#97 Unexpected

Yesterday I had a patient mention to me that they were supposed to see me a while ago but then my brother died and I had to cancel and then he procrastinated and that’s why he came to see me today. It was totally innocent, the patient is a little simple, but it took my breath away.

I’m still not used to hearing that in everyday conversation. Whenever I think it or say it there is always a pause, sometimes mental sometimes actual. It’s just too impossible to be true. Almost 8 months later and I still can’t accept it; I’m still trying to wish it away. It’s like a toddler’s magical thinking; if I don’t think about it then it can’t be true.

But of course it is true. Will I ever be able to go without the mental whiplash that accompanies comments like that? I covered it, the patient had no idea, probably the student in the room shadowing me also had no idea how much it got to me. And then I still had to finish taking a history and examine the patient and discuss the exam before I could flee. Luckily there wasn’t another patient ready, I could go to my office and steady my breathing and my mind before facing the world again.

There will probably be a lot of moments like that. I hope I have the strength to handle them. A meltdown wouldn’t be pretty, or productive. I can prepare myself for walking through my house and seeing his photograph, his rugs, his artwork on the walls. I can’t prepare myself for random comments.

#96 Doritos

Have I mentioned Eric’s obsession with Doritos? Those of you who know me from way back when will be wondering if I have confused Eric with myself, but both of us were enthralled with the fluorescent orange chips. No ranch or newer, fancier flavors for us, just good old nacho cheese Doritos.

Growing up we never had a lot of junk food in the house. There were Chips Ahoy for after dinner and goldfish crackers and that was about it. Every time we had guests, however, Eric and I were allowed to select a treat for the kids and we always picked Doritos. The chips always went in the same bowl decorated with mushrooms that we also used for popcorn. When the guests arrived the Doritos would be poured into the bowl, the kids would rush them, they would disappear and then we would play.

When Eric and my parents moved to Thailand, Doritos could not be purchased there. (Nor could cranberry juice or a whole host of other things I had to bring in my luggage whenever I visited) When Eric graduated from high school I was not supposed to be there. Together my parents and I planned a surprise visit, and I brought him Doritos. The bag popped from the pressurization in the airplane (or was it the depressurization?) but we still enjoyed them.

Later I swore off Doritos—I truly think I was addicted—but Eric never did. He would “be good” in his normal life, eating healthy and exercising and then come to my parents for Thanksgiving and eat Doritos, Milky Ways, bagels slathered in butter and cheddar cheese and anything else he could get his hands on (or buy at Wal-Mart).

He even used Doritos as a legitimate ingredient with Katie, making Doritos crusted chicken. This was a much bigger success than the Doritos omelet, or the Doritos chocolate chip cookies…..

I don’t know why we both fixated on Doritos, but we did. If I still ate them, I would have some in his honor, but for my waist line, I think it’s better if I continue my abstinence.

#95 Style

Eric had style. Sometimes it was good, sometimes bad, but everything he did, he did with style.

I can remember when he was in college and we were gathered in New York at my grandmother’s apartment for some family occasion and he couldn’t wait to show my husband (then boyfriend) and me his “casual suit”. This turned out to be a plain black wool suit. He was really excited about it. We asked him what it was for and he told us he planned on wearing it out to the bars. Yes, Eric, that’s just what all the college kids are doing….

I can’t remember if it was the same visit to NY or a different family gathering when Eric arrived needing his clothes dry cleaned. He took them to the cleaners and none of us really thought anything else about it...until it came time to get dressed in those clothes. He was having an awfully hard time getting his pants on. It was like the fabric was glued together. Slowly it dawned on us and we asked him if he had had his pants starched. His nonchalant look said “Of course, doesn’t everybody?” Well, no Eric, the pants usually don’t get starched and now you know why.

On the other hand, when my husband and I went to Paris he bought us tickets to the opera, insisting it was something we had to do while there. So we packed our nice clothes and enjoyed a wonderful night out that we would not have otherwise had.

When my oldest son was born, Eric felt compelled to get him the perfect gift. Somewhere in storage is a case of wine, the grapes picked the year of my son’s birth. For my second son he was still working on the gift, I know he had considered commissioning a painting of Kinnick Stadium at the University of Iowa, the source of my son’s middle name, but had discarded that. He never did come up with the “perfect” idea.

We all enjoyed Eric’s style, the faux-pas and the perfect moments. It makes us miss him all the more.

#94 Progress?

I had popcorn for dinner last night. That was such an Eric thing to do that I finally dreamed about him. Of course in my dream he was driving me nuts! We were going shopping for something specific (no clue what of course) with my parents and my husband and my kids and he kept doing stuff to distract my boys and get them all riled up. I think he was also driving like a crazy person. All pretty much standard for Eric. How I wish I could have that back in real life. (Mom, you should know you were trying on ball gowns and you looked fabulous!!)

I don’t know if dreaming about Eric is a good sign or a bad sign or no sign at all in the process of grieving. I do know I woke up surprised that he was in my dream; it was definitely something I noticed.

I am so torn with wanting to get over the rawness, the acute pain of my grief and not wanting to let him go. It’s not like I can bring him back, but I need to keep him present. I’m afraid if I heal, that won’t happen. How can I “get over” this? How can anyone? Is it wrong to want to hold onto it? These are things I struggle with everyday.

Lots of people lose loved ones and at least superficially they move on. They go to work, they live, love, play and get on with life. I guess superficially it looks like I’m doing that too. Do they all feel how I do inside? Like it doesn’t really matter anymore? Like I’m just going through the motions? How do I get back to my real life and not lose Eric even more? Is that possible? Do I even want it to happen?

I don’t think there are any answers to my questions, but at least now you know what goes around and around in my head at night. When I’m not dreaming about Eric.

#93 Las Vegas

Las Vegas has never been a place I’ve ever wanted to visit. I don’t like to gamble and I’d rather see the real Eiffel Tower. Maybe that’s why when Eric moved there I dragged my feet about visiting him. My husband has been there and enjoyed it, but then again he likes to gamble….and he was there for a bachelor’s party…..

Now, I equate Las Vegas with the loss of Eric. Obviously, I have now been there and probably just as obviously I hope to never go again. It doesn’t matter that Eric loved it there, I just can’t see it the way he did. He loved the easily accessible mountains and hiking paths. He liked life centered around casinos. He was fascinated by the industry. Good for him.

I’m sure had we gone out to visit him he would have showed us a side of the city that we would have enjoyed. It wouldn’t really matter where we were as long as we were hanging out with him. Now my memories are of a cold, rainy, even snowy place; a flat, boring grid with look alike town-homes on every block. We did go to the mountains once, to scatter some of his ashes…not a very uplifting memory.

When I come across references to Las Vegas in books or magazines, it brings back all the negative feelings. Fairly or not, Las Vegas will always be a place of pain for me.

#92 Karate

I just signed my oldest son up for karate lessons. He took lessons his first summer at camp (three years ago) and has been asking ever since. I have not been able to find a class that I could get him to, until now. Add this to the 2 nights a week of swim team and one night a week of piano and you get an extremely busy boy (and Mom). But how could I deny him the ONE activity he has ever asked me to do. He is a very congenial child, he likes almost everything he does (except soccer, he wasn’t a fan of all that running, but now says he’d like to try it again…) so he doesn’t want to stop any activities even if they weren’t his idea in the first place. We’re going to try this super packed fall schedule and see how it goes. Hopefully it will be manageable. Some of my guilt at being a working Mom comes from things like this, if I wasn’t working he would have been taking karate for years now. Oh well, at least he’ll get it this year. He’s only 6 after all.

Eric took karate for a while as a child. I can remember the white uniform but not the color of his belt….I’m sure it was whatever you start off with. I can remember the dojo that I think was built in somebody’s back yard or at least it looked that way to me as a child. I remember the cadences and some of the movements. I think he really liked it; I’m not sure why he didn’t stick with it.

Neither Eric nor I were particularly athletic children. We tried…sort of. Eric took a magnifying glass to burn the grass in the outfield during little league, and I took Saturday morning basketball until I decided my sleep was more important. In high school Eric played soccer because that’s what everyone did and I spent one disastrous season on the softball team where we didn’t win a game. Sports was how you fit in in our home-town high school and neither one of us quite did. I don’t want that for my kids.

At least at this age, both of my kids seem into sports. It helps that my husband, while also not very athletically inclined, loves both watching and playing sports. His enthusiasm rubs off. Both of my boys love to swim and the little one can’t wait until he’s old enough to join the older one in Tee-ball.

As an adult, Eric discovered an athletic side of him and enjoyed it immensely. I don’t think I have that side of me. Hopefully my boys will at least have enough of it to not feel lost or left out.

#91 War

Eric has always been fascinated with all things military. He loved dressing in camouflage as a child and played with toy soldiers. He had a kit where he could make them with lead that we both enjoyed. As a college student he participated in some of Harvard’s ROTC activities, and he went to law school with the aim of becoming a Marine JAG. He picked the Marines because he would still have to pass a physical test even though he would be entering as an officer. I think he had something to prove to himself. Unfortunately, his knees failed him and he was never able to complete the run they required. Ironic, isn’t it?

He followed conflicts all around the world even as a teenager. I remember him researching for a school paper on the Khmer Rouge when I had never even heard of them.

When we cleaned out his apartment I took three of his rugs, among other things. One was a large Oriental rug that has a long storied past, originally belonging to a high school friend of my father’s that is now in my dining room. Another is a zebra print rug that I had no idea what I was going to do with but has found a home in the room my boys share.

I also took a small Oriental rug that he had in his living room. It wasn’t until about a month ago that I actually looked at the pattern on the small rug and realized it was military themed. There are guns and tanks and grenades and helicopters. It is just so Eric.

I asked my Mom where the rug came from and it turns out she bought it for him. It is a War rug from Afghanistan. It’s definitely not what I would have picked out for myself, but as a legacy from Eric, it’s perfect.

#90 You know what?

Every family has their code words and we are no different from anyone else. Before Burger King started calling itself BK, my parents called it that when they didn’t want us to know what they were talking about. My husband and I call our sons by their middle initial when we don’t want them to know who we are talking about. It took Eric to point out one of the most pervasive in our family however.

He was the first who noticed that every time my mother started a sentence with “You know what?” a chore assignment followed. As in, “You know what, Eric? The garbage needs to go out” or “You know what, Eric? That room is a mess, can you straighten it up?” After he pointed that out I realized that I do that with my children too. “You know what? You need to eat your dinner now.” “You know what? You need to stop screaming and get in the bath.”

He pointed that out years ago and I still can’t stop doing it!! I don’t know how it started, maybe my grandmother did that with my mother and uncle, but somehow it has become entrenched in my psyche. It used to be something that I tried to stop doing. Every time I heard it come out of my mouth I would wince mentally. I don’t know why I cared so much except that maybe I don’t like being so predictable. Recently, it just makes me smile when I say it. It’s a reminder of my childhood, my Mother and my brother.

I’ll never forget us sitting around at my parent’s house the day that Eric pointed out the use of that phrase. Eric, my Dad, my husband and I were sitting in the den. My Mom was in the kitchen. After we laughed about it and acknowledged the truth of his observation, the first words my Mom said were “You know what, Eric?” This was totally unconscious and made us all fall over with fits of laughter again. Eric always brought the laughter, and I will always miss it.

#89 Repetition

I find I am having trouble remembering which stories about Eric I have told, and which I haven’t. I sometimes have the nagging suspicion that I have already expressed what I am trying to get across and hope that somehow, it’s different enough. With almost 90 blog entries written (wow), I don’t have the time to go back through all of them and check. I also don’t really want to. It seems writing them is easier than reading them. Reading them can require more emotional investment and I just don’t want to go there. I have been saying that eventually I’d like to put these together into a book for my kids. Maybe it’s for me too, for someday when I’m ready to sit down and immerse myself and let myself really feel. If that day ever comes.

It turns out I’m much better at living day to day, taking care of crises major and minor, than at taking time to assess my emotional state. The blog started as a way for me to do that, to take stock and get it all out. It has been that, but sometimes I wonder if it’s just another way for me to check “grief” off on my daily to-do list; something else that has been taken care of for the day.

It’s getting harder and harder for me to make myself take-on writing about the really emotional aspects of Eric’s death. Sometimes it’s because I’ve already written about a lot of them, sometimes it’s because I just don’t want to go there. I don’t want to wallow, to cry, to hurt. I feel like a shark, if I keep moving I won’t die.

So please forgive me if I repeat stories or sentiment. It’s like getting together with family or old friends, the same stories are told over and over again--a way of reaffirming relationships and ties. It’s how we know we’re here and we were there and how we put the present and future into perspective. My Dad always tells my Mom she needs to get some new stories and he’s right. We need to keep moving, to keep living and collecting. But we also need to be brave enough to look back and keep the old stories alive. Without them, we wouldn’t know who we are.

#88 Early birds

Eric was always an early riser. He was usually up before the sun and my parents had to make a rule that he couldn’t wake them up to ask for a bath until after the sun was up. Yes, he always liked his baths too, and even in high school could be found doing his homework in the tub. When we were little I was always jealous that Eric was up before me. I used to accuse my Mom of taking him to a fair while I slept. Even then I knew he was up to something.

As an adult I have learned the value of getting up early. You really can get a lot more done. Although sometimes I am frustrated when I am ready to go and none of the stores are open yet. I still don’t like getting up early though. I envy the ease Eric had in waking and getting out of bed. Whenever I wake, no matter what time, I feel glued to the sheets. It’s just not an easy transition for me.

I think Eric got the gift of rising early from my Mom. She too is always up and moving and usually has several loads of laundry done before I’m ready to face the world. When she and my Dad were first married she would wake up early and putter around the kitchen banging the cabinet doors until he would wake up. I guess I get the sleep-in genes from him.

When we would visit my parents, Eric would get up and start emptying the dishwasher. The rattle of silverware and dishes was how my Mom knew he was up. It was nice for me too, because I could send the kids downstairs knowing Uncle Eric was probably up and would figure out the TV and anything else they needed. Not only was he up, he had energy! He would take the kids outside or wrestle with them, while I was watching the coffee maker hoping to make it brew a little faster.

As a kid I wished he would sleep in so I wouldn’t wonder what he and my Mom did in the mornings without me. As an adult, I wish I could get up early with grace and spirit the way he did. Even after he’s gone, I’m still measuring myself against him.

#87 My husband talks about Eric

Recently my husband mentioned wanting to contribute to the blog. Here is his take on Eric.


When I met Eric, I had no idea what to expect. I had heard about his sense of humor and I knew he went to Harvard. Mental images ranged from the stuffy, full-of-himself Harvard elite to some sort of absent-minded professor type. Over the years that I knew him, I came to realize that he had all of those traits – endearingly so.

I don’t explicitly remember our first meeting, which is a little troubling at the moment, but I know we clicked very quickly. He’s a tough guy not to like and his quick wit could change your mood in the blink of an eye. Despite being a man who seemed to aspire to pretension, he was man without pretense. He was always Eric – the son, the brother, the uncle, the friend, a sounding board and the only person I could beat at golf.

I have a thousand memories of Eric, but I think the best came from a week spent on a boat in the Caribbean. My wife and I took a trip with Eric and their parents before we had kids. We hired a boat (with a Captain and his girlfriend/cook) to cruise through the Virgin Islands. The trip was incredible – we went scuba diving, snorkeling, deep-sea fishing. We went diving in some of the most beautiful water on Earth, fled in near panic from a toothless nurse shark and drank way too much of the rum Eric won in an island conch shell blowing contest (and shared the seasick hangover that followed). For all the action and adventure, though, some of the quieter times really stand out.

Eric was always the first person up on deck. I would almost always be the 2nd, so I’d make my way up on deck and enjoy the sea and shoot the breeze with Eric. One of my favorite things about Eric is that you can talk to him forever without really ever having to have a topic. We’d talk career, vacation, tech, business, whatever (almost anything but baseball!). We both geeked out to some long discussions of the Isaac Asimov book, “I, Robot”, which I had borrowed from him at the beginning of the trip. Eric was nothing if not forever curious and we both loved all the impossibility that was becoming possible with the rapid-fire developments of technology in the early 2000s, a long-standing topic of discussion between us.

That trip to the Caribbean was fresh in my mind when we got together for Thanksgiving last year. A month prior, I bought a new laptop with a Blu-Ray player and I bought “I, Robot” as my first Blu-Ray movie. I figured I’d bring it to Thanksgiving and maybe watch it with Eric once the festivities had subsided one night. We didn’t get around to it, so it’s still in my house, unwatched. I’ll watch the movie at some point and think about him, but for now it too will sit, unfinished.

#86 Overwhelmed

Do you ever feel like hiding from the world? I had a couple of days last week when that was all I wanted to do. Granted I was not feeling well, but it seemed extreme to me. I didn’t want to make the effort to leave the house. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. Even email was more of a demand than I felt I could handle. I’ve always had isolationist tendencies; in college I never wanted a single room, because I was afraid I wouldn’t leave it. I rely on my friends to pull me out of my cocoon. Once I get out, I always enjoy it, but I don’t always want to go in the first place.

Last week was extreme. I sent phone calls to voice mail, left my computer asleep and curled up on the couch with a book. When I had to function I could, I went to work, I picked up the kids, but otherwise, I couldn’t motivate to do anything. I didn’t even go get my nails done and those of you who know me know that’s a big deal!

Life has seemed more overwhelming since Eric left it. I have always needed time to recharge, time without kids or husband or errands, to just chill and re-center. I think that is a fairly normal need. Last week, I needed it to the extreme; I couldn’t seem to get enough.

That intense need for solitude has passed for now. I enjoyed a great weekend with my family and friends at the beach. I’m communicating by all my usual various forms. I’m planning on having my nails done at the earliest opportunity. I wonder how long this will last though. How long until once again life overwhelms and I need to forget it exists? I’m lucky my work schedule allows me time in which to partially collapse, but I don’t like that I need it.

#85 Sand

When my oldest son was eighteen months old we went on a vacation with my parents and Eric to Destin, Florida. We were living in Oklahoma City at the time, and this was my son’s first trip to the beach. We stayed in a lovely hotel right on the beach and couldn’t wait to get out there. My son was fascinated with the wooden bridge over the dunes and the spray to clean the sand off of your feet, but was terrified of the sand. He would run full tilt down the boardwalk and then stop at the tops of the steps down to the beach. I could carry him down there, but he would cry if I tried to put him down in the sand. He was much happier on a beach chair or in the water. Eventually, by the end of the week, he had taken a few tentative steps in the sand, but only thanks to Eric.

Eric, who was a sand-loving child, had the patience to coax my son into the sand. He did it a little bit at a time until lo and behold he was walking in sand. We have a great picture of the two of them holding hands during that moment. He never got over his dislike of the sand that trip, but Uncle Eric made it bearable.

This weekend I watched my sons playing in the sand at the beach, burying their feet, dripping mud through their fingers and I thought, for the older one, this all started with Eric and that first trip to the beach.

I have mentioned before what a great uncle Eric was, but mostly dwelt on the things he sent them. I should never forget the time he spent with them and the things he taught them. Things like fighting with light sabers and walking in the sand. Things every little boy needs to know. Thank you, Eric.

#84 Happy Anniversary to me

Today is my wedding anniversary--eleven years of wedded bliss. It truly has been a great decade plus, and I don’t know how I would have gotten through most of it without my husband.

Eric and my husband bonded early on in their relationship. This was very important to me as Eric and I had always been close, so of course I wanted him to like any one I would consider marrying. I think Eric knew my husband was “the one” before I did. He used to make fun of my high school boyfriends, but my husband, he liked. When we got engaged he told my mother he was relieved because if we had broken up he wasn’t sure who he would have gone with.

I can remember Eric and my husband wrestling on the floor of my grandmother’s apartment in Queens. They truly were as close as brothers, almost from the very beginning.

Eric’s death also hit my husband very hard. It was a difficult position for him to be in, trying to help keep me functioning while still dealing with his own grief. He has performed admirably. Eric is missed by so many people in so many places in so many ways. He had a gift of becoming instant family with anyone. His friends knew they could ask him for anything at anytime and he would come through. He was just that kind of guy. In turn, his friends brought him into their families and would have done anything for him. The world could use more of him, not less.

#83 Dreams

I had a dream last night that I met someone whose son was named Eric. I mentioned that that was my brother’s name and the whole room went silent. Oops. I keep waiting to dream about Eric, to see him again, but other than the other dream I’ve blogged about when he was dying, I haven’t. He appears tangentially, as a mention, but never as a star. Dreaming about him would probably be upsetting, but if it’s the only way I’m ever going to see him again, I’m ready. I think.

I recently cleaned out my bedroom which still contained some boxes from when we moved in 3 years ago. One of those boxes had a bunch of framed photographs that I hadn’t found any room for when we moved. Some of these were of Eric. I already had some pictures of him around the house, but now I have more. I do get to see him on a daily basis, but not walking or talking or making me laugh. I could see him doing those things in a dream.

I have always loved to sleep and loved to dream. Some said I shouldn’t go into medicine because of this. Having children has been the most detrimental to my sleep cycle, but I still manage a decent amount. I don’t go to bed in anticipation of seeing Eric, but someday I hope he appears as he was in life. I still need him in my life any way I can get him.

#82 Summer and siblings

I finally made it back out to my porch with my morning coffee. It has been a while since I’ve been able to have that simple pleasure. Summer, a time I remember as a child as lasting forever and holding no responsibilities, is flying by. We are so scheduled with activities; we’re almost busier than during the school year. Don’t get me wrong, these are all things I planned and want (or wanted) to do, but it makes the summer go by so much faster. Two weeks of vacation, one to visit each set of grandparents, camp for the kids, a trip to the beach with friends and summer is half over and we’ve only been to our pool once. Of course we’ve been to other people’s pools…..

What happened to the lazy days of summer? I know I won’t really get those, I have to work and be a Mom no matter what time of the year it is, but where did they go for my kids? Did I ever really have them or did I just think I did? Eric I and were scheduled in camps all summer long too, but since my Mom didn’t work we weren’t there the extended hours that my kids are. I remember playing made up games in the back yard, fighting over the trapeze on the swing set, and staying out until it started to get dark.

My kids don’t get as much unstructured time as Eric and I did. Every afternoon during the school year we were home after school ended and we usually played together. My kids get a lot of time together—they share a room, but during the week we’re only home until they go to school or camp and then we’re back in time for dinner. It’s not the same. Hopefully the weekends make up for it. I want my kids to grow up close like Eric and I did, I hope time playing together will create that. I know I don’t have much control over this, but I’m going to try. Lately my 6 year old has been exhibiting rampant signs of sibling rivalry, even going so far as telling me his life would be better if his little brother had never been born. I try to explain to him that he is just upset, and if he thinks about it he has a lot of fun with his little brother, but it’s a hard thing to resolve. He’ll just have to figure it out on his own. It hurts me to hear him say that though. I’m so glad I knew Eric, even if it was for a shorter period of time than we all had planned.

#81 Why we should watch animated movies

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift.” My 6 year old has been chanting this around the house lately. I’m not sure he really appreciates what it means, but he likes that it rhymes and that it’s from Kung Fu Panda. Yes, that’s right, profundity from a children’s cartoon movie. That shouldn’t really be surprising, after all most of the cartoon movies we watch have profound aspirations. Cars teaches respect for your elders, Monsters VS Aliens teaches tolerance for those who are different, and all the Toy Story movies teach the importance of relationships. The most profound is probably Wall-E which shows us the demise (and re-birth) of our civilization. Still, that quote got me.

I can’t honestly say that I’ve seen Kung Fu Panda all the way through. I know as a parent I’m supposed to vet the movies that my children watch—but who has time for that? I trust the rating system and most of the time I’ve not been disappointed. I believe the plot of the movie involves teaching a lazy panda to be a champion Kung Fu fighter. There is a lot of overcoming obstacles, identifying different motivating factors and valuing what is different in each of us. I don’t know where the above quote fits in the movie, except maybe as a reminder to put the failures of the past behind us and always do our best in the present.

This is something I try to teach my children. My oldest especially has a hard time making mistakes. He beats himself up over them and gets stuck on what he has done wrong. I encourage him to learn from it and move on; after all we can’t go back and change it. There are many things I’d change in my past if I could, but I can’t, so I have to try and make the best of it going forward.

That quote makes me sad as well as hopeful. It fits in with one of the themes of this blog which has turned out to be cherish the time you have, every minute of it, because you never know how much you have. Today truly is a gift and you waste it at your peril. It also makes me sad because it relegates my time with Eric to history and I’m not ready for that. Even if it’s only semantics.

Some people don’t let their kids watch any TV; I’ve never been in that camp although I do try to limit it. I haven’t noticed my children losing ground in school or any other way because I let them watch. I have noticed that they learn things that surprise me. I owe thanks to my 6 year old for finding me a succinct (and rhyming!) way to share what I have learned.

#80 Want some cheese with that whine?

Eric was my go to guy when I needed to whine. He always listened and usually made fun of me. He rarely sympathized, but he made me laugh. I (almost) always felt better when we got off the phone. I think he felt the same way about me. When either one of us wasn’t feeling well, was bored, was annoyed we called each other. I miss that.

I miss that unconditional acceptance. It didn’t matter that I was annoying him with my whining, he would take it because he was my brother. It didn’t matter that he called me with demands to “entertain” when I was working, or trying to make dinner or any other inopportune times because he was my brother. We couldn’t always be there for the other, sometimes we’d have to postpone, but the option was always there. Until it wasn’t.

There are very few people in life that you can say anything to and know they can handle it. We could fight but it was never an end, just a bump in the road. We were joined together by blood and memory and shared experiences. We were forever. We still are, only now I have to play both roles. And I’m not really good at his.

He was my partner, my collaborator, my brain trust. He was my constant. How can he be gone?

It’s easier not to think about it. I’m pretty good at putting it all in a box and leaving it alone, but sometimes something spills out. Sometimes I get caught up in looking at old pictures…the only kind I’ll ever have of him anymore. Sometimes I get stuck on what is gone. And then the missing him is so painful, so raw, I wonder how I can ever go back to “normal”. How is it that I can function without him? How is it that I can plan, work, eat, laugh without him?

I guess it’s true that life goes on, even when you don’t want it to. And I don’t even have anyone to whine to about it anymore.

#79 It's Complicated

Medical privacy is a real hot button issue these days. Given the things that people can learn about you from your medical records or even a blood test, it should be a much discussed and regulated issue. Are we going about it the right way?

I just finished reading “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” by Rebecca Skloot. This is a non-fiction book about Henrietta Lacks who was a 31 year old black woman in Baltimore in 1951 who died of cervical cancer. By all accounts her death was horrific and painful, despite state of the art, free care at Johns Hopkins Hospital. During her treatment a biopsy of her tumor was taken, without her consent, and her cells proved remarkable. The never died. They led to hundreds, if not thousands, of important medical discoveries and still aren’t done.

The book does a good job of describing the science, but does a better job of describing Henrietta and her family--her family who never knew the cells were taken. Who first learned about it when researchers came, years later, asking for blood from them—without explanation. Who didn’t have the education to understand how part of their mother could still be alive somewhere.

At the time the medical researchers adhered to the standards of the day which did not include consent, informed or otherwise. A lot has changed since then.

As a doctor I have to be careful who I tell what about each patient, and where I mention it. My aunt tells the story of sitting next to a psychiatrist on a bus who called in a medication for a patient using the patient’s full name. Definitely not HIPAA compliant.

As a sister, my parents and I had to make medical decisions for Eric without necessarily knowing what he would want. We had to decide to let him undergo surgery. We had to decide to withdraw care. We had to decide to make him an organ donor. I am still comfortable with all of the decisions we made, but none of them were easy.

When the neuro-surgeon called to discuss surgery I was naked in the shower getting ready to get on the plane to Las Vegas. I turned the water off and stood there shivering; feeling like my whole body was dripping tears as I learned about Eric’s condition. Technically, the neuro-surgeon probably shouldn’t have spoken with me since I was not his next of kin (my parents were), but he made a judgment call and I think it was the right one. He also spoke with my parents and we spoke with each other so we were all able to be involved.

When we got to Las Vegas we learned that not only had the surgery not helped Eric’s condition, but that they had to remove parts of his brain. That actually made the withdrawing care decision easier. Eric without his brain would not be Eric and would not want to live that way. Eric would never be coming back.


The decision to donate Eric’s organs seemed right to me. It’s what I would want if I ever end up in that situation. Later we found Eric’s driver’s license which listed him as an organ donor, so I know he was ok with that decision too.

Making medical decisions for loved ones is not easy. As a doctor making sure the people making the decisions are the right people and understand what they are doing is also not easy. Confidentiality is important, even critical in some situations, but maybe should be more flexible in others. Laws aren’t flexible, they can’t be. So we have to rely on our own judgment and hope no one calls us on it.

Should Henrietta Lacks’ family have been told about her cells? I don’t know. Should she have been consented about the procedure and told that her cells may be used for research? Definitely. But I’m answering that in today’s world and it’s a very different world from 1951, in many ways because of her cells.

#78 I got nothin'

So what if I don’t have a blog for today? It doesn’t say 366 consecutive days anywhere does it? And I have a cold. And it’s my first day back at work after vacation. And I had an early OR case this morning. And. And. And.

I can come up with a lot of excuses for not having a blog today, but I still want to post one. I have set a challenge for myself and like Eric would have, I’m going to do my best to meet it.

I divided 78 into 366 this morning and the answer was about 4.7. That means I’m almost a quarter done with this project. That made me feel pretty good. I don’t think I truly realized what a challenge I had set for myself when I did this. Writing something everyday about anything is a challenge, let alone such an emotionally charged subject. Some days I just don’t want to get into it. For a while, I was several blog posts ahead, so if I didn’t feel like writing I didn’t have to, but lately I haven’t been quite so prolific. I’m hoping that stage will return at some point.

For now I know, and you know, that we’re all thinking about Eric even if I can’t come up with anything profound to say. Stay tuned...I promise something better for tomorrow.

#77 Mothers and Sons

The other day my 3 year old and I took a nap together. As we got into bed he asked me to face him. He looked at me with his big eyes, held my face in his hands and gently kissed me once on the forehead, the nose and on each cheek, something I have done to him countless times. There is nothing like the unwavering love of a young boy for his Mom. This will change as he gets older, learns more, discovers girls and the rest of the world; but for now he is all mine. Even more so than my 6 year old, my 3 year old is a true Mommy’s boy. I can remember when Eric and my Mom were like that.

When I was pregnant with my first son and found out it was a boy, I remember thinking that someday he would “drive” his cars up and down my legs and arms like Eric did with my Mom. Eric spent so much time on my Mom’s lap we joked that he would get married there. I know my Mother loves me, but I think the love between a mother and a daughter is different than that between a mother and a son. The son may grow up and away, but mom will always be his first and longest love.

My Mom loves to tell the story of the night we were all sitting at the dinner table and Eric turned to my Dad to ask a question instead of to her. It was the first sign that his horizons were broadening, that he was moving on.

He has now moved on to a place where none of us can follow. I can’t imagine how hard that is for my Mom. It’s hard for all of us, but especially for her. That sweet little boy who worshipped her so completely, is now completely gone.

When Eric was a toddler and was supposed to be napping my Mother discovered him on the second floor landing unrolling all of the toilet paper and paper towel rolls to make roads for his cars. Upon seeing her look of dismay he said, “Don’t worry, Mommy, I fix it” and proceeded to flatten out all the bumps. I wish there was a way I could fix this. No mother should have to go through what she is going through. And way too many do.

#76 Stuck

I’m a little stuck for inspiration today. There are many, many good Eric stories left, but none that seem to want to add up to a coherent post at the moment. Summer was a time when Eric and I were mostly apart. We went to day camps where we were segregated by age and later sleep away camps where we were segregated by gender and age. Still later we went to altogether different sleep away camps. From the one summer I remember us being at the same sleep away camp, I can remember mostly being the intrusive older sister that he didn’t want around. I can recall standing on the grass in front of his bunk yelling to him and his fellow campers that their epidermis was showing—a joke I think I learned from my father.

Summer was for freedom and fun and was always over too soon. It still is, even though I am now an adult and have to work all summer long. Sort of. It’s still a time of vacations and playing with my kids. It’s still magical, although less so this summer. Less magical because Eric will not get to go to the pool or the ocean again. Eric will not know that yesterday my 3 year old learned to really swim. Eric will not have cocktails on my parents’ deck overlooking the marsh again. Eric will not make any more long road trips crisscrossing the country to visit us and all of his friends.

There is an under current of loss in everything I do, in everything my family does. Silently we acknowledge what is missing, and we all know the others are doing it too. Fireworks, Italian Ices, barbecuing or even having hot chocolate outside in 90 degree heat (something only he would ever want to do) are all things he will never experience again.

So my writer’s block is not because I’m forgetting, not because I’m letting go. Because I’m not. I can’t and I won’t. It just is.

#75 Sick

This week I am continuing a long-standing tradition of Eric’s—getting sick on vacation. When Eric and I were in college my parents lived in Asia. First they were in Bangkok, Thailand (where Eric finished high school), then Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia; and finally Singapore. During our winter breaks Eric and I would travel “home” where we would proceed to go on a fabulous vacation. We went so many places, including Australia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Nepal, China, and Cambodia. Each vacation was distinct and memorable and amazing in its own way and during almost every one Eric got sick.

In Indonesia Eric got an ear infection so painful he could hardly chew. This was obviously a poor way to spend a vacation, but especially so when we had snorkeling and possibly scuba diving planned. Needless to say those activities were not ones he could partake in that trip.

In Nepal I remember him getting a cold during one of our many stays at “The Yak and Yeti” in Kathmandu. Despite its name, this is actually a very nice hotel…for Nepal. Considering we stayed some places in Nepal without heat, this was probably the best place for him to be sick. They even served pretty good hot chocolate.

In China, we both got sick. Since we shared a hotel room he probably gave me whatever he had. Each of us missed a separate day of touring. On the day I stayed in I got a call from the maid saying, “Good morning, good evening, good afternoon. I can come to clean your joom?” That became a long-running family joke, although I think it’s funnier spoken than in print.

This week I am visiting my parents with my family, and I have gotten sick. It’s just a cold, but I feel pretty miserable. It’s no fun to be sick on vacation, Eric definitely knew that. There are other ways I’d rather be following in his footsteps.

#74 Where he is now

#73 Benji

Meet Benji.

Benji is a stuffed soldier that was with Eric for most of his life. I believe Benji was given to Eric by our Aunt. I’m not sure how he got his name except that maybe the movie “Private Benjamin” came out around that time and we associated the name with a soldier. Benji lived in Eric’s room as a child and a teenager. When Eric and my parents moved to Asia, Benji went too. I don’t know if Benji went to college with Eric, but I wouldn’t be too surprised if he did. Benji’s latest home is my parent’s guest room.

Along the way Benji has accumulated clothing and accessories. I’m sure my mother made him the jeans he is wearing and the bathrobe repurposed from an old pair of footie pajamas. Under the robe he is wearing a t-shirt that says “Benji” in green puff paint that looks too neat to have been done by Eric. I wonder if I did that.

Of course we can’t overlook his latest accessory; the ultra-chic bowtie. Eric went through a very dapper phase (most of his adult life) and was buying clothes from Thomas Pink’s when I was rationing myself at the bookstore. The logical place for a cast-off bowtie would be around Benji’s neck.

I suppose most kids have a “friend” like Benji that they hang onto. My boys both have stuffed animals they claim they cannot sleep without. My 3 year old’s lambie even seems to be able to cure boo-boos. There is something to be said for the comfort and security of a long known pal. Of course we grow up and move on, but there is always a place in our hearts for the Benjis of our lives.

I think we all assumed that one day Benji would get passed down to a little Eric. That, of course, will not happen now. No one ever assumed that Benji would outlive Eric.

#72 I Dare You!

Yesterday we took my kids to the beach. It was my parents, my husband, the kids and me and the trip had a middling degree of success. My oldest son got splashed in the face once (with goggles on) and decided the water was not for him. In his defense, he is just tall enough to stand where all of the waves break and a little too big to be carried beyond. He concentrated the rest of his energies on digging the deepest hole he could. My little one had a bit more success in the water, but he insists that I hold him, and I’m not that tall, so it’s hard to keep his face out of the water. After one wave took both of us out, we decided we’d had enough of that. He also decided to dig a deep hole, but of course only wanted the shovel his big brother was using and you can figure out how it went from there.

Being there amid all the other beach goers reminded me of going to the shore with Eric. We grew up in New Jersey, so of course we didn’t go to the beach, it was the shore. We would go once or twice a summer and spend the day, usually with another family or two. All of those trips kind of blend together in my head and I know Eric spent a lot more time playing in the sand than I did, but I have one indelible memory of those times. I remember standing in the surf with Eric, staring at the incoming waves and yelling, “I dare you!” We dared the ocean to send us the biggest waves it could, to really try and take us out. The surf was pretty tame most of the time we went, so we could safely do this. Just thinking of that brings back the pure sun-kissed glee of those times. No worries, no cares, knowing you can handle anything that comes your way; daring it to come your way.

Eric lived most of his life like that; out there in the rough, daring life to throw him a challenge and handling it beautifully when it did. The end of Eric’s life is a perfect example. He was running a half-marathon, daring his body to last and make it to the end. He set himself a challenge of running a race every weekend, and for the most part stuck to it. On his refrigerator there was a split photograph of Eric before and after he started his latest fitness craze. He was never heavy, but there are definitely a few extra pounds in the before picture and lot more muscle definition in the after picture. He challenged himself to change his diet and level of fitness and he did it. For some there is a level of comfort in knowing that Eric’s last day involved something he loved to do. For me there is no level of comfort in knowing that Eric had a last day. Still, if his life had to end, at least we know he never shied from a challenge, never cowered at life. He lived actively and thoroughly and exuberantly. He lived the way everyone wishes they could.

#71 Wal-Mart

I am a somewhat haphazard packer. Apparently it is difficult for me to envision the different situations we might encounter when away from the house, and what we might need for them. Who could predict that a baby might need a nap and I might want a baby monitor for such occasion? Who would think that my children might actually want bathing suits for Grandma and Grandpa’s hot tub? In my defense, I don’t think I made the same packing omission twice, but I usually make an omission glaring enough to require a trip to Wal-Mart.

At heart I am a Target girl, but when we visit my parents there isn’t one convenient to us so we are forced to go to Wal-Mart. Over the years our annual trip has become as much of a Thanksgiving ritual as turkey or over-eating. Usually it’s my husband, me, Eric and my Uncle, and by the time we actually make the trek we have a list at least half an arm long of things we forgot, just decided we need, or my mother forgot to buy at the grocery store. Of course, once there it usually takes us 4 times as long as it should to get everything on the list because we spend so much time gawking. We laugh at the as-seen-on-TV products that we never thought anyone would buy. And sometimes we decide maybe we should try them out after all. We inevitably find some amazing gadget that we just have to have, or something that is just too cheap to pass up. (An umbrella stroller for $10!!!) But most of all, we stare at the other shoppers. The mix of people at Wal-Mart is incredible. There are those who come in their pajamas, and those who seem to be missing half of their clothes--usually the half that would cover the parts that I don’t want to see.

We spend a lot of time giggling and acting in very immature ways and just having a ball. So much so, that before this past Thanksgiving, the first one that Eric was going to bring his girlfriend to, we built it up as something to look forward to, not just something we might do if we forgot something. Only last year I didn’t forget anything. Miracle of miracles I actually managed to pack everything we needed. We didn’t make our annual trip.

On the last day of the holiday weekend, Eric and his girlfriend did go to fill a prescription, but they went alone. I can only hope that they found some amusement in the trip.

For those of you who have never experienced the humor in a trip to Wal-Mart I leave you with a website introduced to me by Eric. Don’t go there if you are not prepared to laugh and be a little disgusted all at the same time. www.peopleofwalmart.com

Our trips won’t be the same without him, but I’ll always remember him when I’m there.

#70 Jealousy

Only the good die young. Certainly Eric was good. Does this mean he was better than me? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to die, but I do want to be good. At least better than Eric anyway. Oh, that sibling rivalry…

Eric and I were always very close. That doesn’t mean we didn’t have our moments or petty jealousies. Because we did, we definitely did.

I hated that he was funnier that I was, that the same phrase spoken by him would make people laugh and spoken by me would get me into trouble. I hated that when he got into Harvard my mother ran around calling everyone she knew. She didn’t do that when I got into college. For a while I called him the golden boy because amazing opportunities (and salaries) seemed to just fall into his lap. Just when one thing would go bust, another, better opportunity would come along.

What other new college graduate could call the company he wanted to work for and have them tell him to write a job description complete with salary requirements—and then convince them to go for it??

What other person could decide he felt like living in London and almost immediately find a spectacular job there?

I was jealous, but I was also proud. It never really affected our relationship; it was just there in the background. I’m sure there were things about me that made Eric jealous. There better have been anyway; otherwise it’s just not fair.

Maybe it’s my jealousy. Maybe that’s why I’m not as good as Eric. I’m not jealous anymore, hadn’t been in a while. Things were good between us. Maybe he should have been a little less good.

#69 Stunned

The unpredictability of life is stunning.

We plan and make routines and think we’ve got this thing called life tamed. We have car seats and alarm systems and we hold hands when we cross the street. We walk our children in and out of school; we never lose sight of them in the pool. We know what to expect.

Or so we think. It’s luck that we avoid the reckless driver or the child abductor. It’s luck that the hurricane or tornado misses us.

You think you have it all under control and then a random tree branch falls from the sky and kills your 6 month old daughter and seriously injures her mother.

It’s never all under control. It’s just an illusion we live with. A powerful, calming illusion, but an illusion none-the-less. You can plan all you want, sometimes life leaves you alone and sometimes it doesn’t.

Every parent has felt that horrible, gut wrenching fear of losing a child and then the relief when it turns out he just went to the bathroom by himself. But he could have been taken. It does happen, everyday, to people just like you; good parents, just like you.

You plan and prepare and teach and warn and hope that life lets your illusions stand. That the ever present devastation passes over you and your family this time. That there is no hidden cancer or illness waiting in the wings. That everything really will be ok. Just like we tell ourselves and our children.

We like to think that the monsters only exist in story books and that everything happens for a reason. Do you really believe that? Can you?

I can’t find a reason here. A child is shepherded through the scary parts of life, toddler-hood where running into the street seems like a good idea, the trials and tribulations and successes of grade school, summer camp, high school, college. He gets his own job and supports himself. He’s making his own life, your job is done. Then he’s gone. And you couldn’t foresee it, you couldn’t prevent it. You were happy he was running and keeping in shape. And then he wasn’t. And he never will again.

And it’s stunning.

#68 Birthdays

Three days after Eric died my oldest child turned 6. Needless to say, none of us felt like celebrating. But when you’re 6, a birthday is a big deal. We had already pulled him out of school, flown him across the country and postponed his birthday party; we had to do something.

As with most 5 and 6 year olds, my son loves Chuck E. Cheese. As with most parents, I do not. I had been telling him a little white lie…..that there were no Chuck E. Cheese’s in our home state of North Carolina. So far he was buying it. I decided we would try to find a Chuck E. Cheese in Las Vegas to make all of his birthday wishes come true. That way he could run around and play and we wouldn’t have to hold our hard to come by smiles for too long.

His birthday morning we went to the restaurant where we’d been having breakfast everyday and I told the wait staff that it was his birthday. He got chocolate cake for breakfast, complete with candles. Later we were standing by the front desk when he took a call of birthday wishes. The front desk staff overheard and asked us what was going on. Later, when we got back to our room, there was a huge basket full of candy bars waiting for him with a note from the front desk staff.

And of course there was lunch at Chuck E. Cheese. He could not have been more excited. He and his little brother ran around and played every game they had and racked up the tickets. Later they exchanged them for the greatest cheap plastic toys in the world. All in all it was a success, despite the circumstances.

Twenty-four days after Eric died; it would have been his birthday. While he probably would have liked for us to celebrate at Chuck E. Cheese, we chose another route. My in-laws watched my children and my husband and I went to visit my parents. We had an early cocktail hour, and scattered his ashes in the marsh behind their house. We tried to celebrate Eric’s life with laughter and memories, but it was too soon, too raw. We cried and comforted each other and somehow made it through.

#67 Connections

I was at my computer doing some research on sun protection for the eyes for a news interview I did, when I decided to take a break and check facebook. Facebook is always urging me to reconnect with people or send someone a message. Once I was sitting next to a “friend” in a shared office when facebook told me to reconnect with him. I decided to do it in person instead and we both got a good laugh. When I clicked over to facebook tonight, it asked me if I wanted to be friends with Eric.

When Eric died a lot of my friends found out through facebook. I posted a statement on my wall and on Eric’s. The outpouring from the facebook community was and still is amazing. So many people sent me messages or comments. It didn’t matter if we were close or ever had been close. It made me realize that I have a much bigger support group than I ever knew; and every little bit of it helped. Most of you would never have seen this blog without facebook. I still get messages about the blog, or just people checking on me. Almost everyday someone from my past or present contacts me about Eric. I love it. It’s another way of keeping him alive. Some people share their memories with me, and others are just learning about Eric. I welcome them all.

Even the facebook staff has been great. They kept Eric’s page active so his friends can still visit it, but they stopped those reminders to reconnect or send him a message. Every once in a while someone will post something on his page. It’s still painful, but every once in a while I will check it.

I had forgotten that Eric had another facebook page. I think we all did. In another funny email Eric sent us a screen shot of his facebook home page. Facebook was suggesting that he “friend” himself. He apparently had created a page with an old email address and then forgotten about it and later created the page that he actually used.

It was that other page that popped up on my facebook page. I clicked the button to add him as a friend. They’re going to send him a message asking him if he’ll confirm that I am indeed a friend. We can’t officially be friends until he replies.

I’ll wait.