Humans are, by nature, competitive. Whether competing for food, mates, jobs, grades or trophies, it’s what we do. My ophthalmologist friends and I try to top each other’s crazy patient stories, my parent friends and I try to top each other’s crazy kid stories. In almost everything in life there is at least a hint of competition.
Even in tragedy.
A co-worker and I were just talking about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. This is a true environmental disaster. He was talking about all of the animals being killed by the oil, and I’m not insensitive to that, but in my head I’m thinking, it’s not a person. It’s not like Eric. Why do I have to go there? Clearly his intent was not to compare the two, but I did.
I think it just shows how pervasive a loss Eric was to me. I can’t even think about birds and fish dying, without thinking of Eric.
I also compare other human deaths though.
Sometimes I feel justified in the depths of my grief, thinking losing Eric is worse than losing a parent or grandparent who was old, ill and clearly at the end. In those moments I have to force myself to remember that loss is loss and age and illness don’t make it any easier. The finality that is death is still there. It may be a more expected loss, but it’s still a loss nonetheless.
Other times I feel guilty at the amount of my grief and the effects it has on me. Like when I hear about the loss of a child, or a spouse.
Is there a hierarchy of grief? Does a child count more than a brother? And if so, who’s counting?
No, of course there isn’t. All loss is horrible. Everyone deals with grief differently and there are no right or wrong answers. So why can’t I stop comparing things in my head?
I do this with everything, not just with Eric. I compare clothing and nail polish colors and hair styles. I compare what our kids wear, what we drive, what we eat, where we live. Constantly. Does everyone else do this? Or at least the women out there? Or is it just me?
I think we have a need to know where we stand in the world. As if there were some huge list and we need to find our place on it. To do this we look around and see where we fit. It’s why we try to keep up with the Joneses.
In some ways this is a good thing. It keeps our lawns looking neat and our children in bicycle helmets. But surely it doesn’t need to be applied to everything. Eric’s death, any death, is what is it is and there are no comparisons. Each one stands on its own.
Maybe one day my overactive brain will get it.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
#35 Another use for foreheads
Wouldn’t it be nice if people came with mood indicators? It could be like those color-changing mood rings, only on our foreheads, broadcast for the world to see. Red could mean, “Kids, don’t you dare come near me right now!”. Green would be “Calm, centered Mommy ready to take on the world.” Mine probably wouldn’t be green very often. Black would be how I often feel lately.
For some reason this last week or two has been really difficult for me. I haven’t been thinking about Eric any more often (I don’t really think that’s possible), but those thoughts have been making me sadder than they did the week before. I’m really actively missing him. I’ve cried a few times this week and hadn’t done that in weeks. This doesn’t really upset me, but I have been wondering why now? Nothing significant has changed. We are approaching 6 months without him, but that doesn’t change anything, it’s just time.
I feel badly for the people in my life who unwittingly walk into my mood. Most of the time I put a brave face on things. Someone commented the other night that I’m always smiling. I can temporarily put my feelings away at work. I put them away during social interactions too, for the most part, because I don’t know how to bring them out. It’s hard for the other person and for me. Then my husband tells me he’d like to start running again and I’m a crying mess. Or my kids do something they’ve done a million times before, only this time I really fly off the handle.
If I only I had an early warning system, we all might feel a little safer. I could let the kids and my husband know they were swimming in dangerous waters when they came around me. The kids might be too little even for the traffic light forehead system, but it could help my husband at least. He has pretty good intuition for a guy, the other night when I came home after work with the kids; he had dinner on the stove and sent me away until bedtime. He could tell I was nearing my breaking point. I REALLY appreciated that. But sometimes I’m so good at hiding how I feel, even from him, that there’s no way for him to know.
I don’t know why I have such a hard time showing emotion, but I do. I hate crying in front of others. I can remember my mother telling me “Never let them see that they’ve hurt you” in response to catty teenage girls, or boyfriends who broke up with me. That shouldn’t translate into never let you’re loved ones know you’re in pain though. If I can’t do that, how can I expect them to help me?
Maybe the reason I need this blog is not just lack of time to grieve, but lack of ability to grieve, at least in front of anyone else.
I’m going to work on letting the people in my life into my emotional life a little bit more. In the meantime I may have come up with a forehead sparing warning system. Yesterday I had my toenails painted black.
For some reason this last week or two has been really difficult for me. I haven’t been thinking about Eric any more often (I don’t really think that’s possible), but those thoughts have been making me sadder than they did the week before. I’m really actively missing him. I’ve cried a few times this week and hadn’t done that in weeks. This doesn’t really upset me, but I have been wondering why now? Nothing significant has changed. We are approaching 6 months without him, but that doesn’t change anything, it’s just time.
I feel badly for the people in my life who unwittingly walk into my mood. Most of the time I put a brave face on things. Someone commented the other night that I’m always smiling. I can temporarily put my feelings away at work. I put them away during social interactions too, for the most part, because I don’t know how to bring them out. It’s hard for the other person and for me. Then my husband tells me he’d like to start running again and I’m a crying mess. Or my kids do something they’ve done a million times before, only this time I really fly off the handle.
If I only I had an early warning system, we all might feel a little safer. I could let the kids and my husband know they were swimming in dangerous waters when they came around me. The kids might be too little even for the traffic light forehead system, but it could help my husband at least. He has pretty good intuition for a guy, the other night when I came home after work with the kids; he had dinner on the stove and sent me away until bedtime. He could tell I was nearing my breaking point. I REALLY appreciated that. But sometimes I’m so good at hiding how I feel, even from him, that there’s no way for him to know.
I don’t know why I have such a hard time showing emotion, but I do. I hate crying in front of others. I can remember my mother telling me “Never let them see that they’ve hurt you” in response to catty teenage girls, or boyfriends who broke up with me. That shouldn’t translate into never let you’re loved ones know you’re in pain though. If I can’t do that, how can I expect them to help me?
Maybe the reason I need this blog is not just lack of time to grieve, but lack of ability to grieve, at least in front of anyone else.
I’m going to work on letting the people in my life into my emotional life a little bit more. In the meantime I may have come up with a forehead sparing warning system. Yesterday I had my toenails painted black.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
#34 I love you Eric
When I was in first grade I can remember my teacher telling us to always say “I love you”, to those we loved, and to stand up straight. One of those things sunk in more than the other.
Since then I have always been a stickler for making sure my loved ones know how I feel. I try to end phone conversations with those three little words, and pepper them in elsewhere when appropriate. I especially do this with my little boys, I need them to know that even when they are in trouble, I still love them. They need to know that I will always love them, no matter what, and I need to tell them.
It always struck me that, for a guy, Eric was pretty good at this too. I noticed in our conversations over the last couple of years he was usually the first to say it when we were getting off the phone.
After Eric’s race he was stable in the hospital for the rest of that day and evening. I spoke to him on the phone a couple of times as did my parents. He was his usual, funny self. He sounded a little groggy, but we figured, if you’ve been shocked twice and put on pain meds, you’re allowed to be a little groggy. He assured us he was feeling fine and put on a brave face, although I’m sure he was scared. He sang to me from Fiddler on the Roof, “Chavaleh, Chavaleh, how could you let me run that half-marathon, Chavaleh?”. He was in good spirits and had Katie there with him. I was a wreck after hearing the news, and this helped to put me more at ease. It wasn’t until much later I realized that in none of these conversations did I tell him I loved him. I didn’t know it would be my last chance.
The next day I took the long flight out to Las Vegas by myself. He was in surgery when I left, but the prognosis wasn’t good and I pretty much knew what I was going to find when I got there. He was in a hospital bed, white bandages around his head, machines all around keeping him alive. I’ve seen lots of people like this, just not people I know and love. I remember thinking he was surprisingly warm. I told him I loved him over and over. I don’t know if he knew we were there or not, but that didn’t keep any of us from speaking to him.
I know Eric knew that I loved him. I still wish I had said it in that last conversation.
Since then I have always been a stickler for making sure my loved ones know how I feel. I try to end phone conversations with those three little words, and pepper them in elsewhere when appropriate. I especially do this with my little boys, I need them to know that even when they are in trouble, I still love them. They need to know that I will always love them, no matter what, and I need to tell them.
It always struck me that, for a guy, Eric was pretty good at this too. I noticed in our conversations over the last couple of years he was usually the first to say it when we were getting off the phone.
After Eric’s race he was stable in the hospital for the rest of that day and evening. I spoke to him on the phone a couple of times as did my parents. He was his usual, funny self. He sounded a little groggy, but we figured, if you’ve been shocked twice and put on pain meds, you’re allowed to be a little groggy. He assured us he was feeling fine and put on a brave face, although I’m sure he was scared. He sang to me from Fiddler on the Roof, “Chavaleh, Chavaleh, how could you let me run that half-marathon, Chavaleh?”. He was in good spirits and had Katie there with him. I was a wreck after hearing the news, and this helped to put me more at ease. It wasn’t until much later I realized that in none of these conversations did I tell him I loved him. I didn’t know it would be my last chance.
The next day I took the long flight out to Las Vegas by myself. He was in surgery when I left, but the prognosis wasn’t good and I pretty much knew what I was going to find when I got there. He was in a hospital bed, white bandages around his head, machines all around keeping him alive. I’ve seen lots of people like this, just not people I know and love. I remember thinking he was surprisingly warm. I told him I loved him over and over. I don’t know if he knew we were there or not, but that didn’t keep any of us from speaking to him.
I know Eric knew that I loved him. I still wish I had said it in that last conversation.
Friday, May 28, 2010
#33 Numerology
33
Uncharted territory. The age Eric never got to see. He had less than a month to go in his 32nd year when his story ended. Or at least he stopped being the protagonist. I hope I’m still moving his story forward.
33 is also the atomic number of arsenic. I remember watching the movie “Arsenic and Old Lace” with Eric in black and white. If you haven’t seen it, you should, it’s a classic. And because my Mom loves it so much and rented it from the library every time Eric or I stayed home sick from school, I’ll also recommend another black and white film, “Some Like it Hot”.
If you use the Newtonian temperature scale, 33 is the temperature needed to boil water. This may explain Eric’s failures at Fettuccine alfredo. Knowing him, he was using this scale and found his thermometers inaccurate.
Eric and I practiced different religions. You may have noticed in past blogs that he celebrated Christmas with his girlfriend and Chanukah with his family. I’ll probably get into that in another blog, when I get up the courage, but for now, 33 has important symbolism in both religions. Jesus died at age 33 and performed 33 miracles. 33 is the numerical equivalent of the Star of David and Amen.
A 33 is a long playing record. Eric certainly didn’t get to play for nearly long enough.
33 is the number of Larry Bird’s Celtics jersey. This would mean nothing to Eric; I’m just throwing a bone to my husband, a huge fan of both the Celtics and Larry Bird.
33 years is considered the coming of age of a hobbit in J. R. R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” a book and movie that Eric loved.
It is also the international pre-fix for France, a country Eric loved.
Eric was not Jesus, or Larry Bird, or a hobbit. But he was undeniably an amazing human being. And all humans have 33 vertebrae in their spines.
He may not have gotten to see his 33rd year, but he certainly got to experience the number 33. I’m sure he knew that 33 is the eighth distinct semiprime comprising the prime factors (3 • 11). Its aliquot sum is 15; itself a discrete semiprime (3 • 5) in the following Aliquot sequence 33,15,9,4,3,1,0. (Note 33 is the 8th composite number to descend into the prime number 3, the others outside of this sequence being 30,26,16,12) Since 33 is a semiprime with both its prime factors being Gaussian primes, 33 is a Blum integer.
And even if he didn’t know that, I’m sure he would have liked to know that Messier object 33 is in the constellation Triangulum otherwise known as the Triangulum Galaxy.
Halfway through what would have been Eric’s 33rd year, I learned that according to Egyptian Islamic scholar Al-Ghazali, the dwellers of Heaven will exist eternally in a state of being age 33. Maybe he didn’t miss it after all.
(Thanks to Wikipedia for the information on the number 33)
Uncharted territory. The age Eric never got to see. He had less than a month to go in his 32nd year when his story ended. Or at least he stopped being the protagonist. I hope I’m still moving his story forward.
33 is also the atomic number of arsenic. I remember watching the movie “Arsenic and Old Lace” with Eric in black and white. If you haven’t seen it, you should, it’s a classic. And because my Mom loves it so much and rented it from the library every time Eric or I stayed home sick from school, I’ll also recommend another black and white film, “Some Like it Hot”.
If you use the Newtonian temperature scale, 33 is the temperature needed to boil water. This may explain Eric’s failures at Fettuccine alfredo. Knowing him, he was using this scale and found his thermometers inaccurate.
Eric and I practiced different religions. You may have noticed in past blogs that he celebrated Christmas with his girlfriend and Chanukah with his family. I’ll probably get into that in another blog, when I get up the courage, but for now, 33 has important symbolism in both religions. Jesus died at age 33 and performed 33 miracles. 33 is the numerical equivalent of the Star of David and Amen.
A 33 is a long playing record. Eric certainly didn’t get to play for nearly long enough.
33 is the number of Larry Bird’s Celtics jersey. This would mean nothing to Eric; I’m just throwing a bone to my husband, a huge fan of both the Celtics and Larry Bird.
33 years is considered the coming of age of a hobbit in J. R. R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” a book and movie that Eric loved.
It is also the international pre-fix for France, a country Eric loved.
Eric was not Jesus, or Larry Bird, or a hobbit. But he was undeniably an amazing human being. And all humans have 33 vertebrae in their spines.
He may not have gotten to see his 33rd year, but he certainly got to experience the number 33. I’m sure he knew that 33 is the eighth distinct semiprime comprising the prime factors (3 • 11). Its aliquot sum is 15; itself a discrete semiprime (3 • 5) in the following Aliquot sequence 33,15,9,4,3,1,0. (Note 33 is the 8th composite number to descend into the prime number 3, the others outside of this sequence being 30,26,16,12) Since 33 is a semiprime with both its prime factors being Gaussian primes, 33 is a Blum integer.
And even if he didn’t know that, I’m sure he would have liked to know that Messier object 33 is in the constellation Triangulum otherwise known as the Triangulum Galaxy.
Halfway through what would have been Eric’s 33rd year, I learned that according to Egyptian Islamic scholar Al-Ghazali, the dwellers of Heaven will exist eternally in a state of being age 33. Maybe he didn’t miss it after all.
(Thanks to Wikipedia for the information on the number 33)
Thursday, May 27, 2010
#32 You look good nude
Growing up I was more often than not Eric’s unwilling straight man. He was always funny. I would say he was born funny, but most stories of Eric as a baby involve him crying from a series of ear infections, so I guess it started a little later in life.
Many times my Mother was Eric’s accomplice in practical jokes. Or was it the other way around?
I am the only person in my family who values sleep. The early bird gets the worm, and who the hell wants a worm? I’d rather have a dream, or 2, or 20. In this case, the early birds played practical jokes on the worm. Wait, did I just call myself a worm?
Once my Mom sewed my pajamas to the bed while I was sleeping in them. I’m not sure how I didn’t wake up, but I didn’t. Eric didn’t actually do the sewing--thank you Mom for not letting him near me with a needle--but I’m sure he was involved somehow.
My Mother also short-sheeted my bed. Luckily, she also taught me how to do this which came in handy in summer camp.
Another time when I was sleeping in as teenage girls do, my mother sent Eric to wake me. He did it from behind a chair, lion tamer style.
There were other jokes that didn’t involve me sleeping. When I was in high school we finished the third floor of our house. There were 3 rooms and a bathroom up there, and I moved into one of the rooms. Eric and my Mom got Rain-X and with it wrote “You look good nude” on my bathroom mirror. Imagine my surprise when I got out of the shower.
Apparently my Mom also made a checkerboard on her bathroom mirror, but my Dad got so mad she had to fix it. As far as I know, my bathroom mirror is still complimenting the current owners.
As an adult, Eric was the funniest person I knew. For Mother’s Day last year he made a plaster cast of his hand, painted it and sent it to my mother; just like he did in pre-school. He even labeled it, “Eric, age 32”. It was hysterical. It was, of course, a joke, but now it is also a bit of a memorial. Who knew he would never make it past 32?
Many times my Mother was Eric’s accomplice in practical jokes. Or was it the other way around?
I am the only person in my family who values sleep. The early bird gets the worm, and who the hell wants a worm? I’d rather have a dream, or 2, or 20. In this case, the early birds played practical jokes on the worm. Wait, did I just call myself a worm?
Once my Mom sewed my pajamas to the bed while I was sleeping in them. I’m not sure how I didn’t wake up, but I didn’t. Eric didn’t actually do the sewing--thank you Mom for not letting him near me with a needle--but I’m sure he was involved somehow.
My Mother also short-sheeted my bed. Luckily, she also taught me how to do this which came in handy in summer camp.
Another time when I was sleeping in as teenage girls do, my mother sent Eric to wake me. He did it from behind a chair, lion tamer style.
There were other jokes that didn’t involve me sleeping. When I was in high school we finished the third floor of our house. There were 3 rooms and a bathroom up there, and I moved into one of the rooms. Eric and my Mom got Rain-X and with it wrote “You look good nude” on my bathroom mirror. Imagine my surprise when I got out of the shower.
Apparently my Mom also made a checkerboard on her bathroom mirror, but my Dad got so mad she had to fix it. As far as I know, my bathroom mirror is still complimenting the current owners.
As an adult, Eric was the funniest person I knew. For Mother’s Day last year he made a plaster cast of his hand, painted it and sent it to my mother; just like he did in pre-school. He even labeled it, “Eric, age 32”. It was hysterical. It was, of course, a joke, but now it is also a bit of a memorial. Who knew he would never make it past 32?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
# 31 Denial
Some people go to medical school and become alarmists about every little symptom, real or imagined. Others become calmer, and tend to ignore symptoms until they can’t be ignored anymore. I went through both of these stages. As a medical student, it seemed like every new disease we talked about, I had. When we learned about DVTs, my lower legs hurt. Every mole looked like melanoma. Every headache was a brain tumor. Thankfully, I grew out of that.
I am now in a more relaxed, laid back state. I didn’t go to the doctor when my back hurt until it started sending shooting pains down my left arm. Luckily, I just had a pinched nerve. I made light of my son’s stomach ache until we ended up in the ER with a severely constipated child. Waiting, with these symptoms, wasn’t really harmful it just postponed the resolution. Will I know to react faster in more important situations?
When my Dad told his doctor about Eric, the doctor recommended that I get a scan to look for calcium in my heart. I have not done this.
A few nights ago I was out with a friend who is a pediatrician and she recommended having the kids evaluated by a pediatric cardiologist. This never even occurred to me. I asked the docs in Las Vegas if they thought what happened to Eric was hereditary and they said no and that was good enough for me.
Am I in denial? Am I too complacent? I don’t want to be the hyperactive, hypochondriac Mom who is constantly seeing doom in the shadows. But I also don’t want to leave my boys open to harm through inaction. And I should probably take care of myself as well. After all, if I don’t do it, who will?
There has to be a middle ground here. A way to protect us and not alarm us. I think its time for a heart to heart with my doctor and our pediatrician. When I get around to it.
I am now in a more relaxed, laid back state. I didn’t go to the doctor when my back hurt until it started sending shooting pains down my left arm. Luckily, I just had a pinched nerve. I made light of my son’s stomach ache until we ended up in the ER with a severely constipated child. Waiting, with these symptoms, wasn’t really harmful it just postponed the resolution. Will I know to react faster in more important situations?
When my Dad told his doctor about Eric, the doctor recommended that I get a scan to look for calcium in my heart. I have not done this.
A few nights ago I was out with a friend who is a pediatrician and she recommended having the kids evaluated by a pediatric cardiologist. This never even occurred to me. I asked the docs in Las Vegas if they thought what happened to Eric was hereditary and they said no and that was good enough for me.
Am I in denial? Am I too complacent? I don’t want to be the hyperactive, hypochondriac Mom who is constantly seeing doom in the shadows. But I also don’t want to leave my boys open to harm through inaction. And I should probably take care of myself as well. After all, if I don’t do it, who will?
There has to be a middle ground here. A way to protect us and not alarm us. I think its time for a heart to heart with my doctor and our pediatrician. When I get around to it.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
#30 30 Days does not a month make
It’s been a month. Ok, if it were February it would be over a month and if it were May (which it is) it would be under a month. Eric would definitely call me on that. Since I’m not going by the calendar I’m just going to call 30 days a month. Ok Eric??
With this entry I will have shared my grief, my stories, my pain and my gratitude with you 30 times. I know some of you find this too painful to read (and therefore aren’t reading this either), but most of you have expressed positive reactions. I know this has been a huge positive for me.
I owe Eric for helping me rediscover that I like to write. And that I’m ok at it.
I owe Eric for making me look back and pull out our childhood memories and set them down for all time. I’m not done with that by any stretch.
I owe our family and friends for also helping me revive memories that I had already forgotten.
I owe my husband for editing and cheerleading.
I owe spell check a lot.
I owe you for reading.
I hate the need for this blog, but I’m glad I’m doing it and I’m glad you’re reading it.
When I was in elementary school we wrote stories and bound them and “published” them. I don’t remember what mine was about, but I know the resolution involved the protagonist waking from a dream. (Wow, that’s definitely a sentence I couldn’t have written in elementary school.) I always think of that as the “Wizard of Oz” ending. Even then I knew it was a cop out, but couldn’t think of any other way to end the story. I wish that could happen now. I wish I could wake up and have Eric back. I would give up a lot to make that happen. But of course, I can’t.
Looking for silver linings in this death is crap. There is no silver lining. Eric had too much to offer and left too much undone. Still, since I’m not going to wake up to my life as I want it, I’ll take this blog. And a million dollars if you’re offering.
With this entry I will have shared my grief, my stories, my pain and my gratitude with you 30 times. I know some of you find this too painful to read (and therefore aren’t reading this either), but most of you have expressed positive reactions. I know this has been a huge positive for me.
I owe Eric for helping me rediscover that I like to write. And that I’m ok at it.
I owe Eric for making me look back and pull out our childhood memories and set them down for all time. I’m not done with that by any stretch.
I owe our family and friends for also helping me revive memories that I had already forgotten.
I owe my husband for editing and cheerleading.
I owe spell check a lot.
I owe you for reading.
I hate the need for this blog, but I’m glad I’m doing it and I’m glad you’re reading it.
When I was in elementary school we wrote stories and bound them and “published” them. I don’t remember what mine was about, but I know the resolution involved the protagonist waking from a dream. (Wow, that’s definitely a sentence I couldn’t have written in elementary school.) I always think of that as the “Wizard of Oz” ending. Even then I knew it was a cop out, but couldn’t think of any other way to end the story. I wish that could happen now. I wish I could wake up and have Eric back. I would give up a lot to make that happen. But of course, I can’t.
Looking for silver linings in this death is crap. There is no silver lining. Eric had too much to offer and left too much undone. Still, since I’m not going to wake up to my life as I want it, I’ll take this blog. And a million dollars if you’re offering.
Monday, May 24, 2010
#29 Dichotomy
People keep asking me how I’m doing. I know they mean well, but this is an incredibly difficult question to answer. Do they want the truth or is it just a form question? If they want the truth, do I want to give it to them? And how am I doing? Do I really know?
In some ways I’m doing really well. I have a husband and kids that I love desperately. I’m so proud of my 6 year old who can spell pronunciation, will be on the swim team next year and has a generous heart. My 3 year old makes me laugh with his rules about nicknames (none allowed) and his infectious, mischievous grin. My husband is a rock, my best friend and my comfort. I’m also excited for him because he just got a new job.
My parents are wonderful and healthy. They are active and have good friends to take care of them when we can’t be together.
My grandmother seems to be on the mend and may soon be released from the hospital.
I live in an old house full of character in a beautiful city and have wonderful friends both here and far away.
In some ways I’m still devastated.
I want my brother. I cry while writing many of these blogs. Some days I just want to shut myself in my room and forget there’s a world out there. I still long for a quiet place with no responsibilities to cry and wail and rage and mourn.
The blog helps. My family helps. My friends help. Even work helps to an extent, it gets me out of the house.
If you ask me how I’m doing and you get an answer that seems blasé, or vague or flippant, just think about what you are asking me. I’m never going to be ok. I am going to continue moving along, taking joy where I can find it and stealing moments to grieve.
In some ways I’m doing really well. I have a husband and kids that I love desperately. I’m so proud of my 6 year old who can spell pronunciation, will be on the swim team next year and has a generous heart. My 3 year old makes me laugh with his rules about nicknames (none allowed) and his infectious, mischievous grin. My husband is a rock, my best friend and my comfort. I’m also excited for him because he just got a new job.
My parents are wonderful and healthy. They are active and have good friends to take care of them when we can’t be together.
My grandmother seems to be on the mend and may soon be released from the hospital.
I live in an old house full of character in a beautiful city and have wonderful friends both here and far away.
In some ways I’m still devastated.
I want my brother. I cry while writing many of these blogs. Some days I just want to shut myself in my room and forget there’s a world out there. I still long for a quiet place with no responsibilities to cry and wail and rage and mourn.
The blog helps. My family helps. My friends help. Even work helps to an extent, it gets me out of the house.
If you ask me how I’m doing and you get an answer that seems blasé, or vague or flippant, just think about what you are asking me. I’m never going to be ok. I am going to continue moving along, taking joy where I can find it and stealing moments to grieve.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
# 28 Don't kill me for not running
Have you ever thought about how many times a day you use the verbs to kill or to die? How about synonyms for them like keel over or kick the bucket? Since December I have been noticing how often these sentiments occur in my speech and my writing and have been making an effort to curb them. It’s really hard.
For example, in another blog post when I wanted to convey that my mother was shocked I almost wrote that it killed her. I had to take that out. Sometimes I am so fed up with my kids I say I am going to kill them. (not to them, they might take me seriously, but to my husband, or mom, or a friend) Sometimes I want something so much I say I would die for it.
These no longer feel harmless to me. Of course I’m not going to kill my kids, and I’m not going to die to get my bathroom renovation. (I mean really, what would be the point of that???) But some little part of me feels like I’m tempting fate.
I have a similar problem with running. Eric died because he ran a marathon. Millions of people run everyday and are fine. I never really liked to run, but my aversion to it now is more than just a convenient excuse. The weekend after Eric’s marathon, a good friend of mine ran one in Charlotte. I had trouble breathing until I knew she was done. Some of Eric’s friends ran a marathon in his memory and truly, it was a wonderful thing for them to do, but I hated it.
This week my 6 year old’s school had a mile run. The kindergartners only did 3/5 of a mile, but still the focus was on running. This was an activity I could not volunteer to help with. My 6 year old did really well (5min 17sec with those little legs!), and of course I congratulated him, but in my head I was screaming “NO running!”
I didn’t let him know when his school offered an after school running club. If he knew about it, he’d probably want to do it, so I just let that one pass. He swims and plays t-ball and gets plenty of exercise at recess and in the backyard. I feel no need to encourage running.
I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s older if he starts running to stay in shape or wants to join track. I know he really enjoys running laps in his after school program, so this is a distinct possibility. I probably won’t forbid it; I’ll just do some more screaming in my head. Or maybe I’ll feel better about it by then.
It’s important to be active and in shape, but please let’s find another way. It won’t kill us, or maybe it will.
For example, in another blog post when I wanted to convey that my mother was shocked I almost wrote that it killed her. I had to take that out. Sometimes I am so fed up with my kids I say I am going to kill them. (not to them, they might take me seriously, but to my husband, or mom, or a friend) Sometimes I want something so much I say I would die for it.
These no longer feel harmless to me. Of course I’m not going to kill my kids, and I’m not going to die to get my bathroom renovation. (I mean really, what would be the point of that???) But some little part of me feels like I’m tempting fate.
I have a similar problem with running. Eric died because he ran a marathon. Millions of people run everyday and are fine. I never really liked to run, but my aversion to it now is more than just a convenient excuse. The weekend after Eric’s marathon, a good friend of mine ran one in Charlotte. I had trouble breathing until I knew she was done. Some of Eric’s friends ran a marathon in his memory and truly, it was a wonderful thing for them to do, but I hated it.
This week my 6 year old’s school had a mile run. The kindergartners only did 3/5 of a mile, but still the focus was on running. This was an activity I could not volunteer to help with. My 6 year old did really well (5min 17sec with those little legs!), and of course I congratulated him, but in my head I was screaming “NO running!”
I didn’t let him know when his school offered an after school running club. If he knew about it, he’d probably want to do it, so I just let that one pass. He swims and plays t-ball and gets plenty of exercise at recess and in the backyard. I feel no need to encourage running.
I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s older if he starts running to stay in shape or wants to join track. I know he really enjoys running laps in his after school program, so this is a distinct possibility. I probably won’t forbid it; I’ll just do some more screaming in my head. Or maybe I’ll feel better about it by then.
It’s important to be active and in shape, but please let’s find another way. It won’t kill us, or maybe it will.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
#27 'Tis the season
We are entering gift season in my family. From May through July we have Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, my parent’s anniversary, my anniversary, my birthday and each of my parent’s birthdays. It’s hard to find good gifts for so many occasions, all in a row. Eric and I used to do this together. We might have separate gifts for some occasions and go in together on gifts for others. Even if we ended up with all separate gifts, we always talked about them. I really miss that. Especially when it comes to gifts for my Dad—what to get the man who needs nothing???
Our last cooperative gift giving was at Chanukah last year. My family always gets together over Thanksgiving so we exchange Chanukah gifts then. Last year was a banner year. I’ve already detailed in another post what the kids got, and it was massive, but the adult gifts were good too.
Eric (with the help of his girlfriend) got us a wonderful, practical gift that we really appreciated and have already used. 10 hours of babysitting. Way better than the subscription to the erudite, intellectual quarterly brick of a magazine he gave me last year. I’m glad he thinks I’m that smart, but I never had time to read it. (Thanks Katie!)
He also gave all of us typical Eric gifts; the glass tops from slot machines that were no longer being used. Something everyone wants and needs. I found a great use for the two he gave us….I gave them away. They are making two little boys in upstate NY very happy.
Katie also helped us with Eric’s gift. We had a bobble-head doll made to look like him. Katie got us the photos and a custom bobble-head designer did the rest. It turned out well and I think he got a real kick out of it. It’s now on my mantle.
Together, Eric and I got my Mom a Kindle. She loves to read so I thought this would be a perfect gift. Eric was worried about the technical aspects, (see blog #14) but I have one and it’s really simple so I thought it would be ok. Turns out I should have listened to him. She does like it, but I get a lot of phone calls about how to use it.
My Dad got the best gift of all. I actually found the gift, but Eric made it unforgettable. We got my Dad got the Uroclub. The ultimate golf accessory for the man who already has everything. Stuck out on the links with an irresistible urge to urinate? The Uroclub is for you. It looks like a golf club but the top of the handle screws off to reveal a reservoir for your excess fluids. It comes complete with a privacy towel you can clip to your belt loops so no one gets an unwanted view. The product itself is pretty funny, but Eric’s demonstration made it immortal. I wish we had that on video except none of us would have been able to hold the camera straight, we were laughing too hard.
We did actually get my dad a real gift, a golf shirt that he wanted, but the Uroclub made the holiday.
I don’t want to be without Eric’s acumen in choosing and giving gifts. There are so many things I miss about him, but right now, I could really use his help with Father’s Day.
Our last cooperative gift giving was at Chanukah last year. My family always gets together over Thanksgiving so we exchange Chanukah gifts then. Last year was a banner year. I’ve already detailed in another post what the kids got, and it was massive, but the adult gifts were good too.
Eric (with the help of his girlfriend) got us a wonderful, practical gift that we really appreciated and have already used. 10 hours of babysitting. Way better than the subscription to the erudite, intellectual quarterly brick of a magazine he gave me last year. I’m glad he thinks I’m that smart, but I never had time to read it. (Thanks Katie!)
He also gave all of us typical Eric gifts; the glass tops from slot machines that were no longer being used. Something everyone wants and needs. I found a great use for the two he gave us….I gave them away. They are making two little boys in upstate NY very happy.
Katie also helped us with Eric’s gift. We had a bobble-head doll made to look like him. Katie got us the photos and a custom bobble-head designer did the rest. It turned out well and I think he got a real kick out of it. It’s now on my mantle.
Together, Eric and I got my Mom a Kindle. She loves to read so I thought this would be a perfect gift. Eric was worried about the technical aspects, (see blog #14) but I have one and it’s really simple so I thought it would be ok. Turns out I should have listened to him. She does like it, but I get a lot of phone calls about how to use it.
My Dad got the best gift of all. I actually found the gift, but Eric made it unforgettable. We got my Dad got the Uroclub. The ultimate golf accessory for the man who already has everything. Stuck out on the links with an irresistible urge to urinate? The Uroclub is for you. It looks like a golf club but the top of the handle screws off to reveal a reservoir for your excess fluids. It comes complete with a privacy towel you can clip to your belt loops so no one gets an unwanted view. The product itself is pretty funny, but Eric’s demonstration made it immortal. I wish we had that on video except none of us would have been able to hold the camera straight, we were laughing too hard.
We did actually get my dad a real gift, a golf shirt that he wanted, but the Uroclub made the holiday.
I don’t want to be without Eric’s acumen in choosing and giving gifts. There are so many things I miss about him, but right now, I could really use his help with Father’s Day.
Friday, May 21, 2010
#26 WWED
WWED. What would Eric do?
When I was growing up it became fashionable for some kids to wear WWJD or “What would Jesus do?” bracelets. Being Jewish, I never got into them, but I suppose they stand for thinking before you act, and acting in a moral fashion. Since then the idea has been co-opted by many others and I’m going to steal it again. The “What would Eric Do?” (WWED) bracelets would be slightly different though, as in many cases you probably don’t want to do what he would have done.
Some examples:
I need to hang a shelf. WWED? Eric would stand on a box to measure with the result being that the shelf ends up way too high.
I would like to invite out of town guests to stay. WWED? Eric felt no need to inventory household supplies. This meant that when my husband and I visited him in London he had one towel for us to share.
I witnessed my oldest nephew’s first steps in the absence of his parents. WWED? He told us. This course of action is definitely not recommended, I’m still not over it and the child in question is 6.
So you see, this device could help you avoid making numerous bad decisions. Of course, it could also help you make good ones.
My sister has mono and is not living near any family. WWED? He sent me a huge care package with books, crossword puzzles, pancake mix, syrup and a stuffed platypus he named “Duo”.
My nephew got scared to the point of tears over grandma and grandpa’s new turtle shaped stepping stones. WWED? He sent my son a stuffed turtle with a message saying not to worry about the other ones, they like being stepping stones.
My girlfriend got me into watching “Project Runway” and I want to get her a unique and special Christmas gift. WWED? He designed a dress for her and had a seamstress make it reality.
Despite his occasional mishaps, Eric’s intentions were always good. I miss his humor and his advice. I know I will always think about what Eric would do.
When I was growing up it became fashionable for some kids to wear WWJD or “What would Jesus do?” bracelets. Being Jewish, I never got into them, but I suppose they stand for thinking before you act, and acting in a moral fashion. Since then the idea has been co-opted by many others and I’m going to steal it again. The “What would Eric Do?” (WWED) bracelets would be slightly different though, as in many cases you probably don’t want to do what he would have done.
Some examples:
I need to hang a shelf. WWED? Eric would stand on a box to measure with the result being that the shelf ends up way too high.
I would like to invite out of town guests to stay. WWED? Eric felt no need to inventory household supplies. This meant that when my husband and I visited him in London he had one towel for us to share.
I witnessed my oldest nephew’s first steps in the absence of his parents. WWED? He told us. This course of action is definitely not recommended, I’m still not over it and the child in question is 6.
So you see, this device could help you avoid making numerous bad decisions. Of course, it could also help you make good ones.
My sister has mono and is not living near any family. WWED? He sent me a huge care package with books, crossword puzzles, pancake mix, syrup and a stuffed platypus he named “Duo”.
My nephew got scared to the point of tears over grandma and grandpa’s new turtle shaped stepping stones. WWED? He sent my son a stuffed turtle with a message saying not to worry about the other ones, they like being stepping stones.
My girlfriend got me into watching “Project Runway” and I want to get her a unique and special Christmas gift. WWED? He designed a dress for her and had a seamstress make it reality.
Despite his occasional mishaps, Eric’s intentions were always good. I miss his humor and his advice. I know I will always think about what Eric would do.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
#25 Cynical parenting
Yesterday my kids were not well behaved when I picked them up from school. My 3 year old had 3 time outs before we even got home, including one he shared with his older brother. We have a special version of a time out specifically for the car invented by my husband; the kids have to sit quietly with their hands over their eyes.
When we pulled into the driveway I turned around and told them that I wanted to start the afternoon over. We would forget about the misbehavior and go inside and have a good afternoon. My 6 year old started crying. Now my 6 year old is really dramatic (no idea where he gets that from….) so his crying was not totally out of the ordinary, but it seemed a little much since he wasn’t actually getting punished at the time. I asked him not to cry and he said, “It’s not about this, it’s about Uncle Eric.” I asked him if anything specific had reminded him of Eric and he said no, he just thinks about him a lot and sometimes that makes him cry. First, let me say that I respect that. I do that too. But yesterday, I doubted him. Is that horrible?
I wondered if my overly dramatic son had figured out a way to scam the system. If he cries about Uncle Eric then he’ll get sympathy and not punished. Of course I wasn’t actually punishing him….but the timing was fishy.
He then told me that sometimes he feels sad and cries at school. When this happens his teacher will let him go hug the assistant teacher. His school has been wonderful with him. There were no penalties for the time he missed, and when he got back he was evaluated by the school psychologist. We were away over his birthday and when I called to ask the teacher to remember to give him a make-up day, she was already doing it. I didn’t know about his crying in school, but I’m sure they just take it in stride. If it was excessive, they would let me know.
So how come this little part of me wonders if he just does that when he feels he wants attention??
My 6 year old is very sensitive. He notices if kids or teachers are absent and asks if they are ok when they come back. When he had to give a birthday wish for his assistant teacher, he wished that her son felt better. (He was sick and is fine now.) The other kids wished she would get candy or cake or toys. It’s completely plausible that he has his Eric moments just as I do.
Apparently I am so cynical I can’t trust my own son. I would never tell him any of this. I comfort him and tell him it’s ok to cry and be sad. I actually love that he remembers Uncle Eric and misses him enough to cry about it.
The tears didn’t last very long, and soon after getting home the boys were in their usual form fighting over an empty cardboard box.
I was left wondering if my parenting skills are so bad that I can’t tell real grief from false. Since I’m not a mind reader, I’ll never know for sure, but I think it was real. I’m sorry I doubted him.
When we pulled into the driveway I turned around and told them that I wanted to start the afternoon over. We would forget about the misbehavior and go inside and have a good afternoon. My 6 year old started crying. Now my 6 year old is really dramatic (no idea where he gets that from….) so his crying was not totally out of the ordinary, but it seemed a little much since he wasn’t actually getting punished at the time. I asked him not to cry and he said, “It’s not about this, it’s about Uncle Eric.” I asked him if anything specific had reminded him of Eric and he said no, he just thinks about him a lot and sometimes that makes him cry. First, let me say that I respect that. I do that too. But yesterday, I doubted him. Is that horrible?
I wondered if my overly dramatic son had figured out a way to scam the system. If he cries about Uncle Eric then he’ll get sympathy and not punished. Of course I wasn’t actually punishing him….but the timing was fishy.
He then told me that sometimes he feels sad and cries at school. When this happens his teacher will let him go hug the assistant teacher. His school has been wonderful with him. There were no penalties for the time he missed, and when he got back he was evaluated by the school psychologist. We were away over his birthday and when I called to ask the teacher to remember to give him a make-up day, she was already doing it. I didn’t know about his crying in school, but I’m sure they just take it in stride. If it was excessive, they would let me know.
So how come this little part of me wonders if he just does that when he feels he wants attention??
My 6 year old is very sensitive. He notices if kids or teachers are absent and asks if they are ok when they come back. When he had to give a birthday wish for his assistant teacher, he wished that her son felt better. (He was sick and is fine now.) The other kids wished she would get candy or cake or toys. It’s completely plausible that he has his Eric moments just as I do.
Apparently I am so cynical I can’t trust my own son. I would never tell him any of this. I comfort him and tell him it’s ok to cry and be sad. I actually love that he remembers Uncle Eric and misses him enough to cry about it.
The tears didn’t last very long, and soon after getting home the boys were in their usual form fighting over an empty cardboard box.
I was left wondering if my parenting skills are so bad that I can’t tell real grief from false. Since I’m not a mind reader, I’ll never know for sure, but I think it was real. I’m sorry I doubted him.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
# 24 Oedipus matures...or at least grows up...
Fathers and daughters, mothers and sons. That’s how family allegiances are supposed to go. I can attest to this from personal experience, I have at least one son who is glued to my leg at all times when I am home. Of course, when you get older, these alliances tend to switch. After the teen years it is actually possible for mothers and daughters to get along….most of the time….
My mother remembers vividly the first night at the dinner table when Eric turned to my father instead of to her to share his day and get some advice. It was a BIG shock. I’m still not sure she’s over it. I’m not sure I’ll get over it either when it happens to me.
Not being particularly athletic, interested in team sports, or handy around the house, Eric and my Dad couldn’t bond over these traditional male topics. Still, they found activities that both could enjoy and forge a relationship over. Things like cocktails. No, my brother couldn’t drink them (not at that age anyway) but he could make them and he enjoyed playing bartender. I can remember one of his first attempts when he filled a glass to the brim with scotch and gingerly carried it to my Dad, careful not to spill a single drop. Alarmed by the waste of scotch, my Dad make Eric take a sip. After laughing at the face Eric made, he informed him that was why you didn’t completely fill the glass. Eric later developed a preference for sweeter drinks.
Once, for fun, Eric filled all the ice cube trays with 7 Up. My Dad made two different drinks and then threw out the bottle of Chivas Regal before he found out what had happened. He hasn’t had it since. Eric might actually have liked that combination.
My Dad and Eric both share a great sense of humor. I can remember a family trip to Michigan when I was looking at colleges. Eric got so sick of hearing about me; he pulled my Dad aside for some “manly” talks. They talked about concrete, and backhoes. My Mom and I almost fell over on the sidewalk laughing at them.
As an adult my Mom was always a refuge for Eric, the person who understood him better than anyone else. But it was my Dad’s respect for which Eric strived. I know he knew he had it.
My mother remembers vividly the first night at the dinner table when Eric turned to my father instead of to her to share his day and get some advice. It was a BIG shock. I’m still not sure she’s over it. I’m not sure I’ll get over it either when it happens to me.
Not being particularly athletic, interested in team sports, or handy around the house, Eric and my Dad couldn’t bond over these traditional male topics. Still, they found activities that both could enjoy and forge a relationship over. Things like cocktails. No, my brother couldn’t drink them (not at that age anyway) but he could make them and he enjoyed playing bartender. I can remember one of his first attempts when he filled a glass to the brim with scotch and gingerly carried it to my Dad, careful not to spill a single drop. Alarmed by the waste of scotch, my Dad make Eric take a sip. After laughing at the face Eric made, he informed him that was why you didn’t completely fill the glass. Eric later developed a preference for sweeter drinks.
Once, for fun, Eric filled all the ice cube trays with 7 Up. My Dad made two different drinks and then threw out the bottle of Chivas Regal before he found out what had happened. He hasn’t had it since. Eric might actually have liked that combination.
My Dad and Eric both share a great sense of humor. I can remember a family trip to Michigan when I was looking at colleges. Eric got so sick of hearing about me; he pulled my Dad aside for some “manly” talks. They talked about concrete, and backhoes. My Mom and I almost fell over on the sidewalk laughing at them.
As an adult my Mom was always a refuge for Eric, the person who understood him better than anyone else. But it was my Dad’s respect for which Eric strived. I know he knew he had it.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
#23 Mitzvah Day
On Sunday my 6 year old and I participated in Mitzvah Day through Temple Beth El’s religious school here in Charlotte. Mitzvah means commandment in Hebrew and is colloquially used to mean something good. Doing a good deed is a mitzvah, and good deeds are what Mitzvah Day is all about. There are over 20 community service projects in which you can choose to participate. I went through them all with my son and let him choose which project we would do. We could have cleaned the grounds of his summer camp. We could have stuffed birthday goody bags for children too poor to afford birthday parties. We could have written letters to soldiers overseas. My 6 year old chose to clean the Hebrew Cemetery. That was not what I was expecting. I gave him a lot of time to change his mind before actually signing us up, but he held firm. It didn’t matter that none of his friends from religious school wanted to do that; he wanted to do that.
Of course I was wondering what part Eric played in his choice. He knows that Eric was cremated not buried, and after an excruciating (on my part) conversation, he even knows what that means. Still, I wondered if he wanted to make things “look nice for dead people” for Eric. So I signed us up. After bagels and coffee (for me, water for him) and an inspirational talk from the Rabbi we took our buckets and rags and headed to the cemetery.
It was actually quite interesting. There was a memorial dedicated to Jewish soldiers who fought for the Confederacy. There were headstones dating back to the 1700s. There were also several other families there, which surprised me a bit. Right away my son found another 6 year old and the two of them cleaned headstones together. They thought it was hilarious when they found the one for “Hedwig Frankenstein”, although they agreed it probably wasn’t the monster because they didn’t think he was Jewish.
My son noticed small stones on top of some of the markers and we talked about the Jewish tradition of leaving these instead of flowers when you visit a grave. Another volunteer told us that this dates back to desert burials, when the stones served to keep the sand from blowing away and kept the gravesites intact.
It was actually very peaceful. There was no place my child could run off to, so I could really concentrate on what I was doing. I don’t even clean my own house, but there I was scrubbing grime and mold off of headstones and getting satisfaction from it. There was a real sense of accomplishment as the names and dates became more legible. I tried to imagine the lives of these Southern Jews who lived in an era of more limited tolerance. I tried to let them know they are still remembered.
As we wrapped up for the day the organizer asked if anyone wanted to speak about why this was a good deed, or why they decided to choose this project. My son raised his hand. It turns out he wanted to clean the cemetery so no one would think it was haunted like cemeteries on TV are.
I still think Eric had something to do with it. He is influencing what we do whether we realize it or not.
Of course I was wondering what part Eric played in his choice. He knows that Eric was cremated not buried, and after an excruciating (on my part) conversation, he even knows what that means. Still, I wondered if he wanted to make things “look nice for dead people” for Eric. So I signed us up. After bagels and coffee (for me, water for him) and an inspirational talk from the Rabbi we took our buckets and rags and headed to the cemetery.
It was actually quite interesting. There was a memorial dedicated to Jewish soldiers who fought for the Confederacy. There were headstones dating back to the 1700s. There were also several other families there, which surprised me a bit. Right away my son found another 6 year old and the two of them cleaned headstones together. They thought it was hilarious when they found the one for “Hedwig Frankenstein”, although they agreed it probably wasn’t the monster because they didn’t think he was Jewish.
My son noticed small stones on top of some of the markers and we talked about the Jewish tradition of leaving these instead of flowers when you visit a grave. Another volunteer told us that this dates back to desert burials, when the stones served to keep the sand from blowing away and kept the gravesites intact.
It was actually very peaceful. There was no place my child could run off to, so I could really concentrate on what I was doing. I don’t even clean my own house, but there I was scrubbing grime and mold off of headstones and getting satisfaction from it. There was a real sense of accomplishment as the names and dates became more legible. I tried to imagine the lives of these Southern Jews who lived in an era of more limited tolerance. I tried to let them know they are still remembered.
As we wrapped up for the day the organizer asked if anyone wanted to speak about why this was a good deed, or why they decided to choose this project. My son raised his hand. It turns out he wanted to clean the cemetery so no one would think it was haunted like cemeteries on TV are.
I still think Eric had something to do with it. He is influencing what we do whether we realize it or not.
Monday, May 17, 2010
#22 The Council of Uncles
I just read a column by Nancy Gibbs in Time Magazine. She wrote about Bruce Feiler, a writer and father of twin daughters who was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. Upon realizing that he might not be around for major (and minor) milestones in his daughters’ lives he convened a “Council of Dads”. This is a group of men who could, if needed, stand in for him and help raise his daughters the way he would want them raised. (He also wrote a book about it, called The Council of Dads)
Until he moved out of the country, Eric was the person we named in our wills to take care of our children should something happen to us. We trusted Eric and knew he would have the emotional, financial and moral reserve needed to care for our children. We knew he would want to raise them and that we could be proud of the adults they would become.
Eric died too suddenly to provide us with a Council of Uncles for our children. But if he could have, I know he would have. Here is who I imagine he might have picked.
Uncle Steve The kids still have one great uncle; he definitely needs to head the list.
Elmo Purely to annoy me and my husband as our kids have grown out of this particular fetish.
Barack Obama Eric voted for him and every child should have a Harvard educated, politically savvy mentor.
Stephen Colbert Every child should also learn to look at the other side of issues, and to be funny.
Yoda Wisdom and Star Wars in one package, he is.
Lance Armstrong An example of athleticism, perseverance and success.
Johnny Depp Oh, wait, he goes on my other list…..
Steve Jobs Eric loved computers from the moment he saw them, and lately, Apple.
Donald Trump Real estate mogul, risk taker, gazillionaire, tacky taste, and Eric’s childhood idol. Need I say more?
No one could replace Eric, but hanging out with some of these stand-ins might be fun.
Especially Johnny Depp.
Until he moved out of the country, Eric was the person we named in our wills to take care of our children should something happen to us. We trusted Eric and knew he would have the emotional, financial and moral reserve needed to care for our children. We knew he would want to raise them and that we could be proud of the adults they would become.
Eric died too suddenly to provide us with a Council of Uncles for our children. But if he could have, I know he would have. Here is who I imagine he might have picked.
Uncle Steve The kids still have one great uncle; he definitely needs to head the list.
Elmo Purely to annoy me and my husband as our kids have grown out of this particular fetish.
Barack Obama Eric voted for him and every child should have a Harvard educated, politically savvy mentor.
Stephen Colbert Every child should also learn to look at the other side of issues, and to be funny.
Yoda Wisdom and Star Wars in one package, he is.
Lance Armstrong An example of athleticism, perseverance and success.
Johnny Depp Oh, wait, he goes on my other list…..
Steve Jobs Eric loved computers from the moment he saw them, and lately, Apple.
Donald Trump Real estate mogul, risk taker, gazillionaire, tacky taste, and Eric’s childhood idol. Need I say more?
No one could replace Eric, but hanging out with some of these stand-ins might be fun.
Especially Johnny Depp.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
#21 It's all about me...and you.
This blog has become as much about me as it is about Eric. I think that is inevitable given that I am writing it and everything is filtered through my experiences and memories. Is it too much about me? Is it a selfish enterprise?
I guess in a way, it was always a selfish enterprise. I started it to help my grief. I was hoping that it would help others as well, and from feedback I’m getting I think it is, but really I did it for me.
When I start to think about that, I wonder why I couldn’t have chosen to write in a journal instead. I could still get down all of my thoughts and preserve them for my children and anyone else who might be interested. That doesn’t appeal to me at all. I think it is the act of sharing and getting feedback that makes this process work for me. I like knowing that I am helping the people who knew Eric remember him and introducing him to new people. In this way his memory grows.
Of course I also like having an audience. I have always been that way. I don’t know if it is good, bad or otherwise, but I have always loved being on stage and the center of attention. Growing up we lived on a busy street and I would dance and sing at the top of my lungs at the end of our driveway and hope someone driving by would “discover me”. I participated in school and community shows and singing groups. I went to Northwestern University undergrad to be a part of their theatre department. Now, if you’ve read my bio, or know me, you know I didn’t end up in show business. But if you think about it, being a doctor is kind of like show business. I have to charm every patient so they’ll come back and see me. I have to act like I know it all so they’ll have confidence in me. I even occasionally have to get up on stage and give a talk.
So I guess even in grief I need an audience. I don’t know if that makes me selfish or if everyone is like that. I want everyone who is reading this to know how much I appreciate you. This blog would not work without you. Those of you who leave comments on the blog, on my facebook page or in my email make my day. Thank you for letting me share my grief and my brother with you.
I guess in a way, it was always a selfish enterprise. I started it to help my grief. I was hoping that it would help others as well, and from feedback I’m getting I think it is, but really I did it for me.
When I start to think about that, I wonder why I couldn’t have chosen to write in a journal instead. I could still get down all of my thoughts and preserve them for my children and anyone else who might be interested. That doesn’t appeal to me at all. I think it is the act of sharing and getting feedback that makes this process work for me. I like knowing that I am helping the people who knew Eric remember him and introducing him to new people. In this way his memory grows.
Of course I also like having an audience. I have always been that way. I don’t know if it is good, bad or otherwise, but I have always loved being on stage and the center of attention. Growing up we lived on a busy street and I would dance and sing at the top of my lungs at the end of our driveway and hope someone driving by would “discover me”. I participated in school and community shows and singing groups. I went to Northwestern University undergrad to be a part of their theatre department. Now, if you’ve read my bio, or know me, you know I didn’t end up in show business. But if you think about it, being a doctor is kind of like show business. I have to charm every patient so they’ll come back and see me. I have to act like I know it all so they’ll have confidence in me. I even occasionally have to get up on stage and give a talk.
So I guess even in grief I need an audience. I don’t know if that makes me selfish or if everyone is like that. I want everyone who is reading this to know how much I appreciate you. This blog would not work without you. Those of you who leave comments on the blog, on my facebook page or in my email make my day. Thank you for letting me share my grief and my brother with you.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
#20 BOO!
Eric and I grew up in an old house, so of course, we always knew it was haunted. Aren’t all old houses?
We had a spooky unfinished 3rd floor play room and we used to dare each other to be the first up there to turn the light on. If this sounds like a simple task, it wasn’t. Eric’s advice about light switches did not apply here as there was no switch, just a string hanging from the light bulb in the middle of the landing. We’d have to go up the stairs, leave the relative safety of the hall light and venture into the dark unknown. Once in there we had to reach our hands up blindly to find the string and pull to turn on the light. If you caught the string on the first try you were lucky. More often you would only brush up against it and send it swinging. Then you had to figure out when it would come back towards you and try and catch it. If you judged it incorrectly and it happened to brush your arm, or back or head when you didn’t expect it, well that fright might send you downstairs for the rest of the day. There would definitely be a scream involved. Of course, once the lights were on, it was totally innocuous and a great place to play.
We also had a spooky unfinished basement. This was huge and full of things left behind by previous owners. There was a long room with different panes of glass, some of them mirrored. One room had a raised platform along half the floor that we used as a stage. The whole thing had that mildewy, basement smell, perfect for exploring.
There was also a bullet hole in the living room. The living room was a dark wood paneled room with built in bookshelves and a fireplace. It always reminded me of an English library. The story goes that a woman shot at her psychiatrist in there.
We just knew there had to be a ghost, or at least a secret passage!
One night, to try and get us out from underfoot, my parents sent us searching for the secret passage. Eric and I knocked on walls all over the house, trying to find a hollow spot or a hidden entrance. Just as we were about to give up, somebody knocked back.
And then knocked again.
As were about to dissolve with fright we realized it was our neighbor at the front door, and dissolved with laughter instead.
We had a spooky unfinished 3rd floor play room and we used to dare each other to be the first up there to turn the light on. If this sounds like a simple task, it wasn’t. Eric’s advice about light switches did not apply here as there was no switch, just a string hanging from the light bulb in the middle of the landing. We’d have to go up the stairs, leave the relative safety of the hall light and venture into the dark unknown. Once in there we had to reach our hands up blindly to find the string and pull to turn on the light. If you caught the string on the first try you were lucky. More often you would only brush up against it and send it swinging. Then you had to figure out when it would come back towards you and try and catch it. If you judged it incorrectly and it happened to brush your arm, or back or head when you didn’t expect it, well that fright might send you downstairs for the rest of the day. There would definitely be a scream involved. Of course, once the lights were on, it was totally innocuous and a great place to play.
We also had a spooky unfinished basement. This was huge and full of things left behind by previous owners. There was a long room with different panes of glass, some of them mirrored. One room had a raised platform along half the floor that we used as a stage. The whole thing had that mildewy, basement smell, perfect for exploring.
There was also a bullet hole in the living room. The living room was a dark wood paneled room with built in bookshelves and a fireplace. It always reminded me of an English library. The story goes that a woman shot at her psychiatrist in there.
We just knew there had to be a ghost, or at least a secret passage!
One night, to try and get us out from underfoot, my parents sent us searching for the secret passage. Eric and I knocked on walls all over the house, trying to find a hollow spot or a hidden entrance. Just as we were about to give up, somebody knocked back.
And then knocked again.
As were about to dissolve with fright we realized it was our neighbor at the front door, and dissolved with laughter instead.
Friday, May 14, 2010
#19 Digression
My mother just called to tell me that the end may be near for my grandmother. I immediately thought I need to blog about this. Then I thought; this blog is about Eric, and grief and end of life; I don’t want to prematurely memorialize my grandmother. Then I thought; I really need to blog about this.
My mother’s mother is a feisty 92. She has been in the hospital for over a week with a multi-drug resistant pneumonia. I went to visit her last weekend and after putting on my gown, gloves and mask and walking into the room the first thing she said was, “I’ve had a terrible day, the service here is terrible!” My first thought? Does she know this is a hospital, not a hotel???
My grandmother grew up during the depression with 2 sisters. Her family was not well-to-do. She tells stories about the chair that had one broken arm. Whenever a sister brought home a date, a dateless sister had to sit in that chair so the date wouldn’t know it was broken. They also all shared one pin and the one with the date got to wear it.
To hear my grandmother tell it, she was pursued relentlessly by many men. When I look at pictures of her from that time, I believe it. She is beautiful and sophisticated.
She went to college and was president of her class for all 4 years, something very unusual for women at that time. She refused to go to her most recent college reunion because they put the year of your graduation on your name badge and she didn’t want anyone to know how old she was. She also wouldn’t let us throw her a 90th birthday party for the same reason.
When my grandfather proposed to her she took one look at the diamond ring and said, “It’s nice, but I have such big fingers….” She promptly got a bigger ring; one that she gave to me last year for my 10th wedding anniversary and that I wear proudly.
She was a teacher in the New York public school system and a mother to my mother and uncle.
She played golf well into her 80s and only 2 years ago stopped going to Florida for the winter.
She fell and broke her hip last summer, contracted and recovered from pneumonia and moved to an assisted living facility near my parents.
Whether or not she beats this pneumonia (and I desperately hope she does) her story deserves to be told. Eric wouldn’t mind the digression.
My mother’s mother is a feisty 92. She has been in the hospital for over a week with a multi-drug resistant pneumonia. I went to visit her last weekend and after putting on my gown, gloves and mask and walking into the room the first thing she said was, “I’ve had a terrible day, the service here is terrible!” My first thought? Does she know this is a hospital, not a hotel???
My grandmother grew up during the depression with 2 sisters. Her family was not well-to-do. She tells stories about the chair that had one broken arm. Whenever a sister brought home a date, a dateless sister had to sit in that chair so the date wouldn’t know it was broken. They also all shared one pin and the one with the date got to wear it.
To hear my grandmother tell it, she was pursued relentlessly by many men. When I look at pictures of her from that time, I believe it. She is beautiful and sophisticated.
She went to college and was president of her class for all 4 years, something very unusual for women at that time. She refused to go to her most recent college reunion because they put the year of your graduation on your name badge and she didn’t want anyone to know how old she was. She also wouldn’t let us throw her a 90th birthday party for the same reason.
When my grandfather proposed to her she took one look at the diamond ring and said, “It’s nice, but I have such big fingers….” She promptly got a bigger ring; one that she gave to me last year for my 10th wedding anniversary and that I wear proudly.
She was a teacher in the New York public school system and a mother to my mother and uncle.
She played golf well into her 80s and only 2 years ago stopped going to Florida for the winter.
She fell and broke her hip last summer, contracted and recovered from pneumonia and moved to an assisted living facility near my parents.
Whether or not she beats this pneumonia (and I desperately hope she does) her story deserves to be told. Eric wouldn’t mind the digression.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
#18 Culture shock
Seven Pounds. The movie that undid me.
After Eric died I found myself scrutinizing the things he left behind. One of those things is his facebook page. In the little section under your picture where you can write something it says, “Live Life Abundantly!” That is a perfect saying for Eric, because that is what he always did. I thought about that a lot, as did his other friends. Some of them ran a marathon in his name and made race t-shirts with that on it.
After we got home my husband and I decided to watch a movie that we’d had from Netflix for about forever. It was one he’d picked out (as they pretty much all are since I’m a failure at helping to manage our queue) and one I knew nothing about. It was called Seven Pounds.
This is a Will Smith movie about a man who accidentally kills his wife and child in a motor vehicle accident. I think there was alcohol involved. He feels so guilty that he steals his brother’s IRS agent ID and investigates people who he somehow knows will be perfect recipients for his organs to see if they are worthy. Of course you don’t know all of that while you are watching; in fact I just spoiled the whole movie for you. Sorry. He of course falls in love with the woman who is to receive his heart. He has one perfect evening with her and then goes to commit suicide in a way that will not tarnish his organs. He leaves her a note and at the end it says “Live Life Abundantly.”
I have no idea if Eric got the phrase from this movie or not, but needless to say there are parallels. No, Eric did not commit suicide, but he did donate his organs. When I saw that phrase at the end of the movie, I lost it.
I couldn’t move or breathe I was crying so hard. My poor husband didn’t know what to do.
Was it just random chance that we had that movie, and had had it for months but had always found better things to do than watch it?
I don’t really believe that Eric is still out there or that he can send us messages, but I do still talk to him. My 6 yr old once told me that Eric talked to him before school one morning. Who am I to say that didn’t happen?
Whether or not it was a message from beyond, I’ll never watch that movie again. But I will try to live by its message.
After Eric died I found myself scrutinizing the things he left behind. One of those things is his facebook page. In the little section under your picture where you can write something it says, “Live Life Abundantly!” That is a perfect saying for Eric, because that is what he always did. I thought about that a lot, as did his other friends. Some of them ran a marathon in his name and made race t-shirts with that on it.
After we got home my husband and I decided to watch a movie that we’d had from Netflix for about forever. It was one he’d picked out (as they pretty much all are since I’m a failure at helping to manage our queue) and one I knew nothing about. It was called Seven Pounds.
This is a Will Smith movie about a man who accidentally kills his wife and child in a motor vehicle accident. I think there was alcohol involved. He feels so guilty that he steals his brother’s IRS agent ID and investigates people who he somehow knows will be perfect recipients for his organs to see if they are worthy. Of course you don’t know all of that while you are watching; in fact I just spoiled the whole movie for you. Sorry. He of course falls in love with the woman who is to receive his heart. He has one perfect evening with her and then goes to commit suicide in a way that will not tarnish his organs. He leaves her a note and at the end it says “Live Life Abundantly.”
I have no idea if Eric got the phrase from this movie or not, but needless to say there are parallels. No, Eric did not commit suicide, but he did donate his organs. When I saw that phrase at the end of the movie, I lost it.
I couldn’t move or breathe I was crying so hard. My poor husband didn’t know what to do.
Was it just random chance that we had that movie, and had had it for months but had always found better things to do than watch it?
I don’t really believe that Eric is still out there or that he can send us messages, but I do still talk to him. My 6 yr old once told me that Eric talked to him before school one morning. Who am I to say that didn’t happen?
Whether or not it was a message from beyond, I’ll never watch that movie again. But I will try to live by its message.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
#17 A rose by any other name....
I just wrote a brief description of Eric’s death to be posted on the home page of the blog. I have had many inquiries into his manner of death and it isn’t a secret, I just don’t feel like blogging about it. It is what it is. When I went to save the document on my computer, I couldn’t figure out what to name it. I almost titled it “Eric summary”, but couldn’t. That is the furthest thing from a summary of Eric that I could imagine.
Eric is not his manner of death. Eric is a brother, a son, an uncle, a boyfriend, a friend, a hospitality industry worker and master’s student, a runner, a dress designer, a Doritos chef, a pain in the ass, a caring person.
Yes, I know I used the present tense. It was even hard for me to type “Eric’s death” in the first sentence of this blog and again now. Does it ever get easier?
When I talk about what happened I refer to it as “what happened in December”, or “when we were in Las Vegas”, as if giving language to it makes it that much more real. If I actually say it there is always a pause between the words, I have to muster the strength to say the d word. I even wince internally when someone else says it.
I’ve always been superstitious about language. In college when I wanted to go away instead of doing something I was supposed to do with my sorority, I used the excuse of a sick great-grandmother. She was already dead, but I didn’t want to curse anyone else with an illness brought about by my lie.
In the first trimesters of my pregnancies, when I’m still not really telling people, if someone flat out asks me if I’m pregnant, I can’t lie. I worry about what might happen to the baby if I do. I know this is irrational, but I can’t help it, it’s just how I am.
In this case my language can’t change a thing. He’s not coming back (despite the dream my Mom had when he came back and was emptying her dishwasher—showing me up even in the afterlife!). But I still have a lot of trouble with it.
None of this really matters, it’s just a curiosity of my mind--and if it’s easier for me not to say it, then I’m going to continue to not say it. As everyone keeps reminding me, grief is a process that we all go about in our own way.
Mine involves language.
Oh, and I went with “Eric’s blurb”. It will be up as soon as my husband and I get a minute together and he can show me how to do it. Technology is his thing, not mine.
Eric is not his manner of death. Eric is a brother, a son, an uncle, a boyfriend, a friend, a hospitality industry worker and master’s student, a runner, a dress designer, a Doritos chef, a pain in the ass, a caring person.
Yes, I know I used the present tense. It was even hard for me to type “Eric’s death” in the first sentence of this blog and again now. Does it ever get easier?
When I talk about what happened I refer to it as “what happened in December”, or “when we were in Las Vegas”, as if giving language to it makes it that much more real. If I actually say it there is always a pause between the words, I have to muster the strength to say the d word. I even wince internally when someone else says it.
I’ve always been superstitious about language. In college when I wanted to go away instead of doing something I was supposed to do with my sorority, I used the excuse of a sick great-grandmother. She was already dead, but I didn’t want to curse anyone else with an illness brought about by my lie.
In the first trimesters of my pregnancies, when I’m still not really telling people, if someone flat out asks me if I’m pregnant, I can’t lie. I worry about what might happen to the baby if I do. I know this is irrational, but I can’t help it, it’s just how I am.
In this case my language can’t change a thing. He’s not coming back (despite the dream my Mom had when he came back and was emptying her dishwasher—showing me up even in the afterlife!). But I still have a lot of trouble with it.
None of this really matters, it’s just a curiosity of my mind--and if it’s easier for me not to say it, then I’m going to continue to not say it. As everyone keeps reminding me, grief is a process that we all go about in our own way.
Mine involves language.
Oh, and I went with “Eric’s blurb”. It will be up as soon as my husband and I get a minute together and he can show me how to do it. Technology is his thing, not mine.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
#16 Lifestyle choices
My 3 year old wants to marry me. Of course he also wants to marry 3 girls from his pre-school class, his teacher, the “girl from baseball” and my 6 year old’s fiancé’s little sister. Yes, you read that right. My 6 year old has been engaged to the same girl for 3 years now. They are not at the same school but keep in touch through play dates (does everyone else hate that phrase as much as I do?) and birthday parties. He brings her rings from the treasure box at school and worries about what he is going to wear when he sees her. She’s already planning the wedding; she’s going to wear a purple dress with sparkles.
I have been married to a wonderful man for almost 11 years. We met as I was deciding to go to medical school and he stuck with me through the horrible application process and the grueling years of schooling and residency that were my twenties.
While we were doing that, Eric was leading a glamorous life. Harvard undergrad, jobs in San Diego, Austin, London (yes, the one in England), UVA law, jobs in New Zealand and Las Vegas. I was so busy studying and being sleep-deprived on call that I only ever got to visit him in one of those places. (London, so I’m not complaining too much). I always relied on Eric to visit me, and he always did. Eric’s travel and his lifestyle always made me jealous.
I remember one summer when he was in law school and was interning at a firm in New York City. I was a resident at the time and he was complaining to me about his schedule. I asked him what time he got in that morning and he said, “Well, I came in late this morning because I worked out with my personal trainer.” Then I asked when he would be leaving. “Well, I’m leaving early today because there’s a black tie dinner the firm is paying for me to go to.” Eric made as much money that summer as I made all that year. Needless to say, I won that battle of suffering.
I only found out a couple of years ago that Eric was jealous of me. He wanted to find someone to settle down with and have a family. He envied the close relationship that my husband and I have and was looking for something similar.
I am glad that he found that relationship before he died. I’m so sorry that he didn’t have a chance to actually marry and have children with the love of his life. I know he would have been a dedicated, loving and unique father and husband. It makes me so sad that he didn’t get to experience that and that I won’t get to see him go through that. Or buy his children huge toys that make really loud noises.
He had amazing experiences and certainly let nothing pass him by. I just wish he could have had it all.
I have been married to a wonderful man for almost 11 years. We met as I was deciding to go to medical school and he stuck with me through the horrible application process and the grueling years of schooling and residency that were my twenties.
While we were doing that, Eric was leading a glamorous life. Harvard undergrad, jobs in San Diego, Austin, London (yes, the one in England), UVA law, jobs in New Zealand and Las Vegas. I was so busy studying and being sleep-deprived on call that I only ever got to visit him in one of those places. (London, so I’m not complaining too much). I always relied on Eric to visit me, and he always did. Eric’s travel and his lifestyle always made me jealous.
I remember one summer when he was in law school and was interning at a firm in New York City. I was a resident at the time and he was complaining to me about his schedule. I asked him what time he got in that morning and he said, “Well, I came in late this morning because I worked out with my personal trainer.” Then I asked when he would be leaving. “Well, I’m leaving early today because there’s a black tie dinner the firm is paying for me to go to.” Eric made as much money that summer as I made all that year. Needless to say, I won that battle of suffering.
I only found out a couple of years ago that Eric was jealous of me. He wanted to find someone to settle down with and have a family. He envied the close relationship that my husband and I have and was looking for something similar.
I am glad that he found that relationship before he died. I’m so sorry that he didn’t have a chance to actually marry and have children with the love of his life. I know he would have been a dedicated, loving and unique father and husband. It makes me so sad that he didn’t get to experience that and that I won’t get to see him go through that. Or buy his children huge toys that make really loud noises.
He had amazing experiences and certainly let nothing pass him by. I just wish he could have had it all.
Monday, May 10, 2010
#15 Crime and Punishment
Growing up I was always the rule-follower (although my parents may not remember it that way) and Eric was, well, more creative. I would ask if I could do something and Eric would just do it. And get away with it. He had that cute, funny thing going on; the unruly curly hair, the tortoiseshell frame glasses. I can remember sitting at the kitchen table burning with indignation because my parents were laughing at little Eric who had spaghetti sauce all over his white t-shirt. I just knew they would have killed me for the same infraction.
That doesn’t mean Eric always got away with things, just that he had a better chance than I did. A lot of the things Eric did (and got punished for) are still frequently told stories in our family. I think he was a lot more inventive in his misbehavior than most children.
Like the time he decided to saw off the corner of the wall in our unfinished 3rd floor and we pretended it was snowing. We both got punished for that.
There was the time when he was still young enough to take a nap and my mother, who thought he was sleeping, came upstairs to find all of the new toilet paper unrolled to make roads for his cars. Upon seeing her face he famously said, “Don’t worry Mommy, I fix it” and proceeded to smooth out all the wrinkles and bumps.
He once knocked out all the knotholes in a friend’s deck with a hammer. I’m still not sure what his rationale for that was.
The fire department got involved when he and a friend tried to make a volcano in that friend’s garage. With gasoline.
I’m sure my mother could come up with a lot more examples.
Although both of us got our fair share of punishments, Eric did get to weasel out of some due to that cute face.
Like the time we had a snow day and Eric didn’t want to walk to the local coffee shop for hot chocolate with me and my mother. (The one time he turned it down!) We left him home with instructions to call if he needed us. On our way back as we approached the house the smell of something burning got stronger and stronger. When we got to the door Eric greeted us with popcorn, a proud smile and a burnt pot. I’m not sure he ever did get punished for that one.
That doesn’t mean Eric always got away with things, just that he had a better chance than I did. A lot of the things Eric did (and got punished for) are still frequently told stories in our family. I think he was a lot more inventive in his misbehavior than most children.
Like the time he decided to saw off the corner of the wall in our unfinished 3rd floor and we pretended it was snowing. We both got punished for that.
There was the time when he was still young enough to take a nap and my mother, who thought he was sleeping, came upstairs to find all of the new toilet paper unrolled to make roads for his cars. Upon seeing her face he famously said, “Don’t worry Mommy, I fix it” and proceeded to smooth out all the wrinkles and bumps.
He once knocked out all the knotholes in a friend’s deck with a hammer. I’m still not sure what his rationale for that was.
The fire department got involved when he and a friend tried to make a volcano in that friend’s garage. With gasoline.
I’m sure my mother could come up with a lot more examples.
Although both of us got our fair share of punishments, Eric did get to weasel out of some due to that cute face.
Like the time we had a snow day and Eric didn’t want to walk to the local coffee shop for hot chocolate with me and my mother. (The one time he turned it down!) We left him home with instructions to call if he needed us. On our way back as we approached the house the smell of something burning got stronger and stronger. When we got to the door Eric greeted us with popcorn, a proud smile and a burnt pot. I’m not sure he ever did get punished for that one.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
#14 Mommy's Little Manual of Things that Everyone Else Can do
Mother’s Day
Excerpts from “Mommy’s Little Manual of Things that Everyone Else Can do” by Eric
"A note:
The editors of MLMOTTEECD are aware of the varied reading skills of our audience and would thusly like to present our patented four things to keep in mind while reading:
1) Start at the beginning
2) At the bottom of each page, turn it and begin again at the top of the next page.
(NOTE: If the next page looks familiar, go back to the page you have just read and turn the other way, you dolt!)
3) Read from top to bottom, left to right.
4) Stop reading at the end.
Chapter One
Part One: The Light Switch
It is said that the day Edison gave his wife her first light bulb was the day he decided to stop inventing. I would like to emphasize that the inability to efficiently operate light switches when there are more than one switch next to each other on the wall should not be the constant source of terrible embarrassment that it has become for mommies worldwide. A recent pole conducted by the Bureau that Pretends to Care What People Think, or the BTPTCWPT, shows that not being able to operate a light switch should be no more embarrassing than say, peeing yourself during a ballet recital or say, vomiting on the Prime Minister of Japan. So, mommies, if you do fee embarrassed at having to read this section just remember, there are people who can’t even, umh, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, well maybe you should be just a little embarrassed.
Many of you have noticed that there is an odd correlation between switching on a light switch and having a light turn on. Some of you may even have begun to suspect that a particular switch will ALWAYS correspond to the same particular light. If you have, BRAVO! If you haven’t, don’t worry, you’re not alone.
The problem for mommies arises from one of two sources. The first is the question I am most often asked: “When it is dark, how do you find the damn switch?”
-To find a light switch in the dark it is best to try and remember where the switch was when you turned the light off, or at another time entirely.
POINTS TO REMEMBER:
- Light switches are immobile! Just as one switch will always work one particular light, that one switch will always be in the same place each time.
- Most light switches are on the inside of a room, to the right of the door, and can be reached without actually entering the room. If not, wait until morning and then paint foot prints in fluorescent paint on the floor leading to the light switch.
- When you walk into a dark room, it doesn’t matter which switch you hit (NOTE: This rules does not apply in missile silos, on nuclear submarines, or on construction sites). If you hit one and turn on ANY light, you will be able to find the other switches.
- If you hit a switch and hear an odd noise, screaming, a machine turning on or off, or a missile launch, switch the switch again and remember: YOU NEVER TOUCHED IT.
The other question that I come upon often in my seminars is: “But what do you do when there is more than one switch on the wall?” I took the question to Miloomband Felerogono, a doctor of tribal medicine at the University of Dulkumpodo in the Upper Volta and was answered, “Imboatu hama komolofo garboolgisnat stupidufo dumasikij gusato”. If that doesn’t clear things up, I’m sorry; I’m still waiting for the translation. In the meantime, follow these helpful hints:
1) Try making a chart of which switch controls what and keep track of the switches by assigning them numbers. Then paste your chart to the wall and label the switches with red nail polish. Then, when you come into the room, just refer to your chart. If this presents problems check for these common errors:
1) Did you paste the chart upside down?
2) Did you paste the chart backwards?
3) Did you paste the chart near the light switch?
4) Did you paste the chart at all?????
2) Get lots of practice.
3) One can also utilize the Dannt technique which is to yell at the top of your lungs “(Insert husband’s name here), Where’s the damn switch?!” If you yell angrily enough, he will probably find it easier to just switch on the damn thing than to make some kind of argument out of the whole deal."
Excerpts from “Mommy’s Little Manual of Things that Everyone Else Can do” by Eric
"A note:
The editors of MLMOTTEECD are aware of the varied reading skills of our audience and would thusly like to present our patented four things to keep in mind while reading:
1) Start at the beginning
2) At the bottom of each page, turn it and begin again at the top of the next page.
(NOTE: If the next page looks familiar, go back to the page you have just read and turn the other way, you dolt!)
3) Read from top to bottom, left to right.
4) Stop reading at the end.
Chapter One
Part One: The Light Switch
It is said that the day Edison gave his wife her first light bulb was the day he decided to stop inventing. I would like to emphasize that the inability to efficiently operate light switches when there are more than one switch next to each other on the wall should not be the constant source of terrible embarrassment that it has become for mommies worldwide. A recent pole conducted by the Bureau that Pretends to Care What People Think, or the BTPTCWPT, shows that not being able to operate a light switch should be no more embarrassing than say, peeing yourself during a ballet recital or say, vomiting on the Prime Minister of Japan. So, mommies, if you do fee embarrassed at having to read this section just remember, there are people who can’t even, umh, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, well maybe you should be just a little embarrassed.
Many of you have noticed that there is an odd correlation between switching on a light switch and having a light turn on. Some of you may even have begun to suspect that a particular switch will ALWAYS correspond to the same particular light. If you have, BRAVO! If you haven’t, don’t worry, you’re not alone.
The problem for mommies arises from one of two sources. The first is the question I am most often asked: “When it is dark, how do you find the damn switch?”
-To find a light switch in the dark it is best to try and remember where the switch was when you turned the light off, or at another time entirely.
POINTS TO REMEMBER:
- Light switches are immobile! Just as one switch will always work one particular light, that one switch will always be in the same place each time.
- Most light switches are on the inside of a room, to the right of the door, and can be reached without actually entering the room. If not, wait until morning and then paint foot prints in fluorescent paint on the floor leading to the light switch.
- When you walk into a dark room, it doesn’t matter which switch you hit (NOTE: This rules does not apply in missile silos, on nuclear submarines, or on construction sites). If you hit one and turn on ANY light, you will be able to find the other switches.
- If you hit a switch and hear an odd noise, screaming, a machine turning on or off, or a missile launch, switch the switch again and remember: YOU NEVER TOUCHED IT.
The other question that I come upon often in my seminars is: “But what do you do when there is more than one switch on the wall?” I took the question to Miloomband Felerogono, a doctor of tribal medicine at the University of Dulkumpodo in the Upper Volta and was answered, “Imboatu hama komolofo garboolgisnat stupidufo dumasikij gusato”. If that doesn’t clear things up, I’m sorry; I’m still waiting for the translation. In the meantime, follow these helpful hints:
1) Try making a chart of which switch controls what and keep track of the switches by assigning them numbers. Then paste your chart to the wall and label the switches with red nail polish. Then, when you come into the room, just refer to your chart. If this presents problems check for these common errors:
1) Did you paste the chart upside down?
2) Did you paste the chart backwards?
3) Did you paste the chart near the light switch?
4) Did you paste the chart at all?????
2) Get lots of practice.
3) One can also utilize the Dannt technique which is to yell at the top of your lungs “(Insert husband’s name here), Where’s the damn switch?!” If you yell angrily enough, he will probably find it easier to just switch on the damn thing than to make some kind of argument out of the whole deal."
Saturday, May 8, 2010
#13
How can I reassure my kids I’ll always be there for them when Eric will not?
Yesterday in the car my 6 year old told me that when I die he’ll make a holiday for me. Then he quickly told me that he doesn’t want that to happen any time soon. In his words, “I can wait for it, Mommy”. Then my 3 year old asked me if I was going to die and said that if I die, then they can’t “have me”. He’s a complete Mommy’s boy and he was starting to get upset at this point. I told him not to worry, that I wasn’t going anywhere, but then he said, “Well, Uncle Eric is still dead.”
Yes he is. And none of us saw that coming.
Is it lying to reassure my kids that I’ll be around for a long, long time when none of us really knows that? Is it wrong?
I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to have a metaphysical conversation with a 6 and a 3 year old. It’s not easy. When we told them that Uncle Eric was in heaven, the 6 year old wanted to take a rocket to get there. When we told him no one knew how to get there, he told us there would be signs. And that was way more productive than talking to the 3 year old.
I don’t plan on dying soon, but then again neither did Eric. I want to be able to reassure my children wholeheartedly that nothing will happen to me and that they don’t need to worry…..but on some level, we all know that may not be true. It doesn’t mean I won’t say it, but will they believe it?
If they don’t believe that, does that mean they will doubt other things that I tell them? Will they stop believing in the tooth fairy, or in germs? What happens when your faith is shaken in someone who is supposed to have all the answers?
I have a patient whose husband died around the same time Eric did. He was very ill, for a very long time, but they still didn’t know his death was imminent. She drove him to the emergency room as he was dying. She also has two children, slightly older than mine. I saw her about a month after this happened and we cried together in the exam room. I saw her again about a month ago and we were both in a much better place. She is incredibly upbeat considering what has happened. Her kids want her to start dating again. They had some preparation, they knew he wasn’t going to be around for too much longer, but it’s still incredibly hard. Especially for the kids.
How do we help them through this loss of innocence? How do we give them a sense of constancy in this ever-changing unpredictable world?
I have recently learned or been thinking about several sudden deaths, both old and new among friends and co-workers. A father who died in a car crash the day after his father’s funeral. A husband who drowned when his wife was 7 months pregnant. Another runner who injured a vein during a race then went into shock and died. A child who died of pneumonia while being life-flighted to a bigger medical center. A baby, due to be born 2 weeks after he died.
How do adults live with all of this uncertainty, let alone children? I think we all live with a healthy dose of denial. It’s the only way possible.
We tell ourselves to live everyday as if it were our last, and yet, we can’t spend every minute wondering if it might really be our last. I guess the lesson here is to follow Eric’s motto, one that makes me cry and smile all at the same time because he can’t follow it anymore.
Live life abundantly.
And deal with the consequences as they come. That last part is mine.
Yesterday in the car my 6 year old told me that when I die he’ll make a holiday for me. Then he quickly told me that he doesn’t want that to happen any time soon. In his words, “I can wait for it, Mommy”. Then my 3 year old asked me if I was going to die and said that if I die, then they can’t “have me”. He’s a complete Mommy’s boy and he was starting to get upset at this point. I told him not to worry, that I wasn’t going anywhere, but then he said, “Well, Uncle Eric is still dead.”
Yes he is. And none of us saw that coming.
Is it lying to reassure my kids that I’ll be around for a long, long time when none of us really knows that? Is it wrong?
I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to have a metaphysical conversation with a 6 and a 3 year old. It’s not easy. When we told them that Uncle Eric was in heaven, the 6 year old wanted to take a rocket to get there. When we told him no one knew how to get there, he told us there would be signs. And that was way more productive than talking to the 3 year old.
I don’t plan on dying soon, but then again neither did Eric. I want to be able to reassure my children wholeheartedly that nothing will happen to me and that they don’t need to worry…..but on some level, we all know that may not be true. It doesn’t mean I won’t say it, but will they believe it?
If they don’t believe that, does that mean they will doubt other things that I tell them? Will they stop believing in the tooth fairy, or in germs? What happens when your faith is shaken in someone who is supposed to have all the answers?
I have a patient whose husband died around the same time Eric did. He was very ill, for a very long time, but they still didn’t know his death was imminent. She drove him to the emergency room as he was dying. She also has two children, slightly older than mine. I saw her about a month after this happened and we cried together in the exam room. I saw her again about a month ago and we were both in a much better place. She is incredibly upbeat considering what has happened. Her kids want her to start dating again. They had some preparation, they knew he wasn’t going to be around for too much longer, but it’s still incredibly hard. Especially for the kids.
How do we help them through this loss of innocence? How do we give them a sense of constancy in this ever-changing unpredictable world?
I have recently learned or been thinking about several sudden deaths, both old and new among friends and co-workers. A father who died in a car crash the day after his father’s funeral. A husband who drowned when his wife was 7 months pregnant. Another runner who injured a vein during a race then went into shock and died. A child who died of pneumonia while being life-flighted to a bigger medical center. A baby, due to be born 2 weeks after he died.
How do adults live with all of this uncertainty, let alone children? I think we all live with a healthy dose of denial. It’s the only way possible.
We tell ourselves to live everyday as if it were our last, and yet, we can’t spend every minute wondering if it might really be our last. I guess the lesson here is to follow Eric’s motto, one that makes me cry and smile all at the same time because he can’t follow it anymore.
Live life abundantly.
And deal with the consequences as they come. That last part is mine.
Friday, May 7, 2010
#12 Grief procrastination?
Is this blog helping or postponing the pain?
Everybody I know is really busy. We all wish we had more time to decompress, to get our children to activities, to be with our spouses or even just to sleep. I have found that I don’t have time to grieve. In December I took off about two weeks from work and that was it. I have had my meltdowns, I have cried, I have missed a turn because I’m thinking about Eric instead of where I’m going, but I don’t have ongoing time to devote to grieving.
It really upsets my children to see me upset. I have been very honest with them about Eric’s death. My 6 year old gets it, my 3 year old doesn’t. My 3 year old just wants Mommy to stop crying. Even the 6 year old bounces back quickly because, well, he’s 6. It’s not fair to them to be sad all the time. I hold it in when I’m around them. I didn’t cry when we gave my 6 year old birthday presents from an Uncle who was no longer with us. I didn’t cry last week when my 3 year old picked out a bedtime story written by that same Uncle.
It’s not fair to my husband to be always sad around him either. I have an amazing husband. He is incredibly supportive and is always there for me. I appreciate that, and I don’t want to take advantage of it.
I certainly can’t grieve at work.
So what does that leave? Sometimes I think the only time I’m alone is when I’m commuting. That’s actually when the idea for this blog came to me. I have felt hassled and harried and overwhelmed for a long time now. The name of the musical “Stop the World—I want to get off” has been going through my head almost non-stop.
This blog is a way to force myself to find the time to grieve. And I think it works at that. I have felt more relaxed and more able to think about Eric since I started it. I look forward to writing it. The response from family, friends and even strangers has been overwhelming in a good way. I’m really excited about it.
Yesterday, it occurred to me that I might just be postponing my grief. If I fill my life with a flutter of activity about Eric then I don’t really have to let him go. I don’t want to let him go. But don’t I have to at some point?
I’m not stopping the blog, I’m getting way too much out of it, and I really like doing it. I just wonder how I will feel when it’s all over. Will I be healed? Can I ever really be healed? Will the end of the blog re-create my loss? Will it be like losing him all over again?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, I don’t think anyone does. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
Everybody I know is really busy. We all wish we had more time to decompress, to get our children to activities, to be with our spouses or even just to sleep. I have found that I don’t have time to grieve. In December I took off about two weeks from work and that was it. I have had my meltdowns, I have cried, I have missed a turn because I’m thinking about Eric instead of where I’m going, but I don’t have ongoing time to devote to grieving.
It really upsets my children to see me upset. I have been very honest with them about Eric’s death. My 6 year old gets it, my 3 year old doesn’t. My 3 year old just wants Mommy to stop crying. Even the 6 year old bounces back quickly because, well, he’s 6. It’s not fair to them to be sad all the time. I hold it in when I’m around them. I didn’t cry when we gave my 6 year old birthday presents from an Uncle who was no longer with us. I didn’t cry last week when my 3 year old picked out a bedtime story written by that same Uncle.
It’s not fair to my husband to be always sad around him either. I have an amazing husband. He is incredibly supportive and is always there for me. I appreciate that, and I don’t want to take advantage of it.
I certainly can’t grieve at work.
So what does that leave? Sometimes I think the only time I’m alone is when I’m commuting. That’s actually when the idea for this blog came to me. I have felt hassled and harried and overwhelmed for a long time now. The name of the musical “Stop the World—I want to get off” has been going through my head almost non-stop.
This blog is a way to force myself to find the time to grieve. And I think it works at that. I have felt more relaxed and more able to think about Eric since I started it. I look forward to writing it. The response from family, friends and even strangers has been overwhelming in a good way. I’m really excited about it.
Yesterday, it occurred to me that I might just be postponing my grief. If I fill my life with a flutter of activity about Eric then I don’t really have to let him go. I don’t want to let him go. But don’t I have to at some point?
I’m not stopping the blog, I’m getting way too much out of it, and I really like doing it. I just wonder how I will feel when it’s all over. Will I be healed? Can I ever really be healed? Will the end of the blog re-create my loss? Will it be like losing him all over again?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, I don’t think anyone does. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
#11 Say Cheese!
I hate being photographed. There is always something in the picture I’m not happy with, my hair, my weight, my smile, my outfit….something.
I love having so many pictures of Eric. Especially the pictures of Eric with my kids. It’s making me rethink my policy on being photographed—but some things are hard to change.
I am usually the photographer for family events. Partly because I love photography, partly because then I don’t have to be in the pictures. But what if something happens to me and my kids don’t have the plethora of pictures they might want?
Now of course I do have some pictures of me with my kids, in fact in their room there are two framed pictures of me. There is one of me with each kid as a newborn. Of course, you’re not supposed to look good after giving birth, so I can give myself a pass on those. I still don’t like to look at them though, or at least at myself in them…I can’t get enough of looking at my babies.
Pictures are, of course, less for me than for those who will need to remember me someday. That doesn’t mean that it’s ok for them to remember me looking fat, or with my hair all frizzy or with food dripping out of my mouth….does it?
I have so many pictures of Eric and in all of them I think he looks good. It doesn’t matter if he was in the hot tub, in shorts in the back yard, or in a suit, he looks handsome and like my brother. I wonder if he would have liked all of them. He never seemed to have a problem having his picture taken, or displayed, and never understood when I did. He actually put pictures of me on Facebook in my pajamas before getting ready in the morning. My hair was not done, I was wearing no make-up. I made him take them down. He did it, but only because he didn’t want me to be upset, not because he cared how I looked.
I guess maybe I just need to get over this whole photograph thing and leave a record of myself for future generations.
As soon as I come up with a hairstyle I love and lose a few pounds.
I love having so many pictures of Eric. Especially the pictures of Eric with my kids. It’s making me rethink my policy on being photographed—but some things are hard to change.
I am usually the photographer for family events. Partly because I love photography, partly because then I don’t have to be in the pictures. But what if something happens to me and my kids don’t have the plethora of pictures they might want?
Now of course I do have some pictures of me with my kids, in fact in their room there are two framed pictures of me. There is one of me with each kid as a newborn. Of course, you’re not supposed to look good after giving birth, so I can give myself a pass on those. I still don’t like to look at them though, or at least at myself in them…I can’t get enough of looking at my babies.
Pictures are, of course, less for me than for those who will need to remember me someday. That doesn’t mean that it’s ok for them to remember me looking fat, or with my hair all frizzy or with food dripping out of my mouth….does it?
I have so many pictures of Eric and in all of them I think he looks good. It doesn’t matter if he was in the hot tub, in shorts in the back yard, or in a suit, he looks handsome and like my brother. I wonder if he would have liked all of them. He never seemed to have a problem having his picture taken, or displayed, and never understood when I did. He actually put pictures of me on Facebook in my pajamas before getting ready in the morning. My hair was not done, I was wearing no make-up. I made him take them down. He did it, but only because he didn’t want me to be upset, not because he cared how I looked.
I guess maybe I just need to get over this whole photograph thing and leave a record of myself for future generations.
As soon as I come up with a hairstyle I love and lose a few pounds.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
#10 We guarantee it!
Eric always kept his word and he expected everyone else to do so as well. Especially if it was in writing. And even before he went to law school.
When he was a child he saw a sign at a gas station that said if they forgot to offer to check your oil, your gas was free. They never offered, Eric called them on it and my Mom got free gas. The next time we were at that gas station, the sign was not.
When Domino’s advertised that your pizza would arrive in 30 minutes or it was free, Eric was at the door with a stop watch. You know he got at least one free pizza.
Once my grandmother took the whole family to brunch in Manhattan. The menu included typical brunch fare, as well as a statement that the chef would make anything you requested. Eric asked for fettuccine alfredo. The waiter looked mortified. He told us the chef was really not in the mood for that kind of request. Eric insisted, pointing out the offer on the menu. That time he didn’t get what he wanted, they claimed lack of ingredients, but Eric was always outraged that they didn’t come through.
Eric also got us all free dessert at the Marriot Marquis in Times Square when they didn’t come through on their 30 minute pre-show lunch guarantee.
He took a perverse joy in testing these statements and getting something for free. This I think he got from my other grandmother who will still stuff her purse with anything not nailed down when taken out for lunch.
I have noticed fewer of these guarantees lately and I think we have the Erics of the world to thank for that. I can’t help but think that he would have liked it more if people actually strived to meet the challenges they posed for themselves, rather than lowering their expectations. After all, he held only the highest expectations for himself and he did everything possible to live up to them.
When he was a child he saw a sign at a gas station that said if they forgot to offer to check your oil, your gas was free. They never offered, Eric called them on it and my Mom got free gas. The next time we were at that gas station, the sign was not.
When Domino’s advertised that your pizza would arrive in 30 minutes or it was free, Eric was at the door with a stop watch. You know he got at least one free pizza.
Once my grandmother took the whole family to brunch in Manhattan. The menu included typical brunch fare, as well as a statement that the chef would make anything you requested. Eric asked for fettuccine alfredo. The waiter looked mortified. He told us the chef was really not in the mood for that kind of request. Eric insisted, pointing out the offer on the menu. That time he didn’t get what he wanted, they claimed lack of ingredients, but Eric was always outraged that they didn’t come through.
Eric also got us all free dessert at the Marriot Marquis in Times Square when they didn’t come through on their 30 minute pre-show lunch guarantee.
He took a perverse joy in testing these statements and getting something for free. This I think he got from my other grandmother who will still stuff her purse with anything not nailed down when taken out for lunch.
I have noticed fewer of these guarantees lately and I think we have the Erics of the world to thank for that. I can’t help but think that he would have liked it more if people actually strived to meet the challenges they posed for themselves, rather than lowering their expectations. After all, he held only the highest expectations for himself and he did everything possible to live up to them.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
#9 Champagne and Hot Chocolate
My parents came to visit this weekend and Saturday night we went out for drinks after my voice recital. I was celebrating so I ordered champagne. I had just finished reading The Widow Clicquot by Tilar J. Mazzeo, a biography of Barbe-Nicole Clicquot Ponsardin, the woman behind Veuve Clicquot champagne. I thought about ordering a glass of that, but I knew how expensive it was and just went with the house champagne. Eric would not have approved. He would have liked the idea of champagne, but not the cheap champagne. Eric liked the finer things in life, especially if someone else was paying.
I can remember when we were in grade school and my mother’s aunt and uncle came to visit us. Her uncle took us to the grocery store to buy us candy. I got one thing, Eric got as much as he could carry. I told him he was taking advantage, but he didn’t seem to get that concept and the only one who got upset was me.
I don’t mean that Eric was selfish, I’ve already written another post about his generosity, he just knew a good deal when he saw one. He would be the first to treat himself, or someone else, if the occasion arose.
When he first moved to Las Vegas and my parents wanted to visit him, they told him to buy theatre tickets. He did, the best tickets he could find. My parents almost killed him, after they woke up from the faint induced by seeing the ticket prices. They came with a private entrance and a wine reception.
When I went to college and my parents came out for parent’s weekend, they told me to find a good restaurant. I took them to a pizzeria. (Giordano’s, a really good pizzeria) I’ll never live that down. Eric found them a fine restaurant in Boston when they went to visit him.
Eric always loved dressing up, some of his best childhood moments were when he got to wear the hand-me-down suits of a friend of ours. Even in college he was proud to show off the “casual suit” he bought. I don’t think he realized that most college kids didn’t wear suits to bars. When he lived in London, he frequented “Men’s Clubs” and I don’t mean the kind with half-naked women sliding up and down poles.
While Eric loved dressing up and going out and having fabulous meals he loved low-brow things equally. He loved pizza smothered in garlic powder. Actually he loved anything smothered in garlic powder, some days it was hard to be close to him.
He had a special affinity for hot chocolate. He would order in it the finest restaurants and the lowliest diners. I remember drinking it with him from individual teapots at a resort with my parents. He also ordered it at a sidewalk café in Singapore. In case you don’t know, the temperature in Singapore is routinely hotter than you would ever want to be. I wouldn’t want to sit outside there, let alone drink a hot beverage while outside there.
When celebrating a special night Eric might have ordered champagne, or he might just as easily have ordered hot chocolate. Whatever the case you can be sure it would be the best they had to offer.
Especially if he could convince someone else to pick up the tab.
I can remember when we were in grade school and my mother’s aunt and uncle came to visit us. Her uncle took us to the grocery store to buy us candy. I got one thing, Eric got as much as he could carry. I told him he was taking advantage, but he didn’t seem to get that concept and the only one who got upset was me.
I don’t mean that Eric was selfish, I’ve already written another post about his generosity, he just knew a good deal when he saw one. He would be the first to treat himself, or someone else, if the occasion arose.
When he first moved to Las Vegas and my parents wanted to visit him, they told him to buy theatre tickets. He did, the best tickets he could find. My parents almost killed him, after they woke up from the faint induced by seeing the ticket prices. They came with a private entrance and a wine reception.
When I went to college and my parents came out for parent’s weekend, they told me to find a good restaurant. I took them to a pizzeria. (Giordano’s, a really good pizzeria) I’ll never live that down. Eric found them a fine restaurant in Boston when they went to visit him.
Eric always loved dressing up, some of his best childhood moments were when he got to wear the hand-me-down suits of a friend of ours. Even in college he was proud to show off the “casual suit” he bought. I don’t think he realized that most college kids didn’t wear suits to bars. When he lived in London, he frequented “Men’s Clubs” and I don’t mean the kind with half-naked women sliding up and down poles.
While Eric loved dressing up and going out and having fabulous meals he loved low-brow things equally. He loved pizza smothered in garlic powder. Actually he loved anything smothered in garlic powder, some days it was hard to be close to him.
He had a special affinity for hot chocolate. He would order in it the finest restaurants and the lowliest diners. I remember drinking it with him from individual teapots at a resort with my parents. He also ordered it at a sidewalk café in Singapore. In case you don’t know, the temperature in Singapore is routinely hotter than you would ever want to be. I wouldn’t want to sit outside there, let alone drink a hot beverage while outside there.
When celebrating a special night Eric might have ordered champagne, or he might just as easily have ordered hot chocolate. Whatever the case you can be sure it would be the best they had to offer.
Especially if he could convince someone else to pick up the tab.
Monday, May 3, 2010
#8
Patience is a virtue. I find I now have less of it.
I am a Neuro-ophthalmologist. That means I see patients with optic nerve diseases, brain diseases that affect the eyes, and double vision. It also means that if a doctor suspects a patient of faking vision loss, either consciously or subconsciously, I get to see them. With these patients it is my job to either find disease, conclusively prove that they can see normally and therefore have no disease, or follow them until I can prove one or the other. This takes a lot of patience. Most of these people have a lot of emotional issues and it takes a lot of talking, and sometimes crying. Some of them try to deliberately fail tests and I have to subtly trick them into seeing better than they tell me they can. It can take a long time. Sometimes I honestly can’t tell if they have disease or not and I have to rely on objective tests like MRIs or flourescein angiograms or just time. Then there are the people who I can tell immediately are faking it. These are the ones who can walk through the clinic without bumping into a chair or a wall and yet claim they cannot see. They subconsciously follow me around the room with their eyes while telling me they can’t see me. These are the patients I am having trouble with.
Everybody experiences loss. I don’t think you can compare whose loss is worse. Every loss is devastating. I do think there is a difference between expected and unexpected loss though. As an adult, I lost a grandmother. That was very difficult, but she was in her 80s, in pain, and she made the choice to withdraw her care. She was lucid, had lived a long full life, and got to say goodbye to her loved ones. That didn’t make it easy, but it was easier, for me, than losing Eric. Losing Eric has rearranged my priorities in a way losing my grandmother did not. It has brought home the fact that none of us know how long we have. A little part of me resents having to spend time with these patients who have nothing wrong with them. I want to take care of people who need me, not people who are trying to scam the system. I have to remind myself over and over that these people need me too, they are just as worthy as my patients with disease, and this is equally my job. It’s really difficult.
I also have a lot less patience with the games people play. Office gossip and politics is a huge waste of time. Say what you mean and mean what you say and let’s all get on with it. The same thing with social interactions. Luckily I’m not dating anymore and worrying about who called whom last and if it’s ok to call again.
Clearly, not everyone else has come to this revelation. It means I really have to watch how I interact with others. I think my priorities are straighter now, but other people may not agree with that.
I wonder if this is something that will pass or stay with me. I would like to have some of my patience back, I think it makes me a better doctor, mother and wife. I would still like to do away with the office politics though.
I am a Neuro-ophthalmologist. That means I see patients with optic nerve diseases, brain diseases that affect the eyes, and double vision. It also means that if a doctor suspects a patient of faking vision loss, either consciously or subconsciously, I get to see them. With these patients it is my job to either find disease, conclusively prove that they can see normally and therefore have no disease, or follow them until I can prove one or the other. This takes a lot of patience. Most of these people have a lot of emotional issues and it takes a lot of talking, and sometimes crying. Some of them try to deliberately fail tests and I have to subtly trick them into seeing better than they tell me they can. It can take a long time. Sometimes I honestly can’t tell if they have disease or not and I have to rely on objective tests like MRIs or flourescein angiograms or just time. Then there are the people who I can tell immediately are faking it. These are the ones who can walk through the clinic without bumping into a chair or a wall and yet claim they cannot see. They subconsciously follow me around the room with their eyes while telling me they can’t see me. These are the patients I am having trouble with.
Everybody experiences loss. I don’t think you can compare whose loss is worse. Every loss is devastating. I do think there is a difference between expected and unexpected loss though. As an adult, I lost a grandmother. That was very difficult, but she was in her 80s, in pain, and she made the choice to withdraw her care. She was lucid, had lived a long full life, and got to say goodbye to her loved ones. That didn’t make it easy, but it was easier, for me, than losing Eric. Losing Eric has rearranged my priorities in a way losing my grandmother did not. It has brought home the fact that none of us know how long we have. A little part of me resents having to spend time with these patients who have nothing wrong with them. I want to take care of people who need me, not people who are trying to scam the system. I have to remind myself over and over that these people need me too, they are just as worthy as my patients with disease, and this is equally my job. It’s really difficult.
I also have a lot less patience with the games people play. Office gossip and politics is a huge waste of time. Say what you mean and mean what you say and let’s all get on with it. The same thing with social interactions. Luckily I’m not dating anymore and worrying about who called whom last and if it’s ok to call again.
Clearly, not everyone else has come to this revelation. It means I really have to watch how I interact with others. I think my priorities are straighter now, but other people may not agree with that.
I wonder if this is something that will pass or stay with me. I would like to have some of my patience back, I think it makes me a better doctor, mother and wife. I would still like to do away with the office politics though.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
#7
Last night I performed in a voice recital. I dedicated the performance to Eric. These are some of the lyrics to one of the songs I sang.
“The sun comes up, I think about you.
The coffee cup, I think about you.
I want you so.
It’s like I’m losing my mind.
The morning ends, I think about you.
I talk to friends, I think about you.
And do they know?
It’s like I’m losing my mind.
All afternoon doing every little chore, the thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor, not going left, not going right.
I dim the lights, and think about you.
Spend sleepless nights to think about you.”
Thank you Sondheim. I couldn’t have said it any better.
(Losing my Mind from Follies by Stephen Sondheim)
“The sun comes up, I think about you.
The coffee cup, I think about you.
I want you so.
It’s like I’m losing my mind.
The morning ends, I think about you.
I talk to friends, I think about you.
And do they know?
It’s like I’m losing my mind.
All afternoon doing every little chore, the thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor, not going left, not going right.
I dim the lights, and think about you.
Spend sleepless nights to think about you.”
Thank you Sondheim. I couldn’t have said it any better.
(Losing my Mind from Follies by Stephen Sondheim)
Saturday, May 1, 2010
#6
I’m glad I don’t have anyone to blame for Eric’s death.
I try to be a good person, I try to live by my personal moral and ethical rules; but there are some things I don’t think I could overcome. Before we had children my husband and I struggled to get pregnant. We spent a year working with fertility doctors before we finally conceived our oldest son. I have always loved babies, happily envied pregnant women and eagerly awaited the time in my life when I would be ready to have babies of my own. That year, I turned into a different person.
I was an intern in a hospital outside Philadelphia and my fertility doctor had his office in that same hospital. On many days I would round on my patients and then sneak away for a blood test, an ultrasound, or even an intra-uterine insemination. I probably made it harder on myself by not telling any of my co-workers what I was going through, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that.
Three things happened with frightening frequency that year. My sweet little old lady patients would remind me that I shouldn’t wait to have kids. I would end up in elevators with newborns. I would have drunk, combative ER patients scream at me “I just can’t be pregnant again!”. It was really hard. Every song on the radio seemed to be about families or kids. One of our best friends got pregnant. I got bitter. I became a person I didn’t recognize. I was insanely jealous of every pregnant woman I saw, and they were everywhere! It was horrible. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t been able to get pregnant, but I hope I would have found a way to turn it around. Luckily, I didn’t have to face that.
I am a crime TV junkie. Every night I go to sleep watching “Dateline on ID”, “Forensic Files”, “On the case with Paula Zahn”, or some other crime show. I like to read murder mysteries too. Lately I’ve been paying more attention to the families of the deceased. Since these cases all involve murder, they obviously involve the sudden shocking death of a loved one. They also all involve someone to blame. To make it onto the show, there has to be a resolution and most of these shows end with trials. Most times the suspect is convicted, sometimes he or she is not. Does that make the blame different? I am having a hard enough time with a sudden death that is nobody’s fault, how do you get over one that was intentionally caused? How do you move on? Many times the families will say they forgive the perpetrator. I don’t think I’m capable of that.
As a physician, I have many friends who are physicians. I have gone over the medical details of Eric’s death many, many times. I have never looked at his chart or his scans and I never will. I don’t think anything was done wrong, but if it was I don’t want to know. I don’t think I could ever get over that. That would make it my fault.
Losing someone makes you think about things you never did before. I never thought I’d be grateful about the manner of my brother’s death.
But I am.
I try to be a good person, I try to live by my personal moral and ethical rules; but there are some things I don’t think I could overcome. Before we had children my husband and I struggled to get pregnant. We spent a year working with fertility doctors before we finally conceived our oldest son. I have always loved babies, happily envied pregnant women and eagerly awaited the time in my life when I would be ready to have babies of my own. That year, I turned into a different person.
I was an intern in a hospital outside Philadelphia and my fertility doctor had his office in that same hospital. On many days I would round on my patients and then sneak away for a blood test, an ultrasound, or even an intra-uterine insemination. I probably made it harder on myself by not telling any of my co-workers what I was going through, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that.
Three things happened with frightening frequency that year. My sweet little old lady patients would remind me that I shouldn’t wait to have kids. I would end up in elevators with newborns. I would have drunk, combative ER patients scream at me “I just can’t be pregnant again!”. It was really hard. Every song on the radio seemed to be about families or kids. One of our best friends got pregnant. I got bitter. I became a person I didn’t recognize. I was insanely jealous of every pregnant woman I saw, and they were everywhere! It was horrible. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t been able to get pregnant, but I hope I would have found a way to turn it around. Luckily, I didn’t have to face that.
I am a crime TV junkie. Every night I go to sleep watching “Dateline on ID”, “Forensic Files”, “On the case with Paula Zahn”, or some other crime show. I like to read murder mysteries too. Lately I’ve been paying more attention to the families of the deceased. Since these cases all involve murder, they obviously involve the sudden shocking death of a loved one. They also all involve someone to blame. To make it onto the show, there has to be a resolution and most of these shows end with trials. Most times the suspect is convicted, sometimes he or she is not. Does that make the blame different? I am having a hard enough time with a sudden death that is nobody’s fault, how do you get over one that was intentionally caused? How do you move on? Many times the families will say they forgive the perpetrator. I don’t think I’m capable of that.
As a physician, I have many friends who are physicians. I have gone over the medical details of Eric’s death many, many times. I have never looked at his chart or his scans and I never will. I don’t think anything was done wrong, but if it was I don’t want to know. I don’t think I could ever get over that. That would make it my fault.
Losing someone makes you think about things you never did before. I never thought I’d be grateful about the manner of my brother’s death.
But I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)