to remind me that Mary's not here to do it with me.  We had such fun putting together her purses.  Doing that by myself is impossible even though I'd like to continue to make them some day.  I am going to force myself to do something tomorrow besides clean house. 


Now I'm back to working regular work hours. This should be interesting.

Busy, busy, busy

This has been and continues to be a very busy week for me.   Monday - dinner out; Tuesday - dentist and landscaping consultant; Wednesday - painting class; Thursday - Art and Soul event for GTF; Friday - breathe deep and enjoy the kids; Saturday - Emory PFAC meeting; Sunday - clean house.  No real time to sit and think and write.  Too bad about the writing.

I have learned that I can't draw worth a hoot.  I'll find out about painting next week.  But still having fun.

Some of my TV shows season premiers have been very interesting and have stirred up a lot of thoughts.  Rare for a TV show of any kind.  I watched HOUSE late one night (on tape) and had to rewind a few times.  He had done something to a person that caused great hurt and House could not forgive himself.  He can forget his successes but not his failures.  Probably true for most of us.  Then someone told him to "ask for forgiveness and then move on". If the person didn't forgive him, oh well, that's their problem.   But he shouldn't let failure stop his life.  In the show he almost killed someone out of stupidity or self indulgence.  If you've seen the show you know what House is like.  I'm not sure why I watch it but something draws me to it.  But, I digress.  So, here we have someone who causes a life shattering event to someone else and all he has to do is ask for forgiveness and then go on with his life, let the past go, there's nothing left to do.  Interesting thought.  I guess if I was House or someone in that situation I should be relieved at not having to feel guilt the rest of my life.  BUT I'm not.  

I do know that I want that man to suffer all the days left of his life.  I want him to feel guilty forever.  In the newspaper article stating he was indicted, it said that it was and "unintentional accident" or some such nonsense.  I haven't seen the article first hand, it was read to me, but I see nothing unintentional about it.  And I do no see it as an accident.  He intentionally drank and got into that truck and drove away.  I want to see some real suffering, inside and out.  They say that anger and hate consumes the person harboring it more than it hurts the person it is aimed at.  Well, for now, that's fine with me.  I haven't been consumed yet.  And he better never ask me for forgiveness.  I have none for him right now.  I don't know how I'll feel next year, hell, I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow.  We'll see. 

Tomorrow is the Art and Soul event for GTF.  Mary will have a table there.  I have been learning how to escape some of the agony by diving into other activities.  Some have everything to do with Mary, some do not. But they keep me from sinking in my pit every day. But I do have to let it out when the pressure builds up.

Julie's Tattoo

Julie got the tattoo she's been wanting.  The initials are for Mary Couey Demarco and the NMW is the family saying we've always had....no matter what you say for the rest of the day......
I didn't think she do it.  Watching needles stick her are not her forte.  I think it's beautiful.  One day I may get a butterfly on my shoulder or ankle or some place that doesn't hurt.  Pain is not my forte.
Michele and I had our first drawing and painting class last week. Drawing is not my forte either.  I just want to splash color on a canvas and see what comes out.  But I guess you have to get the basics down to understand what you are capable of.  So, we're off again tomorrow night. 

Cindy LOVES her dance class and Gabe is going to start Karate tomorrow after school. Last week he was sick.  Wonder what Julie is going to start doing.  Kerry likes playing his poker on line.  Something to keep us all occupied and moving along the path.
Thursday is GTF's Art and Soul event.  Mary will have a table dedicated to her with pictures of her and Danny and lots of "Donate Life" information.

One of the web pages for Mary's scholarship and funds is up and running at UGA.  They are still working on the Computer Science area.  The link is on the right side of the blog.  The picture of her is beautiful!  I have it hanging in the living room on my wall.  

I have to find a gutter cleaning service to replace the gutters on the house and a pressure washing service to clean everything.  My friend Jason is coming over to help me design the back yard. 

This week is soooo busy I don't have time to think.  Maybe that's good, maybe that's bad, I don't know.  Maybe that just makes my "bucket" of grief fill up faster.  I just know when it gets full I explode.  But when I'm not busy it just leaks out all the time.  My poems are gone for awhile - nothing to say - but I love you Mary. 

Had a friend tell me yesterday that "life is for the living" and I needed to live for myself a little.  "Mary would want that".  Interesting how everyone knows what Mary's thinking but me and Tony.  Others have said the same thing.  He said if the situation was reversed, that's what I would tell Mary.  But it's not.  Mary's kindness kept me from saying what I really wanted to say.  Everyone tries to comfort me. It doesn't work, so don't try.  At least not yet.  I just need you to stand my me, not say anything, just be there.

Tonight is not a good night.

Right now, right this very minute, the pain and sorrow I feel are over whelming.  I am trying not to cry but it makes my neck and shoulders hurt not to.  Everything I do these days is attached to Mary.  Not just the parties or scholarships just every day things.  The bracelets I wear 24 / 7 are a reminder yet I can't take them off.  Today I enrolled Cindy in Dance class.  She was SOOOOO excited.  I told her this was Mary's gift to her.  Gabe is going to Karate tomorrow as his gift from Mary.  I'm working on re-doing the back yard as Mary's gift to me.  I can't cry on my way into work because it's not just tears anymore.  It literally takes the breathe away from me, rather like hyperventilating.  And it hurts.  I sometimes wonder if I just ignored my feelings for 6 days and on the 7th let it all out if that would be better than feeling this way every single night.  Some people remove themselves from all reminders just to be able to live.  Will I have to do that eventually.  I feel like I'm turning Mary into a monument instead of a person.  When I see her face lately her smile burns its way into my chest and I can't stand it.  I don't even want to drink beer to forget the hurt.  I just want it to STOP.  I just want her BACk.

All the things I'm helping Julie with has Mary's essence around them. It should be her helping Julie, not me.  They were best friends, mother's aren't the same.  I keep wanting to say, "Mary would do it this way, or that's not what Mary would do".  I'm sure when it slips out it makes Julie feel bad that I keep comparing her to Mary.   Then I start wondering what it would be like if Mary were her and Julie wasn't.  Then all hell breaks loose for even letting my mind wander to that dark area.  I'm sure most parents have wondered what they would do if something happened to their child, just most don't think it would ever happen.  Actually I didn't consider it until Danny got sick.  Ever since there lives a little gremlin in the back of my mind.  NEVER did I ever consider Mary leaving me.  I don't know how people get through life when they've lost more than one child. I cannot fathom it.


Now I have to go to bed and try to sleep a little tonight.  I have to deliver the art work to GTF at noon and on to Dr. Leslie's.  My world seems to revolve around Mary.  Am I hanging on too tight?  Are other's not holding on at all?  What am I going to do?  How do I get through the rest of my life?   There are no quick accurate answers I know.  There are no guarantee's.  There's just life and it sucks right now.

Angels at Night

When I was little a friend and I would put our hands together, palms flat, up in the air, and then with our other hand we would rub the fingers of our hands, up and down.  With our eyes closed it was supposed to feel like a dead person’s hand or a mummy’s (like we knew which was which).  To young minds I supposed it did.  Why we would want to experience that sensation, I can’t remember, but we did.  It is definitely a strange feeling.  Your mind can’t quite grasp what you are feeling with your eyes closed.  Strange how your senses work together for your mind to understand what’s happening to you.  More on that subject later.

 

I’ve been looking through some older pictures of Mary and us and realized that because they are two dimensional and from time past, they don’t feel real anymore.  There is a vacant mummified shell surrounding them.  I guess because I know she’s not here.  We can’t all sit down and point and laugh at the old pictures like we used to and make comments about what, where, when, and why we were where we were (say that three times real fast).  When I see pictures of Julie and the kids there’s a warm fuzzy feeling and I bring them out and show them to everyone.  I take pictures of the kids while they are sleeping angels to remind me why I run around after them when they are awake.  I did that with my kids too. 

 

Each time I look at pictures of Mary my impressions change.  First I could look only at her at a young age, recent pictures hurt too much.  Then I wanted to see all I could of recent pictures of her face, life size, so I could stroke her cheek and hug her to me.  Then that hurt too much.  It kept going back and forth like that for several months.  I have pictures of her in my truck, kitchen, office, backpack, wallet, and bedroom.  Practically everywhere except the bathroom.  I liked the pictures of her with Tony more until I started seeing recent pictures of Tony by himself or with Nicole.  Nothing against Nicole but like she said, they would go places where couples were and then there was “Tony with his sister”.....Probably wasn’t fun for either of them.  But they stuck together like family does.

 

Like I said in my last post, all her pictures are frozen in time now.  I need some new ones, different ones, so I can feel the experience of newness again.