Goodbye to a Lousy Year

2014 is almost over.

It's about damn time!

This has not been a friendly year. I can't pinpoint one thing that made it bad; it was just an overall feeling of the year being...off. 

Regrets about choices made. 

Lousy bosses. 

Living in a place that gives new meaning to depressing. 

Goodbyes. 

Uncertainty. 

So many words to describe this year bounce through my mind; none of them positive. I know there were good times, friends made, laughs. But the negative seems to have ruled 2014.

As we face the last few days of this year, I am hopeful that 2015 is going to be our year. Better jobs, better place to live, new friends, new freedom...my hopes for the new year are high and they are wide open, not locked down to a specific place or a specific job. Whatever feels right and fits us is what I'm hoping for.

All things are possible. 

Life is Short

Life is short….

That’s what I hear at least. I had a conversation with my husband this morning about just that. In recent weeks, we have been faced with people our age dying – some suddenly, others battling horrible diseases. It’s so strange to think that we have made it to an age where our peers dying isn't all that strange a thing. Granted, dying in your late-40s is still far too young, but in a country where obesity and laziness are two of the top traits that identify us as Americans (Merica!), it’s not really all that shocking.

But with 50 just around the corner for us, we discussed what it is that keeps us feeling young, because I have to say I do not feel anywhere near 50. Holy cow, 50 is old, right? I don’t feel old. Sure, the body has more aches than it used to, but I don’t feel any different in my head than the person who met and fell in love with a Canadian boy on a hill in Germany 23 years ago.

I think that last statement is part of what keeps us young. Seriously, who can say something like that?

“I’m American and I met my Canadian husband on a hill in Germany.”

I grew up in a town where many of my peers (and family members for that matter) graduated high school and never left. Some went off to college, yet still came back to that same small town (for the record, just the thought makes me physically ill!). For them, I guess the consistency of being in that same place is comforting. To my mind, that is the definition of stagnation. Adventure keeps me alive!

“Who cares where it takes us? Let’s get on and see where it goes.”

In 2013, my husband and I went to Shanghai, China, for our 20^th wedding anniversary. We were living in Japan at the time, so it isn't like it was a long trip, but still…CHINA! When we walked off of the plane, having no real idea yet of what life in China was like, we were freaking out a little, but at the same time it was so damn exhilarating! 

Excitement, fear, anticipation, curiosity…my heart raced with it all!

We soon found out that China (or Shanghai, at least) is nothing like we feared “Red China” would be. It was an amazingly vibrant city with friendly people, beautiful architecture and art, shopping, restaurants…it had everything. One day, as we were walking along The Bund, we came to a window selling ferry tickets. Because we could not read Chinese, we had no idea where the ferry was going. Mike suggested we buy tickets and get on. My initial reaction was, “What the hell is wrong with you? What if it carries us 20 miles down the river and dumps us off in some unknown place?” As his response above so obviously demonstrates, he didn't care.

We got on the ferry that day. Turns out it did nothing more than take us across the river to Pudong, but that one leap into the unknown has become my motto in life. Don’t fear where the path will take you; instead, trust in yourself to be able to deal with whatever adventure lies at the end of the path.

I think this mentality is what keeps us young. Yes, we are almost 50. Mike just retired after 24 years in the military. He has a master’s degree in health services administration. While he waits out the slow hiring process for the executive level positions he is applying for, he’s decided to go to culinary school. He’s always loved cooking and works some serious magic in a kitchen, so why not? It’s never too late to chase a dream. 

In that same vein, I am considering getting a master’s degree. I finished two bachelor’s degrees in 2001 and then decided it was more important to be home with my children, so now I have two pieces of paper that do nothing for me because I don’t have experience in those fields. So maybe a master’s degree is a good idea. Or maybe I just want to get certified to teach English as a second language so that we can go to another country for a while.

OH! And I want to get braces. I've always hated my teeth. I despise pictures of myself because of my teeth. So I want to get braces. Who cares that I’m almost 50…right?

Nothing protects us from dying. Absolutely nothing. You can be in your late 70s, having lived a healthy lifestyle forever and get cancer. Or, you can be in your late 70s, having smoked for over 50 years, be overweight, and still golf three times a week. You can drop dead of a stroke or a heart attack at 48. You just don’t know when your time will come. But I think keeping yourself alive…having an adventure every day, even if it is just to walk down a street you've never explored, or go to a city with no plan on where you’re going to go, but just to walk and see what you find – is what keeps you young. Mind, body and soul need an adventure.

Get on the ferry. I dare you.

August again.

It's August. I hate August. Fortunately, we've been so busy this year that it has taken a while for it to really hit me.

Small blessings.

This past week I got some items back that have been in storage for more than three years. Before leaving for Japan in 2011 I put these things . . . special things . . . in storage so that they could not possible be lost or damaged in the move. Among those things were my children's baby books. My wedding album. Old photos. Bankers boxes full of all the art work created in the past 20 years by my kids.

The programs I created for the Celebration of Life we had five days after Keeghan died. A scrapbook made by a dear woman from Special Love chronicling Keeghan's week at camp, just two weeks before he died. The clothes he was wearing when he died.

Died.

One of the items I've had for a few years and have moved all around the world with me is a brown paper bag full of film canisters. Undeveloped film mostly. Back when Mike and I were young parents, we took tons of pictures of our kids. We weren't always able to afford to have all the film we took developed. Over time, I forgot about the bag, but every time we move - which is about every 1-2 years - I find it again.

Then Keeghan died. After that, every time I found that bag, I died a little inside myself because I knew that there were probably pictures of him on that undeveloped film. Pictures of my happy, smiling, seemingly healthy, precious little boy. Pictures not yet seen by anyone. Pictures that would be such a gift, and such torture at the same time.

One of the first things I noticed when we moved into our apartment here in San Diego was that there is a camera store just two blocks away. Besides selling cameras and accessories, they also develop film. It seemed like a sign. Over the past six years since Keeghan died, I've found that brown paper bag four times. Each time I have told myself that I couldn't get the film developed because I didn't know of a place to take it. Here, I couldn't use that excuse.

So I dropped the bag of film off today. It may all be for naught because, after all these years, the film may not even develop. I'll find out tomorrow I guess.

If it does develop though, August seems like the right time to see pictures of Mackenzie and Keeghan that I've never seen before. Maybe there will be new pictures of Mike and I as well. New photos of my three greatest treasures.

None of it will change anything though. In fourteen days, we will still mark the six year anniversary of Keeghan's death. Six years . . . and it still doesn't feel real. I found stories today that he wrote . . . he loved to write just like I do. One of them, a story he wrote about his dad, started with, "My dad's name is Michael. His nickname is Dork." Instant laughter, followed by helpless tears.

I miss him. So much.

I hate August.

Baby steps . . .

I took a step toward something today that was more difficult than I thought it would be, and I'm still completely terrified about it.

A few weeks ago I had an appointment at the VA Hospital here to get set up with a new Primary Care Manager. In discussing my medical history, Keeghan's death came up. The doctor asked me if I needed a referral to a counselor to talk about it. As I was saying my normal, "No, I'm fine" my husband was sitting behind the doctor nodding "yes" at me. I'm not sure why, but that reaction from him immediately had me in tears. So of course, the doctor immediately put in a referral to psychiatry for me.

I received a call a few days later from a Social Work Supervisor who was very kind, starting the conversation by extending his condolences. He then talked to me for a few minutes about possibly referring me to a support group for grief management, stating he thought that might be more helpful than individual counseling.

For the past few years, I have "used" my friends in the cancer community as my support group, but I now know that really wasn't helping. Instead, it was having the exact opposite effect, making me feel even more isolated because so many of them are not where I am. They still kiss their children goodnight. Their children have unique post-treatment issues of their own, something I will never understand, but damn it . . . they can still hug their child, tell him they love him, fight for him. They have no understanding of how helpless I feel not being able to do any of those things.

So maybe this group therapy thing will be good. I've not had good luck with individual therapists because I've never had one who actually gets it. They have education and fancy titles, but they haven't experienced it. They just don't know.  But I'm so scared. Getting into a room with others who do get it, opening up and sharing ... I don't know if I can do it. It's easy like this, behind my computer screen, no one to see how often I have to walk away and sob to get through typing a few paragraphs. In a room of strangers ... I just don't know.

But I'm going to give it a try. I called the social worker today and discussed finding groups that are cancer specific, preferably childhood cancer specific. I'm going to call a couple myself and he is going to put out feelers to see what he can find.

Baby steps. That's what it has been since Keeghan left. A little bit at a time.

Wish me luck.

Broken thinking.

life begins . . .

grow, play, listen, learn

life’s early challenges

plan, prepare, study, apply

youth’s dedication

choose, try, work, earn

high expectations

fall, plan, love, hope

a shared journey

conceive, deliver, routine, normal

life in motion

tragedy, fear, nightmare, death

wait, what?

wish, pray, beg, cower

how can this be?

struggle, hurt, question, continue

what choice is there?

different, misfit, pariah, lonely

not my fault

want, need, chance, opportunity

is it too late to start anew?

doubt, frustration, anxiety, impatience

just let me prove myself!

life so far . . .

Backlash ensues.

It seems my last blog post has caused quite the stir. Interesting, considering I never stated the names of any of the people I was writing about. Since one of them is no longer living, I can only assume the other chose to tell everyone I was writing about her.

Attention.

Keeping it real folks, I did not set out to "smear" that person. Anyone who knows me knows that writing is therapeutic for me. Something that was causing pain needed to get out of my head. I waited over two months hoping the other person would reach out. I was the one who was judged, remember? Was I supposed to be the one to beg forgiveness for my honesty? Should I have begged her to try to see my perspective? Do I always have to see things the way she does?

I became a part of this 46 Mommas group way back in 2009. I thought then that getting 46 women in one room was a crazy idea. Five years later, I still do. I've met some amazing people and I've met some nut jobs. Most of the women I've met fall somewhere in the middle. One of the challenges of joining a group like this after your child has died is that no one knows you as an actual "cancer mom." You're an "angel momma" - a phrase that bites me in the ass every time I hear it. I have been a part of conversations with other "cancer moms" where it was like everyone at the table forgot that I once actively lived the life of doctor appointments, labs, and scan anxiety that they still live. It's only when they realize I haven't said anything in a while that someone feels pity and throws me a bone - "did you ever have to deal with this with Keeghan?"

It's lonely. It hurts. It isn't fair.

But because I was friends with these people, I smiled and nodded a lot, and then cried in the car on the way home. When something happens, i.e., the death of the man I spoke of before, that I have far more knowledge and understanding of than these other people do and I express an honest opinion, I'm wrong.

So be it. Hate me. Call me names. Make yourself into a martyr. Let anger turn you into someone like the man who died.

My life will continue on. I will forever cherish the sisterhood I once felt with that person, albeit tarnished by the way it ended. Those who appreciate my honesty, understand my perspective because they have been there, or accept my perspective because they honestly can't come close to understanding it, will still be my friends.

To all of the saints out there looking down on me - I wish you well.

Be careful who you judge.

I had someone unfriend me on FB a couple years ago because I called her out for (imho) being shallow. Her husband couldn't go to a function with her (for the record, it was Wine Fest) and whined about it on FB, saying "FML." I called her out on it because I didn't think something so small called for that (stupid) phrase. She unfriended me for it, and I was just fine with letting the friendship go.


Recently I chose to end a friendship with another friend, a cancer mom who (I thought) was a good friend of mine, because she judged me on something I said on FB. I had just heard about the death of a man whose son, like my own, died of a brain tumor a few years ago. I won't lie, I thought this man was horrible. He did not allow his son to die with dignity, instead posting pictures of the child vomiting, naked and being held up on a toilet, and in the end, of the boy's ashes in a plastic bag with a face drawn on it. The man was despicable. So when I heard of his death, I posted "karma baby" on my FB wall.  I did not use his name. I didn't need to because the number of people who shared my feelings about him knew exactly what I was talking about.

Let me get something straight right up front: I am not happy the man died. That isn't what I said. But I do feel karma came back to bite him because he was so negative.

My friend never said anything about my post. A couple of weeks later though, I sent her a text message asking if she knew how he died. What I really wanted to know was if his anger over his son's death led to his own end. I have fought to control my anger ever since Keeghan died. Most of the time anymore I succeed, but that wasn't the case in the first few years. Anger ate away at me like an invisible flesh eating disease and the only cure was for me to recognize it and harness it. My friend didn't ask why I wanted to know though. Instead, when I asked if she would tell me if she knew, she replied that she would not, followed by, "Do you want to gloat?"

gloat

glōt/

verb

1. 1.

   contemplate or dwell on one's own success or another's misfortune with smugness or malignant pleasure.

Yes, that is exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to dwell on how much more successful I have been at what? Grieving? Staying alive after my son died? I am totally the kind of person who wants to jump up and down with malignant pleasure over the fact that this man died. At least that is what my FRIEND thought of me.

My thoughts about all of this brewed in the back of my mind for a couple of months. To say that I was angry would be a lie. Angry is far too mild a word. But it took some time for me to really analyze what it was I was feeling. This person had walked the Cancer Path with her child for a while, and the path she walked had absolutely been horrible, but her path was short and she arrived at the other side with her son still beside her. In that respect, the path she traveled with her son and the one I traveled with my son shared very few commonalities.

The man I speak of who died had walked a much more similar path. We both dealt with very young sons being diagnosed with brain cancer. Both of our sons relapsed. We both watched as cancer took away our children's ability to do basic things like walk, talk, eat, sit on a toilet without assistance. We watched our boys DIE. Our paths were very much the same. It is the way we dealt with our journeys that differed. 

When my son reached the point where his brain tumor made one eye start to turn to the side, I still took pictures of him because every moment was one to be cherished, but I never posted them out for all and sundry to see. When he needed his dad to help him sit on a toilet, it never occurred to me to run and grab a camera to take a picture of it, let alone post it online. And my son's ashes are treated with respect, always. ALWAYS.

Additionally, I have never badgered anyone to donate money to cancer research. I've never tried to make someone feel guilty for not donating, had my friends attack them on Facebook, or belittled those who didn't jump on my bandwagon. He did. Loudly, publicly, and with complete malice, all born of his anger. Anger I could understand.

This person I had called "friend" judged me - harshly - on something she had no understanding of. None. Her path didn't come close to what mine and this father's had been. Do I have the right to judge him? Most would say no, but I say yes. Tell me I'm wrong, but unless you've also walked our path, I'll tell you to shut the *#@% up because you don't know anything. Just like she didn't. 

Maybe this is a case of tit for tat - I was unfriended for judging someone, and then I unfriended someone for judging me. 

C'est la vie.