It's Part of Who You Are

I had a dream the other night and Reid was in it. This doesn't happen often so I am pretty excited about it when he shows up. I was happy to see him....elated actually.....but, even in my dream, I knew it was temporary. I knew he couldn't stay and that shortly he would be leaving so I inhaled the moment. With this knowledge, I was sad but not devastated. This is simply how it is.

This is what I mean by "It does get easier". I have heard a million times how it doesn't and it is such a cruel thing to say to somebody in the throws of grief. I remember hearing that in the early days- the days when it was hard to even breath at times. Days when my mind would fail me at work and I couldn't do what once came so natural to me. And then I would hear, "It never gets easier" and it terrified me. It does get easier!!! That doesn't mean the memories go away or I stop missing him. It just means the grief becomes more embedded in who you are and you learn to live with it every day. In fact, you don't want it to go away and that is still a strange mystery to me.

When I woke up from my dream, he was heavy on my mind. I was thinking about the upcoming holidays, his birthday and his daughters sharing their current life stories with family. Then, I realized it was the 7th. It was my 40th 7th. 40 months. 4-0. It seems impossibly long and impossibly short all at once. I thanked him for showing up.

Heading into month 41, yes, I still think of him every single day and that baffles me. How does a mind have that kind of capacity? I still miss him terribly but my 41st month is much much better than my 4th.

I am no longer paralyzed by his loss but carry it with me every day. It's the source of my new perspective, his void sometimes makes me sad and his memories make me smile. It's part of who I am and it helps me really live in this one short life.

He wants me to.

Candy

My youngest was barely 13 years old when she said good-bye to her Dad for the last time. I have often looked back on my life to think about what I remember when I was 12 and younger. Of course, the 'big' things stick in your mind. School, friends, parties, loss. I remember losing a Grandpa when I was 9 but really have little memory of him aside from that. I have had this fear that Reid's last day will consume her mind and she won't have room for memories of the everyday joy he brought to her. Will she only remember those really significant times? Will she block his memory to avoid sadness? He deserves so much more than that but I tread lightly on the topic.

We were shopping for Halloween candy recently and we both know we don't get any trick-or-treaters. Basically, we were shopping for candy for us. She wanted to get a bag of 100 Grand Bars. I had other favorites in mind and told her I am not crazy about those bars. She looked at me in disbelief. "What? How can you NOT like those. They were Dad's favorites.". His candy earned a spot in her memories and that gave me a sense of relief.  I love how she embraces his memory.

Of course, she got a bag of 100 grand bars and I hope she gets a bag every year forever.

My Moms 9 Month Mark

So, today marks 9 months since I lost my Dad. It's my Moms 9 month mark in this new life without him so I felt the need to look and see where I was at 9 months. Maybe I will be able to support her better if I can somehow understand where she might be. This is where I was- deep in the throws of learning from loss. Was it Sudden, was written while I was trying to understand why we ask what we do and, I see now, it sounds quite cynical. I really wasn't angry but I was learning.

While my husband fought a mysterious illness for his last year, my Dad was taken out of nowhere. It was sudden. Sudden vs. not sudden should not be looked at as better or worse but just a very different experience. My Dad's last year of life was a good one. He wasn't facing a health crisis, loved his dog as much as his kids (ok, that might be a stretch but not much), took fabulous vacations with his absolute best friend in the world, my Mom, enjoyed all three of his granddaughters and visited his Mom frequently. It was good and I am so so thankful for that.  So we didn't have months of constant heartache and painful uncertainty as we did with Reid- it still makes me sad that his last few months were like that. But the "sudden" end of my Dads presence added a different element to the grief journey.  There's this level of disbelief that takes your breath away. You find yourself forgetting it is real before that cruel reality wave hits and reminds you. This is still true 9 months later.

There's no measure of more or less painful when it comes to grief, but I haven't always known that. Understanding that it all hurts bad and how it can be so different is valuable in my ability to be a supportive friend, daughter, sister and mother.

Today, I am thankful he had this moment but he is so very missed. I think I'll call my Mom.

Race Day

This is a picture of me after the first time I walked the Fueled by Fine Wine half marathon- one of the most difficult in the country. Reid volunteered there so he could meet me at the finish line with my medal. He was crazy proud of the accomplishment and was my biggest fan. Volunteering also got him into the wine tent after the race and we love wine tents. I went on to do that race 3 more times. The last time was right when we had gotten thrown into the life of medical uncertainty. I didn't think I would ever do it it again and haven't. This is the last year of the race. It falls on the 3rd anniversary of his last day. I am meant to spend that day battling hills. Tomorrow is race day. 

As I have the previous two year, I will remember the 5am call from the hospital. I will remember the tearful good-byes our daughters said while he could still hear them. I will remember family and friends rushing to the hospital, just for one last moment with him. I will continue to be amazed that the doctor, the nurse and I, the final three in the room with him for his last breath, all share the same name. I find that to be so interesting. I will remember thanking him over and over for loving me even when I wasn't so lovable and assured him I felt the same.  I will remember them giving me his blanket, which his youngest daughter still sleeps with every day. I will remember every single detail of my darkest day ever. But I won't stay there.

I will remember him at the water station. I will remember him at the finish line. I will feel his presents with me through the whole thing because I believe more than I ever have before that it's true. I will close the Fueled by Fine Wine days.

I always refer to July 7th as his last day. There isn't really a good word for it. Maybe, starting this year, I will call it 'race day'.

The Burden of the Story

It's been nearly 2 1/2 years and I still run into firsts. I have been somewhat caught off guard by this concept of sharing his story with people who never knew of him. I was traveling and went out with another remote coworker who is kind of new to the company. The only thing he knows about me is that I have 2 kids and it seems I am a single parent-though I never call myself that.  There are many people in my life now that don't know about Reid and I don't like it. So, we were talking and I just dropped the bombshell and then quickly try to continue the story so I don't leave this guy in the awkward state of silence. I had never done this before and sometimes I actually feel guilty. How can I not talk about him. How can I not bring up any story of my 23 years with him? I shared this with another friend of mine who nailed it. "This was the greatest time of you life and the ending was the most significant experience you have ever ever had but you can't talk about it because you don't want to burden the other person.". Exactly! That was exactly it. It is nobody's fault. Not some flaw in our society. It is just part of the journey and part of the learning.

It was so wonderful talking about him.

Talk Like a Pirate Day

I think this was Reid's favorite "holiday". When he first started working for the school district, he worked in the kitchen at an elementary school. To some, that might seem like a crazy decision. The school was across the street from a fire station and that did prove to be beneficial at one point. Different story. The first group to lunch was the special needs kids - they were his favorite and he was theirs. The build up to Talk like a Pirate day got the kids so super excited. They could not wait to talk like a pirate to "Mr. Reid" and they came prepared. Reid would not disappoint as he would be in full pirate character the entire time. He loved it. It was pure innocent joy. He went on to teach high school and some of those kids went to that school and remembered him and remembered is perfect pirate laugh. And he would still be able to call them by name......in his pirate voice. 💕💕💕

Anniversary posting-4 Months

4 months. Of course, my mind is consumed with him today as I sit here in the Seattle airport returning from Sam and Jeff’s house in Hawaii. It was a wonderful get away and an important milestone. I am learning on these anniversary dates to write about or talk about great memories.

Today, combined with the season, reminds me of a great page in our story. It must have been early summer of 1992. Reid was in Alaska where he was a halibut fishing guide by day and a chef by night. I was working at the Buzzsaw in Albany and had one more quarter left at Willamette University. I picked this summer to grow my first garden. We were writing letters back and forth. The kind you write with pen and paper and drop in the mailbox and days later start thinking “I bet he gets my letter today” and imagine the words making him smile. I would also check the mailbox daily for my handwritten note. I would grab my letter, go into the house, pour a cup of coffee and get comfortable to read it-typically many many times. One day, I read- “So, I hear that Jeff Hornacek proposed to his wife by carving it in a pumpkin. Farmer Laura, do you have any pumpkins in that new garden of yours?”.

I promptly planted pumpkins.

Our Last Date

Our last date. After months of ups and downs with his health we had entered another watch and wait period and we were finally using our gift certificate from Ryan and Katie to Ox. It was June 4th and we privately called it our “hope for health” dinner. We were bringing our own bottle of wine- Heitz Cabernet. Heitz was such a significant part of our journey. We would sit at the ‘round table’ at the restaurant where we met and drink Heitz Zinfandel. It was my introduction to red wine and a favorite of ours. Back then, they were just a little shack in Napa which we eventually visited shortly after we got married. They don’t do Zin anymore so for this date, I grabbed a cabernet. We were talking about looking like “that guy” who is bringing our own wine because we are too cheap to pay restaurant markup. We hoped the server didn’t hate us. When we got there, I was thrilled with our seats because I had read that it was the owner's favorite seat in the house. We were so lucky! I told the bartender that we had our own wine and we waited for ‘the look’. He took it and said “Wow! This is a fantastic wine! I used to live in San Francisco and visited this place years ago. Nice choice!”. What a relief! He took amazing care of us. Brought us great samples of goodness, knew the menu well and we followed all of his recommendations- that was a delicious decision. We visited with him, with each other, laughed…...it felt so so good. It’s like he knew it was our last date and wanted it to be perfect. It was. He made the good list for sure.