I am just not a pet person. Growing up we had goldfish…until they died. I am allergic to all things furry and really don’t like dog slobber. I can’t get into the story of the monkey who adopted a kitten in Indonesia. The pictures are cute and all, but I have better things to do with my day. I know most people don’t feel this way about pets. My own son once tried to trade me for a dog.
“Daddy, when mommy goes to work, and stays at work, and sleeps at work….then can we get a dog?”
He idolizes my in-laws’ dog and sleeps every night with her stuffed replica. I think this is adorable, but I still don’t need a dog of my own. And I thought it was a bit much when he came home from camp with a glittery card he had made for her. Don’t tell him I never sent it on….
Growing up I really wanted a pet. I wanted a kitten because they looked soft and cuddly and I had friends who had one. My parents, who didn’t want to take care of my pet, wisely said no. I think I would have tired of the responsibility pet ownership pretty quickly.
When I was interviewing for residency, the program where I ultimately went asked every candidate to stand up in grand rounds and tell a little bit about yourself including whether or not you had any pets. I later learned the correct answer was to have a lab as this was what the chairman of the department had. At least I was able to draw some laughs when I answered that I didn’t have any pets but I had a husband and that was enough.
This was a paraphrase of what my mother would always tell me when I asked for a pet. You have a brother, and that’s enough. And it was.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
#127 How old is old?
As I struggled to post yesterday’s blog thanks to blogger not letting me paste, (seriously? no pasting?), I found myself reading the tag line under the blog title over and over. I kept coming back to Eric’s age. 32. Is that old? Is that young? Age is such a relative thing.
As a kid, 32 would definitely have been old. Way old. Not grandma or grandpa old, but close; firmly in the land of adulthood. In my simplified view careers would be established, families would be made, and life would progress as it should.
Of course now that I am over the age of 32, I know it’s not nearly that simple. I have a career, only I’m still not sure that’s what I want to do when I grow up. I have a family, but it’s not like it just coasts along with no work. It’s a hell of a lot of work. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just not as easy as I once thought it would be.
I think everyone grows up at a different pace. Eric was at the peak of figuring out who he was when he died. He was figuring out his career and about to propose to the love of his life. He was settling in a city he loved and creating a circle of friends there. He was still evolving. For some people 32 may be old and settled, but for Eric it wasn’t.
I honestly don’t think we are ever old and settled, I think we are always striving for something. It may be a new job, a new house, a new partner, a vacation or a kitchen renovation, but it’s always something. That’s what keeps us going. Eric was in the middle of some of the most major life changes you can make. I wish he had had the chance to complete them. I would love to see the person he was going to become.
As a kid, 32 would definitely have been old. Way old. Not grandma or grandpa old, but close; firmly in the land of adulthood. In my simplified view careers would be established, families would be made, and life would progress as it should.
Of course now that I am over the age of 32, I know it’s not nearly that simple. I have a career, only I’m still not sure that’s what I want to do when I grow up. I have a family, but it’s not like it just coasts along with no work. It’s a hell of a lot of work. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just not as easy as I once thought it would be.
I think everyone grows up at a different pace. Eric was at the peak of figuring out who he was when he died. He was figuring out his career and about to propose to the love of his life. He was settling in a city he loved and creating a circle of friends there. He was still evolving. For some people 32 may be old and settled, but for Eric it wasn’t.
I honestly don’t think we are ever old and settled, I think we are always striving for something. It may be a new job, a new house, a new partner, a vacation or a kitchen renovation, but it’s always something. That’s what keeps us going. Eric was in the middle of some of the most major life changes you can make. I wish he had had the chance to complete them. I would love to see the person he was going to become.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
#126 Poor World
What would Eric be doing this weekend? Would he be going for a run or a hike? Would he and Katie be away for a romantic weekend? They had talked about an August wedding, would it have been this weekend? Maybe he would have been visiting us, or working on a school or work assignment. Maybe he would have just been chilling out at his apartment complex’s pool.
It’s so wrong that he’s not doing any of these things.
Here I am getting on with life, planning schedules and birthday parties and dinner menus and he’s not anywhere. He’s not even pissing me off.
The world is so much emptier without him and it’s so sad that so much of it doesn’t even know. Eric left his mark on many, many people, but so many others missed out. And they’ll never even know how much poorer they are because of that. When I was little I used to wonder how my parents could have possibly waited five years before having me. I couldn’t understand how they didn’t miss me, but you can’t miss what you don’t know.
I’m doing my best to keep his memory alive and spread the word, but it’s not the same. It’s a poor, poor substitute. But I guess it will have to do.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
#125 Vacuum cleaners and windows
Yesterday’s blog got me thinking about other gifts Eric gave us when we were living in Philadelphia. He always was original.
Eric had several jobs during our time in Philly. One of them was for a dot com in Austin that failed. He left this job for a consulting job in London and had to get rid of most of his possessions. He sold his car and sent us his vacuum cleaner. I guess his was nicer than ours….although not for long. We used it (silly us, wanting to actually use the vacuum cleaner) and it didn’t seem to work very well. It also made horrible noises and may have actually started smoking. It was then that we found out that instead of using it for its intended purpose, Eric used his vacuum cleaner as a place to store spare change. There was an enormous baggie of coins in the place where the dirt was supposed to go. We should have known.
As a housewarming gift Eric gave us a window. One might think (and hope) that our house already came with these and you would be correct. This window, however, was special. It was old and the paint was crusting off of the frame. There should have been 12 small panes of glass, but the middle two were missing. The others were filled with blue, red and yellow colored glass and one of those was cracked. As odd as this sounds, it was actually a pretty cool gift. In Philadelphia we mounted it on the wall around our thermostat which fit perfectly in the empty space. In Oklahoma City we had it hanging in one of the front windows where the colored glass could catch the light. I’m still looking for the perfect place for it in our Charlotte house, I’ll find one sooner or later. For now it’s leaning against the wall in our bedroom where I can see it everyday and think of him.
Eric had several jobs during our time in Philly. One of them was for a dot com in Austin that failed. He left this job for a consulting job in London and had to get rid of most of his possessions. He sold his car and sent us his vacuum cleaner. I guess his was nicer than ours….although not for long. We used it (silly us, wanting to actually use the vacuum cleaner) and it didn’t seem to work very well. It also made horrible noises and may have actually started smoking. It was then that we found out that instead of using it for its intended purpose, Eric used his vacuum cleaner as a place to store spare change. There was an enormous baggie of coins in the place where the dirt was supposed to go. We should have known.
As a housewarming gift Eric gave us a window. One might think (and hope) that our house already came with these and you would be correct. This window, however, was special. It was old and the paint was crusting off of the frame. There should have been 12 small panes of glass, but the middle two were missing. The others were filled with blue, red and yellow colored glass and one of those was cracked. As odd as this sounds, it was actually a pretty cool gift. In Philadelphia we mounted it on the wall around our thermostat which fit perfectly in the empty space. In Oklahoma City we had it hanging in one of the front windows where the colored glass could catch the light. I’m still looking for the perfect place for it in our Charlotte house, I’ll find one sooner or later. For now it’s leaning against the wall in our bedroom where I can see it everyday and think of him.
Friday, August 27, 2010
#124 Furniture
I’ve been looking for a new kitchen table for a few months now. To be honest, I’m not looking all that hard, but we really do need a new table. We have a small area in the kitchen and it’s hard to find small round tables that fit our needs. The one we have now my husband and I got before we were married (or even engaged) at a Value City store in rural Pennsylvania. It’s a plain light wood round table with fold down leaves. It has served us very well, but the leaves don’t stay all the way up and the gaps where the leaves fold down are filled with disgusting crumbs and other identifiable things that are hard to clean. Its time for a new table.
As I was looking I was thinking about when we furnished our first place together, a house we rented in Philadelphia. I moved in first and had no furniture of my own other than a bed. For a while, the house was totally empty. Don’t worry though; Eric was able to help out. He sent us a chair; actually I think it was supposed to be an armchair. It was from a very trendy store and the assembly was really easy. You just had to inflate it. Yes, Eric sent us an inflatable chair. It was also clear, so you could see right through it. I guess he didn’t want to take a chance of having it clash with anything. It wasn’t very comfortable as pretty much the moment you sat down in it, it tipped over. It was a nice thought though…..
A few months after I moved in, my husband (fiancé at the time) moved in and brought with him his parent’s old furniture from the 70s and 80s. It was no longer stylish, but it was comfortable and I still miss that couch that we left on the curb in Philly when we moved.
Our first night in Las Vegas we stayed in Eric’s apartment and I noticed he didn’t have any inflatable furniture. I guess he learned his lesson through us.
As I was looking I was thinking about when we furnished our first place together, a house we rented in Philadelphia. I moved in first and had no furniture of my own other than a bed. For a while, the house was totally empty. Don’t worry though; Eric was able to help out. He sent us a chair; actually I think it was supposed to be an armchair. It was from a very trendy store and the assembly was really easy. You just had to inflate it. Yes, Eric sent us an inflatable chair. It was also clear, so you could see right through it. I guess he didn’t want to take a chance of having it clash with anything. It wasn’t very comfortable as pretty much the moment you sat down in it, it tipped over. It was a nice thought though…..
A few months after I moved in, my husband (fiancé at the time) moved in and brought with him his parent’s old furniture from the 70s and 80s. It was no longer stylish, but it was comfortable and I still miss that couch that we left on the curb in Philly when we moved.
Our first night in Las Vegas we stayed in Eric’s apartment and I noticed he didn’t have any inflatable furniture. I guess he learned his lesson through us.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
#123 Separation
My parents are out of the country on vacation. They have always loved to travel and have been many places that I would like to see. This time they are going some places I have actually been. They are reprising the honeymoon cruise my husband and I took to Turkey and Greece, albeit with more detail and in more luxury than we did.
I’m glad my parents are getting away and doing something they love to do. Still, it feels weird. When my mom was diagnosed with lymphoma 2 years ago we started checking in with each other everyday, even if it was only for a minute or two. We were just starting to relax this habit when Eric died. Now we talk at least once everyday, sometimes two or three times. We don’t always have much to say, it’s just nice to hear her voice and reaffirm that we are ok.
I miss our daily conversations. I’m also a little more worried than I usually am when they go away. I’m not seriously worried, I just think about what could happen a little bit more than I have in the past. The world is not the benign place I once thought it was. I’m sure they will have a wonderful safe trip and I can’t wait to hear about it in three weeks when they get back….but still…..
I think its reflex in the wake of a tragedy to hold your loved ones closer. Just don’t hold them so close that they (and you) can’t breathe. That’s not healthy for anyone.
Oh, and nobody go rob their house now that I told you they’re away. Boy would I be in trouble if that happened!
I’m glad my parents are getting away and doing something they love to do. Still, it feels weird. When my mom was diagnosed with lymphoma 2 years ago we started checking in with each other everyday, even if it was only for a minute or two. We were just starting to relax this habit when Eric died. Now we talk at least once everyday, sometimes two or three times. We don’t always have much to say, it’s just nice to hear her voice and reaffirm that we are ok.
I miss our daily conversations. I’m also a little more worried than I usually am when they go away. I’m not seriously worried, I just think about what could happen a little bit more than I have in the past. The world is not the benign place I once thought it was. I’m sure they will have a wonderful safe trip and I can’t wait to hear about it in three weeks when they get back….but still…..
I think its reflex in the wake of a tragedy to hold your loved ones closer. Just don’t hold them so close that they (and you) can’t breathe. That’s not healthy for anyone.
Oh, and nobody go rob their house now that I told you they’re away. Boy would I be in trouble if that happened!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
#122 Middle of the night blog
It’s 3:00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I’ve been up for the last hour, lying in bed trying to get back to sleep. This happens to me occasionally and usually its anxiety related. I have plenty to be anxious about, my son starts first grade later today and I want to make sure we’re all up in time for pictures and to be able to walk him into school. In fact my alarm is going to go off in about 2 and a half hours so I can get myself ready before I get the kids up. School starts really early here. The thought that actually propelled me out of bed was checking the battery on the camera; I’d be really upset if I couldn’t get pictures.
Although I know this is why I’m not sleeping, I’ve spent most of the last hour thinking about Eric. After all going over the lack of parking at the school and how slow my kids are isn’t going to change anything. I’ve been remembering how thrilled Eric was to become an uncle. When my oldest son was born he raced to Oklahoma City to meet him. He must have slept on the couch because my parents had the guest room. He took the greatest photos—newborn slumped over a mug of beer, newborn with golf club and grandpa’s money clip and wedding ring, newborn in grandma’s luggage as she packed to go home.
My grandmother broke her hip the night before my oldest was born and wasn’t able to come to us. My husband and parents and Eric and I took him to see her in Florida and Eric wanted to be the first to take him to the beach. Over protective first time mother that I was I wouldn’t let the child touch the sand. At my grandmother’s apartment where Eric must have again been sleeping on the couch (and was probably way more comfortable than we were on the torture device known as the pull out couch) he lay face down on a blanket with my son trying to teach him to crawl. My son was three weeks old.
When my second son was born Eric was living in New Zealand and couldn’t rush right over. They met about six weeks later at Thanksgiving. Again Eric was entranced with his new nephew. Lots of great new photos followed—newborn in pot on the stove, newborn in china hutch, newborn in the back of a Tonka dump truck.
First grade is not as big a milestone as kindergarten, but still I’m sad that Eric isn’t here to see it. He would have called last night to wish my son luck and again after school to see how it went. He would have demanded pictures. He would have been so involved.
We miss you Uncle Eric.
Although I know this is why I’m not sleeping, I’ve spent most of the last hour thinking about Eric. After all going over the lack of parking at the school and how slow my kids are isn’t going to change anything. I’ve been remembering how thrilled Eric was to become an uncle. When my oldest son was born he raced to Oklahoma City to meet him. He must have slept on the couch because my parents had the guest room. He took the greatest photos—newborn slumped over a mug of beer, newborn with golf club and grandpa’s money clip and wedding ring, newborn in grandma’s luggage as she packed to go home.
My grandmother broke her hip the night before my oldest was born and wasn’t able to come to us. My husband and parents and Eric and I took him to see her in Florida and Eric wanted to be the first to take him to the beach. Over protective first time mother that I was I wouldn’t let the child touch the sand. At my grandmother’s apartment where Eric must have again been sleeping on the couch (and was probably way more comfortable than we were on the torture device known as the pull out couch) he lay face down on a blanket with my son trying to teach him to crawl. My son was three weeks old.
When my second son was born Eric was living in New Zealand and couldn’t rush right over. They met about six weeks later at Thanksgiving. Again Eric was entranced with his new nephew. Lots of great new photos followed—newborn in pot on the stove, newborn in china hutch, newborn in the back of a Tonka dump truck.
First grade is not as big a milestone as kindergarten, but still I’m sad that Eric isn’t here to see it. He would have called last night to wish my son luck and again after school to see how it went. He would have demanded pictures. He would have been so involved.
We miss you Uncle Eric.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
#121 Inspiration
A few days ago my blog was basically a plea for interaction from you. It was a little bit selfish, I wanted some feedback, but I was also curious about who might be reading that I haven’t heard from. Many of you who read occasionally stop by on facebook or email or even, gasp, over the phone or in person, but some of you I don’t know so this isn’t possible. Thank you to those of you who commented on that blog.
I got a comment from a woman named Rachel that reaffirmed why I am doing this. This blog started as a way to stop avoiding my grief, to stop burying it underneath all of my essential daily tasks. It is still that. It has also become a way to reach out to others and to hopefully help them in their grief. Thanks Rachel for letting me know that it’s working, and I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure your hospice patients are grateful to you for your understanding and compassion.
The other night I was talking with my husband as I was getting ready to go to bed. We weren’t really talking about Eric but he came up tangentially and all of a sudden I was crying. I miss him so much. I haven’t cried about him in a really long time…have I mentioned that I really don’t like to cry? It kind of felt good though. I kept telling my husband, I’m ok, I just really miss him. And he stayed with me and held my hand and rubbed my back and made it really ok. Even in grief I’m a caretaker, I don’t want my husband to be upset just because I’m upset. But, luckily, he can see through that most of the time and give me what I need but for some reason have trouble requesting.
Grief is a process. A long drawn out one. As it should be. A life should not be taken lightly, no matter how long or short it was. Another friend of mine was grieving this past weekend for a baby lost 10 years ago. I don’t think it gets easier, but you do get used to it, if that makes sense.
I struggle against the getting used to it; I don’t want to accept my new normal. But I know I have to, and I guess someday I will, whether I like it or not.
I got a comment from a woman named Rachel that reaffirmed why I am doing this. This blog started as a way to stop avoiding my grief, to stop burying it underneath all of my essential daily tasks. It is still that. It has also become a way to reach out to others and to hopefully help them in their grief. Thanks Rachel for letting me know that it’s working, and I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure your hospice patients are grateful to you for your understanding and compassion.
The other night I was talking with my husband as I was getting ready to go to bed. We weren’t really talking about Eric but he came up tangentially and all of a sudden I was crying. I miss him so much. I haven’t cried about him in a really long time…have I mentioned that I really don’t like to cry? It kind of felt good though. I kept telling my husband, I’m ok, I just really miss him. And he stayed with me and held my hand and rubbed my back and made it really ok. Even in grief I’m a caretaker, I don’t want my husband to be upset just because I’m upset. But, luckily, he can see through that most of the time and give me what I need but for some reason have trouble requesting.
Grief is a process. A long drawn out one. As it should be. A life should not be taken lightly, no matter how long or short it was. Another friend of mine was grieving this past weekend for a baby lost 10 years ago. I don’t think it gets easier, but you do get used to it, if that makes sense.
I struggle against the getting used to it; I don’t want to accept my new normal. But I know I have to, and I guess someday I will, whether I like it or not.
Monday, August 23, 2010
#120 Learning
My 6 year old starts first grade this week. I’m definitely doing better than when he started kindergarten, but first grade feels like another big transition; big kid school as opposed to an extension of pre-school. I’m not worried about how he’ll do, he’ll be fine, I just hope I will be.
I remember my first few years of elementary school when Eric wasn’t old enough to go yet. He was so jealous. I would walk to school with some of the neighborhood kids and Eric would chase after us. My mother used to have to open the door just wide enough for me to squeeze out and then quickly shut it and put herself between the door and Eric before he could escape.
This desire to go to school presaged a life long love of learning. Eric was kind of dorky, but he didn’t care. It never bothered him to do things by himself or be interested in things that others weren’t. He did well in school and was still enrolled in a second post-graduate degree course when he died.
He was also a true intellectual. I’ll never forget going to browse in a bookstore with him and while I stayed in the fiction section, Eric came away with a book on physics. For Chanukah one year he gave me a subscription to a magazine that each quarter contained scholarly essays, both classical and new on a different topic. I never even knew such a magazine existed, and in truth, it was much more suited to him than to me. I read medical journals to keep up in my field, but then I much prefer a good murder mystery to anything else scientific. Eric read about astronomy and religion and archeology to name just a few topics. He also read fiction, mostly science fiction.
I hope my children inherit his love of learning. It served him well and left him able to converse with pretty much anyone, anywhere on any topic. It made him versatile and better able to come up with unique solutions to problems. I guess we’ll start with first grade and go from there.
I remember my first few years of elementary school when Eric wasn’t old enough to go yet. He was so jealous. I would walk to school with some of the neighborhood kids and Eric would chase after us. My mother used to have to open the door just wide enough for me to squeeze out and then quickly shut it and put herself between the door and Eric before he could escape.
This desire to go to school presaged a life long love of learning. Eric was kind of dorky, but he didn’t care. It never bothered him to do things by himself or be interested in things that others weren’t. He did well in school and was still enrolled in a second post-graduate degree course when he died.
He was also a true intellectual. I’ll never forget going to browse in a bookstore with him and while I stayed in the fiction section, Eric came away with a book on physics. For Chanukah one year he gave me a subscription to a magazine that each quarter contained scholarly essays, both classical and new on a different topic. I never even knew such a magazine existed, and in truth, it was much more suited to him than to me. I read medical journals to keep up in my field, but then I much prefer a good murder mystery to anything else scientific. Eric read about astronomy and religion and archeology to name just a few topics. He also read fiction, mostly science fiction.
I hope my children inherit his love of learning. It served him well and left him able to converse with pretty much anyone, anywhere on any topic. It made him versatile and better able to come up with unique solutions to problems. I guess we’ll start with first grade and go from there.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
#119 Control
The strangest thing is happening. About a week ago I wrote what my husband called “easily your most disgusting blog ever”, about how I pick my cuticles. I wrote specifically about the wound on my right middle finger that began last December and that I continually exacerbate. I can’t seem to stop picking at it. And part of me doesn’t want to; I feel that it is somehow linked to Eric. It’s as if having that wound heal means I am over it all.
Well, despite continued, and in some cases deliberate picking, the wound on my finger is starting to heal. Try as I might I have not made it bleed since I wrote that blog. The heaped up scar tissue is slowly degrading and my best picking efforts seem only to accelerate this process. While it is nice that my finger is looking better, I am not happy about this at all. Not at all.
I am a self-described control freak. Once, without realizing what I was saying I told someone I knew I was a control freak but that I was trying to control that. See what I mean? I don’t like or understand how my finger is healing despite some pretty damn good efforts to keep it from doing so. Does this mean my psyche is healing as well? Because damn it, I don’t want to be healed.
I don’t really know what healed means in this context, but I’m afraid to go there. I don’t want to wallow, but I don’t want to move on either. I’m fine with the status quo.
And clearly I can’t control who lives or dies in my life…..if that were the case, well, there would be no need for this blog, but if I can’t even control a self-inflicted wound where does that leave me??
My version of a recurring nightmare is being in a car and needing to stop and having the brakes fail. It’s not a high-speed, quick failure, it’s slow and tortuous. The harder I push on the brakes the slower the car goes, but I just can’t ever get it to stop. A classic (I think) representation of being out of control. My need for control is so perverted that the more this stupid finger heals, the harder I pick at it.
It’s looking like my finger might heal despite me. (or to spite me, I’m not sure) Still, I’m not ready to stop grieving. Time may heal all wounds, but some things I have to at least pretend I still have control over.
Well, despite continued, and in some cases deliberate picking, the wound on my finger is starting to heal. Try as I might I have not made it bleed since I wrote that blog. The heaped up scar tissue is slowly degrading and my best picking efforts seem only to accelerate this process. While it is nice that my finger is looking better, I am not happy about this at all. Not at all.
I am a self-described control freak. Once, without realizing what I was saying I told someone I knew I was a control freak but that I was trying to control that. See what I mean? I don’t like or understand how my finger is healing despite some pretty damn good efforts to keep it from doing so. Does this mean my psyche is healing as well? Because damn it, I don’t want to be healed.
I don’t really know what healed means in this context, but I’m afraid to go there. I don’t want to wallow, but I don’t want to move on either. I’m fine with the status quo.
And clearly I can’t control who lives or dies in my life…..if that were the case, well, there would be no need for this blog, but if I can’t even control a self-inflicted wound where does that leave me??
My version of a recurring nightmare is being in a car and needing to stop and having the brakes fail. It’s not a high-speed, quick failure, it’s slow and tortuous. The harder I push on the brakes the slower the car goes, but I just can’t ever get it to stop. A classic (I think) representation of being out of control. My need for control is so perverted that the more this stupid finger heals, the harder I pick at it.
It’s looking like my finger might heal despite me. (or to spite me, I’m not sure) Still, I’m not ready to stop grieving. Time may heal all wounds, but some things I have to at least pretend I still have control over.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
#118 Speak up!
Where have you gone loyal commenters? I know you are still reading, I way too obsessively check my site meter. Why aren’t you sharing with me? Has the blog become old news?
Is it just that I express everything perfectly and it needs no comment? That must be it.
If I had to use one word to describe what Eric was not, it would be silent. He had the capacity for silence, in small doses, or maybe when he was asleep, but in general he let the world know his opinions. In the spirit of Eric I ask you to do the same. Let me know how you are feeling. Is this blog helping you? Are there other memories of Eric you would like to share? If you don’t know Eric, how has this blog come to you and why do you keep reading?
Part of the benefit of this blog to me is just getting all my thoughts and feelings out there. The other part is hearing from you. It helps me to know that you are there, that you are with me, that you are reading. It’s also more fun than checking my site meter all the time.
So please, share with me.
Is it just that I express everything perfectly and it needs no comment? That must be it.
If I had to use one word to describe what Eric was not, it would be silent. He had the capacity for silence, in small doses, or maybe when he was asleep, but in general he let the world know his opinions. In the spirit of Eric I ask you to do the same. Let me know how you are feeling. Is this blog helping you? Are there other memories of Eric you would like to share? If you don’t know Eric, how has this blog come to you and why do you keep reading?
Part of the benefit of this blog to me is just getting all my thoughts and feelings out there. The other part is hearing from you. It helps me to know that you are there, that you are with me, that you are reading. It’s also more fun than checking my site meter all the time.
So please, share with me.
Friday, August 20, 2010
#117 Seasonal anxiety
Fall is fast approaching. With it, come all the normal end of summer anxieties. My oldest is starting first grade in a new school (thank you school redistricting), so we have to figure all of that out. My youngest will be at the same pre-school so that, at least, will be easy. Both have new activities and we’ll have to figure out the new routines. Both of my boys have Fall birthdays so I have parties to plan and gifts to give.
Along with all of that, my family has a few more reasons to be anxious about the onset of Autumn. Three years ago, my mother-in-law was diagnosed, in the Fall, with a rare form of lymphoma. Luckily, it is treatable. Although she had a rocky course at first, she seems to be doing well, and we fervently hope she continues to do so.
Two years ago at this time, my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma. What are the odds? Hers is a different form from my mother-in-law and is curable and at least as of now, she is cured. It took a lot of chemo and radiation, but my mom and her curls are back to their usual form.
Last summer at about this time my grandmother fell and broke her hip. I thought that was going to be our fall for the Fall. It was not to be. My grandmother survived subsequent pneumonia and rehab, and is now doing quite well (after another bought of pneumonia written about earlier) in an assisted living facility.
Just when we thought we were safe, when the Fall was almost over and we already had one family emergency to our season, we got the call about Eric.
So if I seem a little more anxious and out of sorts than seems called for this time of year, I think you’ll understand why.
Along with all of that, my family has a few more reasons to be anxious about the onset of Autumn. Three years ago, my mother-in-law was diagnosed, in the Fall, with a rare form of lymphoma. Luckily, it is treatable. Although she had a rocky course at first, she seems to be doing well, and we fervently hope she continues to do so.
Two years ago at this time, my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma. What are the odds? Hers is a different form from my mother-in-law and is curable and at least as of now, she is cured. It took a lot of chemo and radiation, but my mom and her curls are back to their usual form.
Last summer at about this time my grandmother fell and broke her hip. I thought that was going to be our fall for the Fall. It was not to be. My grandmother survived subsequent pneumonia and rehab, and is now doing quite well (after another bought of pneumonia written about earlier) in an assisted living facility.
Just when we thought we were safe, when the Fall was almost over and we already had one family emergency to our season, we got the call about Eric.
So if I seem a little more anxious and out of sorts than seems called for this time of year, I think you’ll understand why.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
#116 Seersucker
I know I have written at least two blogs about Eric’s fashion. For an overall well put together guy, he made some odd choices. Yesterday a good friend of mine reminded me of another one that I have not shared yet.
I also write a lot about Thanksgiving, the last one in particular and all of them in general. I hope you will forgive me, but that’s when my whole family is together and last Thanksgiving was the last time. So I’m probably going to write about it a lot more, and specifically in this blog.
My family does not do a football Thanksgiving. In fact, until my husband joined our family, the television might not get turned on at all on Thanksgiving. We don’t eat in our sweats and then go to watch the game. We dress up and have cocktails and then sit around a beautiful dining room table set with china and crystal and eat a fabulous meal. We go around the table and each of shares why we are thankful that year. Then we hang out some more after the meal.
Eric’s fashion choice for last Thanksgiving was a bit…well…unusual. He showed up in a seersucker suit. Yes seersucker. According to Wikipedia, seersucker was popular in the British Colonial period. When it started being worn in the US, it was popular suit material for Southern gentlemen. It’s apparently good in the heat. Later it was the fabric of choice for the poor and nurses uniforms until undergraduates appropriated the look in a form of “reverse snobbery”.
At least in my mind the image of seersucker is linked with that of the Southern gentleman. As my friend here who reminded me of the suit put it, every Southern lawyer needs a seersucker suit, to which I asked, where is yours oh lawyer friend???
I don’t know why Eric made that choice, but he was always into things that are new and different….at least to him. And he did have a law degree… I’ll leave you with a picture and you can decide if it was fashion forward or fashion faux-pas.
I also write a lot about Thanksgiving, the last one in particular and all of them in general. I hope you will forgive me, but that’s when my whole family is together and last Thanksgiving was the last time. So I’m probably going to write about it a lot more, and specifically in this blog.
My family does not do a football Thanksgiving. In fact, until my husband joined our family, the television might not get turned on at all on Thanksgiving. We don’t eat in our sweats and then go to watch the game. We dress up and have cocktails and then sit around a beautiful dining room table set with china and crystal and eat a fabulous meal. We go around the table and each of shares why we are thankful that year. Then we hang out some more after the meal.
Eric’s fashion choice for last Thanksgiving was a bit…well…unusual. He showed up in a seersucker suit. Yes seersucker. According to Wikipedia, seersucker was popular in the British Colonial period. When it started being worn in the US, it was popular suit material for Southern gentlemen. It’s apparently good in the heat. Later it was the fabric of choice for the poor and nurses uniforms until undergraduates appropriated the look in a form of “reverse snobbery”.
At least in my mind the image of seersucker is linked with that of the Southern gentleman. As my friend here who reminded me of the suit put it, every Southern lawyer needs a seersucker suit, to which I asked, where is yours oh lawyer friend???
I don’t know why Eric made that choice, but he was always into things that are new and different….at least to him. And he did have a law degree… I’ll leave you with a picture and you can decide if it was fashion forward or fashion faux-pas.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
#115 Shared compassion
I was just given a bookmark by a co-worker who recently lost a granddaughter in a tragic and completely unexpected fashion. She and I have spoken, briefly, in the past about our shared grief and I had invited her to read the blog. I love that she reciprocated. This is what the bookmark says.
“When you remember me it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us…it means that even after I died, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart. For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost…”
From Whistling in the Dark by Frederick Beuchner
She was given the bookmark at a support group for those who have had children die. What a wonderful thing.
I have not sought out any support groups or therapy or spiritual healing methods. While those are right for others, I don’t feel they are right for me. I have created my own support group here. But, still, I love that this beautiful sentiment was shared with me.
Thank you.
“When you remember me it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us…it means that even after I died, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart. For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost…”
From Whistling in the Dark by Frederick Beuchner
She was given the bookmark at a support group for those who have had children die. What a wonderful thing.
I have not sought out any support groups or therapy or spiritual healing methods. While those are right for others, I don’t feel they are right for me. I have created my own support group here. But, still, I love that this beautiful sentiment was shared with me.
Thank you.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
#114 Progress
I think I turned a little corner this weekend. I was having a conversation with a friend that I hadn’t seen in a while and Eric came up. She didn’t know what had happened and I was able to fill her in. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel like running away. I was ok discussing it and telling her what happened. It helped that she’s a nurse and used to medical details and the possibility of dying young. It’s still horrible and unfair and some days I still can’t believe it, but for one moment on Saturday it was just a part of my life. And that was ok.
I need to be able to talk about Eric, everything about Eric, without seizing up inside. I can’t have it be this big secret or an unmentionable topic. I don’t work that way. I’m a talker. And maybe it’s getting a little easier to talk about.
It’s not that I can accept it any better. It’s not that I don’t still miss him ferociously or don’t still wonder why him, why us? It’s just that it got a little bit easier to discuss.
This has been a fabulous forum for pouring out my feelings and memories and difficulties. And I know it will continue to be, but that doesn’t mean it has to be my only one. I find it easier to write about than to talk about. Giving voice to my thoughts seems to give them a power they don’t have on the page. It’s ironic as those spoken words are gone when the sound waves fade away, and these written ones will live forever. I am careful in my writing, there are certain words that should probably appear more than they do, words like died. Words that are too final to go next to Eric’s name.
I think my conversation this weekend was progress, but I know I have lot more to go.
I need to be able to talk about Eric, everything about Eric, without seizing up inside. I can’t have it be this big secret or an unmentionable topic. I don’t work that way. I’m a talker. And maybe it’s getting a little easier to talk about.
It’s not that I can accept it any better. It’s not that I don’t still miss him ferociously or don’t still wonder why him, why us? It’s just that it got a little bit easier to discuss.
This has been a fabulous forum for pouring out my feelings and memories and difficulties. And I know it will continue to be, but that doesn’t mean it has to be my only one. I find it easier to write about than to talk about. Giving voice to my thoughts seems to give them a power they don’t have on the page. It’s ironic as those spoken words are gone when the sound waves fade away, and these written ones will live forever. I am careful in my writing, there are certain words that should probably appear more than they do, words like died. Words that are too final to go next to Eric’s name.
I think my conversation this weekend was progress, but I know I have lot more to go.
Monday, August 16, 2010
#113 Pool party
Three summers ago my family and I moved to Charlotte. It was a brutal August, not only was it hot, but North Carolina was in the middle of a drought. We loved our new front porch so much though that we still sat out there almost every night. We moved onto a lovely tree lined street in an older section of the city and waiting for us on arrival was an invitation to the street’s annual barbecue. This is true Southern barbecue featuring the entire pig on a huge grill at one of my neighbor’s houses. What a great way to meet your neighbors!
It was at that get together that we realized how lucky we had gotten with our street. There were lots of kids, and lots of friendly people. It was hard to keep names straight. We also got really lucky in that the one house on the street that has a pool also houses a little boy the same age as my oldest. Sweet! We were immediately invited over to swim and that was the beginning of a great friendship for all of us.
Eric was there when we went to swim at our neighbor’s house and I remember being simultaneously grateful that he was there to break the ice and jealous that he was getting all the attention. Eric can converse with anyone about any topic so it’s easy to let him to the socializing, but this was MY street, I needed to get to know my neighbors.
This past weekend that same family hosted another annual block event, the pool party. As always, we had a great time. It’s all the same people, the kids just a little bit older, everyone brings a dish and we swim and eat and socialize and it’s great. This year I felt Eric’s absence. He had never been to one of those events before, but I could remember him in the pool from that first summer. I could see him talking to our host and playing with the kids. It was like my own personal phantom, in a good way.
It was nice to think about him having fun and being his typical self and not lying in that hospital bed in Las Vegas. I need to do that more often.
It was at that get together that we realized how lucky we had gotten with our street. There were lots of kids, and lots of friendly people. It was hard to keep names straight. We also got really lucky in that the one house on the street that has a pool also houses a little boy the same age as my oldest. Sweet! We were immediately invited over to swim and that was the beginning of a great friendship for all of us.
Eric was there when we went to swim at our neighbor’s house and I remember being simultaneously grateful that he was there to break the ice and jealous that he was getting all the attention. Eric can converse with anyone about any topic so it’s easy to let him to the socializing, but this was MY street, I needed to get to know my neighbors.
This past weekend that same family hosted another annual block event, the pool party. As always, we had a great time. It’s all the same people, the kids just a little bit older, everyone brings a dish and we swim and eat and socialize and it’s great. This year I felt Eric’s absence. He had never been to one of those events before, but I could remember him in the pool from that first summer. I could see him talking to our host and playing with the kids. It was like my own personal phantom, in a good way.
It was nice to think about him having fun and being his typical self and not lying in that hospital bed in Las Vegas. I need to do that more often.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
#112 Movie magic
Last night I was in the kitchen with the kids as they were eating dinner. Over “Dad’s family famous strombolis” (so named by my oldest son and good enough to live up to the name) they were quoting lines from Toy Story 2. The Toy Story movies are favorites in my household and we hear the iconic lines, such as Buzz’s “To infinity and beyond!” many times a day. Last night my 6 year old taught my 3 year old a scene from Toy Story 2 and they took turns playing each character for pretty much the whole dinner. It was not a long scene and frankly it got a little boring and repetitive, but was still pretty amusing.
Here is what I heard:
6 yo “If the boot fits...”
3 yo “Say that again!”
6 yo “If the boot fits...” (with enough diction to cause spitting this time)
3 yo “Ok cowboy, YAHHHH!”
6 yo “Don’t think just because you’re a girl I’m going to take it easy on you!”
Then repeat with them switching parts. I have to say they are pretty good actors, the feeling was definitely there.
It reminded me of how Eric used to watch movies. At one point I think he knew every line to Star Wars and the first Indiana Jones movie. He would watch them over and over again. He was always more into movies than I was, for me one viewing was enough, for him there was never enough. My kids, like Eric, watch their favorite movies over and over again.
I like the novelty of a new story. I want to watch it unfold and see what’s going to happen and of course I’m disappointed if I can figure it out before the end of the movie. Then I’m done and ready to move on to the next one. Eric and my boys view movies differently; they like to relive their favorite parts over and over, apparently even when the movie is not playing.
Although I may get sick of hearing the same 2 second scene over and over and over, I’m glad my boys get so much out of movies. And I’m glad it reminded me of Eric.
Here is what I heard:
6 yo “If the boot fits...”
3 yo “Say that again!”
6 yo “If the boot fits...” (with enough diction to cause spitting this time)
3 yo “Ok cowboy, YAHHHH!”
6 yo “Don’t think just because you’re a girl I’m going to take it easy on you!”
Then repeat with them switching parts. I have to say they are pretty good actors, the feeling was definitely there.
It reminded me of how Eric used to watch movies. At one point I think he knew every line to Star Wars and the first Indiana Jones movie. He would watch them over and over again. He was always more into movies than I was, for me one viewing was enough, for him there was never enough. My kids, like Eric, watch their favorite movies over and over again.
I like the novelty of a new story. I want to watch it unfold and see what’s going to happen and of course I’m disappointed if I can figure it out before the end of the movie. Then I’m done and ready to move on to the next one. Eric and my boys view movies differently; they like to relive their favorite parts over and over, apparently even when the movie is not playing.
Although I may get sick of hearing the same 2 second scene over and over and over, I’m glad my boys get so much out of movies. And I’m glad it reminded me of Eric.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
#111 Memories lost
After I submitted yesterday’s blog post to my editor (otherwise known as my husband) he reminded me of something else from that house hunting trip. When my husband and I decided on a house to buy it almost didn’t happen because neither one of us had thought to bring a checkbook. It was our first house; we didn’t know we’d need one. Luckily Eric had his checkbook and enough in his checking account to cover our down payment until we could get home and pay him back. What a guy! I had forgotten all about that.
What else have I forgotten about? What other great (or not so great) memories have been lost to my subconscious?
I am constantly in awe of my children’s memories. They never seem to forget anything. Whether it’s a vague promise of someday, maybe, going out for ice cream or all the words to the Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing commercial, they are little sponges. I think it’s because they don’t have as much to remember….yet. Their lives are (so far) shorter, their brains are fresher, whatever it is, it’s amazing.
It doesn’t help my guilt that I am already forgetting things about Eric though. Sometimes it seems worse when I sit down to write this blog. It seems like all the memories are running away or hiding. I need them to be here, to be present, but they are hard to reach. Then out of the blue one will come back and I’ll hurry up and write about it.
I guess this is one of the reasons community is such a wonderful thing. My husband was able to restore a memory I had forgotten. My parents and other people who knew Eric do the same. Hopefully I do it for them as well. To re-appropriate Hillary Clinton’s famous book, “It takes a Village”.
Right now my challenge is to make sure I don’t forget and to keep the memories alive for my kids. I still find it hard to talk about Eric to the kids, but I have to. If I don’t he will fade away even in their incredible minds and that would be unbearable.
What else have I forgotten about? What other great (or not so great) memories have been lost to my subconscious?
I am constantly in awe of my children’s memories. They never seem to forget anything. Whether it’s a vague promise of someday, maybe, going out for ice cream or all the words to the Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing commercial, they are little sponges. I think it’s because they don’t have as much to remember….yet. Their lives are (so far) shorter, their brains are fresher, whatever it is, it’s amazing.
It doesn’t help my guilt that I am already forgetting things about Eric though. Sometimes it seems worse when I sit down to write this blog. It seems like all the memories are running away or hiding. I need them to be here, to be present, but they are hard to reach. Then out of the blue one will come back and I’ll hurry up and write about it.
I guess this is one of the reasons community is such a wonderful thing. My husband was able to restore a memory I had forgotten. My parents and other people who knew Eric do the same. Hopefully I do it for them as well. To re-appropriate Hillary Clinton’s famous book, “It takes a Village”.
Right now my challenge is to make sure I don’t forget and to keep the memories alive for my kids. I still find it hard to talk about Eric to the kids, but I have to. If I don’t he will fade away even in their incredible minds and that would be unbearable.
Friday, August 13, 2010
#110 People vs Objects
When I was an intern I worked at a hospital in the Philadelphia suburbs. I knew I was going to be doing my ophthalmology training in Oklahoma City so that February I packed up my stuff and went to OKC for a month to get an early start on my training and also to house hunt. For part of that time my mom came to help me house hunt and Eric tagged along. I can’t remember how Eric was able to come. He may have been in between a job and law school at that point.
One afternoon I was supposed to meet the realtor, my mom and Eric after I finished work. I had been observing surgery at the VA hospital. I left work and got in my car, got out of the car where we were supposed to meet and remembered I had tied my watch, wedding ring and engagement ring to my scrubs. I went to take them off the scrubs and put them back on, but they weren’t there. I panicked. Eric came back to the medical center with me and together we searched through the OR trash, the OR laundry and anywhere else we could think my jewelry might possibly be. In addition to the rings obviously being special to me, the watch was a medical school graduation gift from Eric and my parents.
I was a wreck. We walked all over that campus with tears running down my face. I was afraid to tell my husband. Eric kept his arm around me and just kept saying “It’s not a person, it’s just things.” He was so right.
Eventually we ended up at the campus police where someone had turned in my wedding ring and my watch. The cynical part of me thinks they kept my engagement ring as payment for being a Good Samaritan. Maybe they just didn’t find it though. I was pretty happy to get 2/3 of my loss back.
Eric’s words have stuck with me. My husband saw it the same way. I’m so lucky to have such wonderful people in my life.
Now my loss is a person. An amazing person. A constant in my life who I never thought I’d be without. No wonder I’m having such a hard time with this.
One afternoon I was supposed to meet the realtor, my mom and Eric after I finished work. I had been observing surgery at the VA hospital. I left work and got in my car, got out of the car where we were supposed to meet and remembered I had tied my watch, wedding ring and engagement ring to my scrubs. I went to take them off the scrubs and put them back on, but they weren’t there. I panicked. Eric came back to the medical center with me and together we searched through the OR trash, the OR laundry and anywhere else we could think my jewelry might possibly be. In addition to the rings obviously being special to me, the watch was a medical school graduation gift from Eric and my parents.
I was a wreck. We walked all over that campus with tears running down my face. I was afraid to tell my husband. Eric kept his arm around me and just kept saying “It’s not a person, it’s just things.” He was so right.
Eventually we ended up at the campus police where someone had turned in my wedding ring and my watch. The cynical part of me thinks they kept my engagement ring as payment for being a Good Samaritan. Maybe they just didn’t find it though. I was pretty happy to get 2/3 of my loss back.
Eric’s words have stuck with me. My husband saw it the same way. I’m so lucky to have such wonderful people in my life.
Now my loss is a person. An amazing person. A constant in my life who I never thought I’d be without. No wonder I’m having such a hard time with this.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
#109 Picking
I have a confession to make. I’m a picker. And not just because that’s my mother’s maiden name. No, I pick my cuticles, those areas around your finger nails that most people can just leave alone. Mine are too tempting.
This is something I have done since at least high school. I have tried multiple times to stop both at my mother’s instigation and my own. In high school my mom bought me rubber thimbles to wear to keep me from picking. It didn’t help, I just picked at those—band aids get the same result.
When I started medical school I tried really hard to stop, who wants a doctor with ugly, bloody fingers?? I have stopped for short periods of time, but I always start again. I think its stress related. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it.
Right now my fingers look pretty good except for my right middle finger. After Eric, I attacked this finger with a vengeance. It spent months horribly swollen and usually bloody and would wake me at night with its throbbing. I didn’t care. It is better than that now, but not better. Every time it starts to heal, I go at it again. Part of this is because it’s raw, and easy to pick and it’s just what I do. Part of this is because I don’t want it to heal. It’s like I need an outwardly visible representation of the pain inside. My own stigmata. It’s not like I want people to notice, in fact it’s ugly and embarrassing, but I don’t want it to heal either. If it heals does that mean I’m over him? Silly, I know, but still….that’s how I feel.
So I guess I’ll continue the cycle of letting it heal long a bit and then picking it open again as long as I need to. And who knows how long that will be?
This is something I have done since at least high school. I have tried multiple times to stop both at my mother’s instigation and my own. In high school my mom bought me rubber thimbles to wear to keep me from picking. It didn’t help, I just picked at those—band aids get the same result.
When I started medical school I tried really hard to stop, who wants a doctor with ugly, bloody fingers?? I have stopped for short periods of time, but I always start again. I think its stress related. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it.
Right now my fingers look pretty good except for my right middle finger. After Eric, I attacked this finger with a vengeance. It spent months horribly swollen and usually bloody and would wake me at night with its throbbing. I didn’t care. It is better than that now, but not better. Every time it starts to heal, I go at it again. Part of this is because it’s raw, and easy to pick and it’s just what I do. Part of this is because I don’t want it to heal. It’s like I need an outwardly visible representation of the pain inside. My own stigmata. It’s not like I want people to notice, in fact it’s ugly and embarrassing, but I don’t want it to heal either. If it heals does that mean I’m over him? Silly, I know, but still….that’s how I feel.
So I guess I’ll continue the cycle of letting it heal long a bit and then picking it open again as long as I need to. And who knows how long that will be?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
#108 Hindsight
What would you do if you knew you had one last holiday, or dinner or night with a loved one?
None of knew that last Thanksgiving would be the last time we would all be together. But still, I wouldn’t change a thing. We gathered at my parent’s house as usual. For the holiday we had the extended family including my grandmother, uncle and aunt, but for the weekend it was just my parents, Eric and his girlfriend, and me, my husband and kids. And it was all great.
Because that is usually our annual gathering, we exchange Chanukah gifts and the gift giving was spectacular that year. I have already written about that in other blogs (#27) (#2), but that led to wonderful light saber fights in the back yard between Eric and my kids.
Eric also gave my kids Star Wars footie pajamas. Apparently he wanted to give us all footie pajamas, but Katie, wisely, held him back. Thank you, Katie. One of the best moments, however, was when Eric left the table after dinner one night and came back in his own footie pajamas. I laughed so hard I almost fell off of my chair. It was so Eric and so unexpected and so wonderful.
If we had known it was the last time we would all be together it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. We would have been morose, counting down the hours, trying to make it worthwhile and memorable and probably failing.
I would give anything to have more time with Eric, but I’m so glad that the time I did have with him was as amazing as it was.
None of knew that last Thanksgiving would be the last time we would all be together. But still, I wouldn’t change a thing. We gathered at my parent’s house as usual. For the holiday we had the extended family including my grandmother, uncle and aunt, but for the weekend it was just my parents, Eric and his girlfriend, and me, my husband and kids. And it was all great.
Because that is usually our annual gathering, we exchange Chanukah gifts and the gift giving was spectacular that year. I have already written about that in other blogs (#27) (#2), but that led to wonderful light saber fights in the back yard between Eric and my kids.
Eric also gave my kids Star Wars footie pajamas. Apparently he wanted to give us all footie pajamas, but Katie, wisely, held him back. Thank you, Katie. One of the best moments, however, was when Eric left the table after dinner one night and came back in his own footie pajamas. I laughed so hard I almost fell off of my chair. It was so Eric and so unexpected and so wonderful.
If we had known it was the last time we would all be together it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun. We would have been morose, counting down the hours, trying to make it worthwhile and memorable and probably failing.
I would give anything to have more time with Eric, but I’m so glad that the time I did have with him was as amazing as it was.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
#107 Sticks and Stones
I have broken three bones in my life. Two of those are at least partially Eric’s fault. Try as I might I can’t quite blame him for breaking my foot when I was on spring break in Mexico. It’s hard to break someone’s bone when you’re not even in the same country.
The first time Eric affected my bones I was in 5th grade. Eric and I had a game where he would sit on my shoulders and we would put on my Dad’s raincoat and pretend we were one person. In order to get on my shoulders he would stand on the radiator in the butler’s pantry. Opposite this radiator was a large, old ceramic sink. I had a friend over that afternoon and Eric and I decided to show her our trick. He got on the radiator and the cover started to tip over. I grabbed him off so he wouldn’t hit his head on the sink and the very heavy radiator cover fell on my foot. Ouch. Eric and my friend and I had been misbehaving all afternoon so my mom didn’t take us very seriously when we said I was hurt and sent us to play. It wasn’t until after my friend left and my mom found me sitting on the floor of my room because I couldn’t get up onto the bed that she realized I was really injured. Please note, I am not claiming neglect at all, being a mother now myself, I TOTALLY get it.
Of course my father was on a business trip and due back that night. Things are never easy. My mother took me to the emergency room where they X-rayed my foot and declared that I had broken my pinky toe but pretty much smashed everything else in my foot. I was put in a walking cast. All because I saved Eric’s life.
The next bone Eric broke was my left pinky finger. We had a huge landing on the second floor of our house and Eric and I were playing there one night. I think I was in 8th or 9th grade. We were rough-housing and from what I remember he would kick towards me and I would catch his foot and it would go from there. Well I guess one of those times he kicked too hard and that was the end of my career as a hand model. One screw, two surgeries, and physical therapy later I have a nice scar and still can’t straighten that finger. It works really well for drinking tea though.
Eric did try to break my head once, but luckily didn’t succeed. He had a hard time handling frustration as a little kid. He was a biter, but you always knew that was coming by his distinctive breathing and facial grimacing. It gave you time to prepare or get away. One fall we were outside, and I still have no idea why—at least in my memory I didn’t provoke him—and he filled a snow shovel with leaves and smashed it down on top of my head. Again, ouch. Luckily no fractures, although possibly some lasting brain damage…
I honestly can’t recall ever injuring Eric. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl. Maybe it’s because I’ve blocked it out of my memory. I don’t recall him ever having a broken bone. He was really healthy….until he wasn’t.
The first time Eric affected my bones I was in 5th grade. Eric and I had a game where he would sit on my shoulders and we would put on my Dad’s raincoat and pretend we were one person. In order to get on my shoulders he would stand on the radiator in the butler’s pantry. Opposite this radiator was a large, old ceramic sink. I had a friend over that afternoon and Eric and I decided to show her our trick. He got on the radiator and the cover started to tip over. I grabbed him off so he wouldn’t hit his head on the sink and the very heavy radiator cover fell on my foot. Ouch. Eric and my friend and I had been misbehaving all afternoon so my mom didn’t take us very seriously when we said I was hurt and sent us to play. It wasn’t until after my friend left and my mom found me sitting on the floor of my room because I couldn’t get up onto the bed that she realized I was really injured. Please note, I am not claiming neglect at all, being a mother now myself, I TOTALLY get it.
Of course my father was on a business trip and due back that night. Things are never easy. My mother took me to the emergency room where they X-rayed my foot and declared that I had broken my pinky toe but pretty much smashed everything else in my foot. I was put in a walking cast. All because I saved Eric’s life.
The next bone Eric broke was my left pinky finger. We had a huge landing on the second floor of our house and Eric and I were playing there one night. I think I was in 8th or 9th grade. We were rough-housing and from what I remember he would kick towards me and I would catch his foot and it would go from there. Well I guess one of those times he kicked too hard and that was the end of my career as a hand model. One screw, two surgeries, and physical therapy later I have a nice scar and still can’t straighten that finger. It works really well for drinking tea though.
Eric did try to break my head once, but luckily didn’t succeed. He had a hard time handling frustration as a little kid. He was a biter, but you always knew that was coming by his distinctive breathing and facial grimacing. It gave you time to prepare or get away. One fall we were outside, and I still have no idea why—at least in my memory I didn’t provoke him—and he filled a snow shovel with leaves and smashed it down on top of my head. Again, ouch. Luckily no fractures, although possibly some lasting brain damage…
I honestly can’t recall ever injuring Eric. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl. Maybe it’s because I’ve blocked it out of my memory. I don’t recall him ever having a broken bone. He was really healthy….until he wasn’t.
Monday, August 9, 2010
#106 What do you want to be when you grow up?
What do you want to be when you grow up? Sometimes I think this is the most difficult question life throws at us. There are so many things to be or do out there, and no way to experience them all, or even be aware of them all before you are forced to make a choice. These choices are not irrevocable, but they can feel that way. We are conditioned to think that the perfect choice will fulfill us in ways we can only imagine. We will leap out of bed to perform its tasks and go to bed at night to dream of doing more tomorrow. If only we choose correctly. That’s a lot of pressure. And that’s not to mention the financial ramifications of your choice.
When Eric was little he loved playing with legos and with cardboard bricks. He literally built houses of these bricks in our third floor playroom; houses we could play in. For a long time we thought he might become an architect.
He was always argumentative. He used to take a position opposite to the rest of the family just to be able to argue. He was our contrarian, so we thought the law might be a good path for him.
At a very precocious age, Eric was a caller on a financial radio show. I don’t remember exactly how old he was, but I don’t think he had hit double digits yet, and there he was talking finance with the show’s hosts. Could Wall Street have been the perfect fit for him?
Eric spent many, many years trying to find his perfect fit. We were concerned that he was looking for too much in a job; that no career, no matter how perfect, could ever be the be all and end all of anyone’s life. He needed friends, family, hobbies, to round out that life. In the end, I think he found what he was looking for. He found an industry that fascinated him, a woman he adored and a lifestyle full of activities and friends.
I am still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I took a much more traditional path than Eric. I left my first love of acting and singing to pursue a more stable, financially secure path…or so I thought. I needed a path where my efforts would be rewarded reliably, not where my hair color or body type could decide my employment. I don’t handle rejection well; the theatre became a depressing place for me. Although I still love it and am jealous of my friends who did pursue it.
I love being a wife and a mother. Although at times my kids can drive me nuts, life would not be the same without them and they are a constant source of joy and amazement.
I am not fulfilled at work. But I wonder, if like Eric, I expect too much. He found something that he felt would eventually suffice, but even he wasn’t there yet. He had hope though, and I am rapidly losing that. Still, I go to work and do what I do. After all, the mortgage isn’t going to pay itself, and the kids need to eat. Maybe someday I’ll find the freedom to try something else. Until then, I’ll work when I have to and enjoy my life when I’m not working.
When Eric was little he loved playing with legos and with cardboard bricks. He literally built houses of these bricks in our third floor playroom; houses we could play in. For a long time we thought he might become an architect.
He was always argumentative. He used to take a position opposite to the rest of the family just to be able to argue. He was our contrarian, so we thought the law might be a good path for him.
At a very precocious age, Eric was a caller on a financial radio show. I don’t remember exactly how old he was, but I don’t think he had hit double digits yet, and there he was talking finance with the show’s hosts. Could Wall Street have been the perfect fit for him?
Eric spent many, many years trying to find his perfect fit. We were concerned that he was looking for too much in a job; that no career, no matter how perfect, could ever be the be all and end all of anyone’s life. He needed friends, family, hobbies, to round out that life. In the end, I think he found what he was looking for. He found an industry that fascinated him, a woman he adored and a lifestyle full of activities and friends.
I am still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I took a much more traditional path than Eric. I left my first love of acting and singing to pursue a more stable, financially secure path…or so I thought. I needed a path where my efforts would be rewarded reliably, not where my hair color or body type could decide my employment. I don’t handle rejection well; the theatre became a depressing place for me. Although I still love it and am jealous of my friends who did pursue it.
I love being a wife and a mother. Although at times my kids can drive me nuts, life would not be the same without them and they are a constant source of joy and amazement.
I am not fulfilled at work. But I wonder, if like Eric, I expect too much. He found something that he felt would eventually suffice, but even he wasn’t there yet. He had hope though, and I am rapidly losing that. Still, I go to work and do what I do. After all, the mortgage isn’t going to pay itself, and the kids need to eat. Maybe someday I’ll find the freedom to try something else. Until then, I’ll work when I have to and enjoy my life when I’m not working.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
#105 Only Eric
Only Eric could get fired for doing his job too well.
When Eric first moved to Las Vegas none of us were sure what he was going to do there. He had just left a great job in New Zealand that he just didn’t like, and 6 months before that he had graduated from law school and decided not to practice law. He came home and bummed around for a while and then headed to Las Vegas with the vague goal of “working in the gaming industry”. Once he got there he started learning how to be a dealer and found that he really enjoyed it. I think his idea was to get a job in a casino and work his way up. After becoming certified as dealer in blackjack and some other games he did find a job in one of the less splashy “starter” casinos off the strip. He loved this job. He used to tell me way more than I ever wanted to know about dealing and how much fun he was having and how much he was learning. Until the day he caught a cheater.
Eric was dealing blackjack and I don’t know enough about it to give to specifics, but he was pretty sure one of the guys at his table was cheating. He watched for a while to make sure he was correct than called his pit boss and followed procedure to report it. The next thing he knew he was called in to his boss’s office and fired for not finding the cheater fast enough. ?????? Apparently there were some concerns that Eric might have been in cahoots with the cheater and then gotten cold feet and turned him in. If you knew Eric, you’d know this was impossible. I guess they felt badly for him too because while they did fire him, they never put him on the “no hire” list, so technically he could have worked as a dealer again.
Eric was devastated. As well as angry and frustrated and insulted. And none of us blamed him.
Despite this, Eric still loved the gaming industry and found another job that let him be a part of it. Eric knew how to follow his dreams and not let temporary setbacks keep him down. We all should have that ability.
When Eric first moved to Las Vegas none of us were sure what he was going to do there. He had just left a great job in New Zealand that he just didn’t like, and 6 months before that he had graduated from law school and decided not to practice law. He came home and bummed around for a while and then headed to Las Vegas with the vague goal of “working in the gaming industry”. Once he got there he started learning how to be a dealer and found that he really enjoyed it. I think his idea was to get a job in a casino and work his way up. After becoming certified as dealer in blackjack and some other games he did find a job in one of the less splashy “starter” casinos off the strip. He loved this job. He used to tell me way more than I ever wanted to know about dealing and how much fun he was having and how much he was learning. Until the day he caught a cheater.
Eric was dealing blackjack and I don’t know enough about it to give to specifics, but he was pretty sure one of the guys at his table was cheating. He watched for a while to make sure he was correct than called his pit boss and followed procedure to report it. The next thing he knew he was called in to his boss’s office and fired for not finding the cheater fast enough. ?????? Apparently there were some concerns that Eric might have been in cahoots with the cheater and then gotten cold feet and turned him in. If you knew Eric, you’d know this was impossible. I guess they felt badly for him too because while they did fire him, they never put him on the “no hire” list, so technically he could have worked as a dealer again.
Eric was devastated. As well as angry and frustrated and insulted. And none of us blamed him.
Despite this, Eric still loved the gaming industry and found another job that let him be a part of it. Eric knew how to follow his dreams and not let temporary setbacks keep him down. We all should have that ability.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
#104 Ethiopian food
Last night we went out for Ethiopian food. This was not my idea. I am what is known as a picky eater and new exotic foods are not usually on my menu. I was bullied into trying Ethiopian by my mother. My parents both have a huge appreciation for good food, they plan their trips around 5 star restaurants, and I’m sure it’s a disappointment to them that I don’t share that love. For weeks now my mom has been talking about wanting to go to the Ethiopian restaurant so I finally gave in and we went last night. And I liked it.
Yes, you read that correctly. It was actually pretty good. The bread that you use as a scoop wasn’t that good but the flavors in the meat were wonderful. I enjoyed myself. Eric would have been really surprised. He would have been surprised not only that I went and liked the food, but that I actually tried the food when we were there. I’m not known for being adventurous.
I don’t like having new experiences without being able to share them with Eric. It feels traitorous. Every new friend, new experience, new television show even, shows how my life is continuing while his is not. He would have enjoyed the build up to getting me to go to the restaurant and the next day decompression phone call. Actually, he probably would have been a little disappointed that things went so smoothly and there wasn’t a funny story to go with it.
I still talk to him in my mind and wonder what he would think of things, but it’s not the same. And it will never be the same. And I hate that.
Yes, you read that correctly. It was actually pretty good. The bread that you use as a scoop wasn’t that good but the flavors in the meat were wonderful. I enjoyed myself. Eric would have been really surprised. He would have been surprised not only that I went and liked the food, but that I actually tried the food when we were there. I’m not known for being adventurous.
I don’t like having new experiences without being able to share them with Eric. It feels traitorous. Every new friend, new experience, new television show even, shows how my life is continuing while his is not. He would have enjoyed the build up to getting me to go to the restaurant and the next day decompression phone call. Actually, he probably would have been a little disappointed that things went so smoothly and there wasn’t a funny story to go with it.
I still talk to him in my mind and wonder what he would think of things, but it’s not the same. And it will never be the same. And I hate that.
Friday, August 6, 2010
#103 Frustration
Eric had more computer problems than anyone I’ve ever known. Despite being an early adopter and knowing more about computers than most people I know, his was always the one that crashed and died. I think he had about 4 or 5 hard drives crash on him. I’m not exaggerating.
This morning I got an email that my outlook email was too full and I would have to delete some messages in order to keep getting messages. As I have mentioned in a previous post, I keep my inbox relatively clean so I was kind of surprised, until I realized I had over 5,000 deleted emails that the program had saved. When I delete emails, I assume they are deleted, but I guess that is wrong. They are just moved to the “deleted” file and I have to delete them from there if I really want them gone. Does this seem redundant to anyone else?? I tried to select all and delete, but apparently outlook can only delete up to 4,000 messages. So I resigned myself to deleting about 1,500 by hand until I reached that 4,000 threshold. I found the control button and selected each email on the page and then deleted them together. Until this somehow started copying the emails. So instead of one email, I had two or four of the same one in the deleted file. This was not making progress. So I painstakingly deleted about 1,500 emails, one by one, ignoring the growing headache and incredulity that there was not a better way. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got to 4,000 and once again tried to select all and delete. Only it didn’t work. I deleted a few more so I was officially under the magic number and tried it again. It didn’t work again. Can you believe I didn’t scream? I did curse, but no one else was in the room.
All of this got me thinking about Eric and his computer issues. Once when he was a law student at UVA he drove to the DC area to get his computer fixed. I seem to remember it didn’t work the first time so he had to do it twice. Why is everything with computers so hard?
At times like this I miss Eric’s humor. He would have me laughing and though I would still be frustrated, somehow it wouldn’t be so bad. And maybe, just maybe, he would know a better way.
This morning I got an email that my outlook email was too full and I would have to delete some messages in order to keep getting messages. As I have mentioned in a previous post, I keep my inbox relatively clean so I was kind of surprised, until I realized I had over 5,000 deleted emails that the program had saved. When I delete emails, I assume they are deleted, but I guess that is wrong. They are just moved to the “deleted” file and I have to delete them from there if I really want them gone. Does this seem redundant to anyone else?? I tried to select all and delete, but apparently outlook can only delete up to 4,000 messages. So I resigned myself to deleting about 1,500 by hand until I reached that 4,000 threshold. I found the control button and selected each email on the page and then deleted them together. Until this somehow started copying the emails. So instead of one email, I had two or four of the same one in the deleted file. This was not making progress. So I painstakingly deleted about 1,500 emails, one by one, ignoring the growing headache and incredulity that there was not a better way. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got to 4,000 and once again tried to select all and delete. Only it didn’t work. I deleted a few more so I was officially under the magic number and tried it again. It didn’t work again. Can you believe I didn’t scream? I did curse, but no one else was in the room.
All of this got me thinking about Eric and his computer issues. Once when he was a law student at UVA he drove to the DC area to get his computer fixed. I seem to remember it didn’t work the first time so he had to do it twice. Why is everything with computers so hard?
At times like this I miss Eric’s humor. He would have me laughing and though I would still be frustrated, somehow it wouldn’t be so bad. And maybe, just maybe, he would know a better way.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
#102 On writing
This blank white page can be very intimidating. Every day it’s here, plain white with a flashing black cursor daring me to defile it with type. Every day it’s a challenge to come up with something new, something informative, something entertaining, something about Eric. Sometimes I come prepared with an idea or a story and then it’s not nearly so daunting. Other times, like today, I don’t have a concrete idea, just an urge to write, to fulfill my commitment, to not let my readers down.
I know Eric knew what this felt like, only maybe not on a daily basis. Eric, in addition to everything else he did, was a writer; long before I was a writer. In fact, I can credit Eric with making me a writer since this is pretty much my first writing project since college. Eric had written a science fiction novel which he was trying to get published. I haven’t read it, but since we have his computer, I probably can anytime I want. I’m not sure I want to go there…what if it’s really bad? Then again what if it’s really good and I should continue the effort of trying to publish it? That’s a decision for another day.
Eric was also working on a book of poetry. This was dedicated to his girlfriend and was to be a compendium of poems he wrote while she was away on vacation and he was missing her. What girl would not want this? Even if the poetry was terrible? He was working with a photographer friend of his for illustrations and I have seen a mock-up of some of the pages. I’m not really a poetry person, so I’m not going to pass judgment on the writing, but as a romantic effort, it can’t be topped. (except maybe by the dress he designed for her…)
I just realized I’ve almost filled up today’s blank white page. I guess sometimes the key is just to write and see what comes out. Here’s hoping for more inspiration tomorrow.
I know Eric knew what this felt like, only maybe not on a daily basis. Eric, in addition to everything else he did, was a writer; long before I was a writer. In fact, I can credit Eric with making me a writer since this is pretty much my first writing project since college. Eric had written a science fiction novel which he was trying to get published. I haven’t read it, but since we have his computer, I probably can anytime I want. I’m not sure I want to go there…what if it’s really bad? Then again what if it’s really good and I should continue the effort of trying to publish it? That’s a decision for another day.
Eric was also working on a book of poetry. This was dedicated to his girlfriend and was to be a compendium of poems he wrote while she was away on vacation and he was missing her. What girl would not want this? Even if the poetry was terrible? He was working with a photographer friend of his for illustrations and I have seen a mock-up of some of the pages. I’m not really a poetry person, so I’m not going to pass judgment on the writing, but as a romantic effort, it can’t be topped. (except maybe by the dress he designed for her…)
I just realized I’ve almost filled up today’s blank white page. I guess sometimes the key is just to write and see what comes out. Here’s hoping for more inspiration tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
#101 What was that again??
I sat down yesterday to write a blog, realized that it was number 100 and got totally sidetracked. If only I could remember today, what yesterday’s idea was, then I would have something to write about today. Don’t you hate when that happens??
I know for sure that that used to happen to Eric too because he used to call me to ask me to tell him what he had forgotten. Like I would know! It was just another way he used to stay in touch. Not every phone call involved a long, intense conversation. In fact most of them were short interactions, just enough to keep ourselves involved in each other’s lives. Some of them were downright stupid, like when Eric would ask me to remember what he had forgotten or when he would ask me in what aisle he could find a product in a supermarket I’d never even seen. I miss them all.
Of course I miss our “real” conversations. We would talk about life, love, family, friends, work and anything else that came to mind. But I also miss the short-takes. Only Eric would call to tell me he was out of toilet paper or that he found a new way to drive to work.
He, like most of us, was a creature of habit and used to call me on Friday afternoons. I was always at work and sometimes could take his call and sometimes couldn’t, but that never stopped him. He also always called my house on the weekends during my kids nap times and then would be upset that he couldn’t talk to them. I even miss his repeated frustrations. Most of all I just miss him.
I know for sure that that used to happen to Eric too because he used to call me to ask me to tell him what he had forgotten. Like I would know! It was just another way he used to stay in touch. Not every phone call involved a long, intense conversation. In fact most of them were short interactions, just enough to keep ourselves involved in each other’s lives. Some of them were downright stupid, like when Eric would ask me to remember what he had forgotten or when he would ask me in what aisle he could find a product in a supermarket I’d never even seen. I miss them all.
Of course I miss our “real” conversations. We would talk about life, love, family, friends, work and anything else that came to mind. But I also miss the short-takes. Only Eric would call to tell me he was out of toilet paper or that he found a new way to drive to work.
He, like most of us, was a creature of habit and used to call me on Friday afternoons. I was always at work and sometimes could take his call and sometimes couldn’t, but that never stopped him. He also always called my house on the weekends during my kids nap times and then would be upset that he couldn’t talk to them. I even miss his repeated frustrations. Most of all I just miss him.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
#100 Milestones
Wow, triple digits. I made it to 100 blog posts about Eric, my grief, my life, and random stuff that I somehow weave together into (hopefully) coherent missives that I then send out to you. You, in turn, have been great about letting me know what you think, sharing your Eric stories, and helping me heal. This blog has become a place of community for me and I thank you.
Like reaching the number 100, there are several numerical milestones in a person’s life. Early on there is the excitement of reaching double digits and standing on the threshold of the teen years. Eight years later comes the ability to vote and fight for your country, with the sting of still not being able to drink legally.
Finally comes 21, usually anticlimactic, and thoroughly downhill from there. After that it’s the round numbers, 30, 40, 50 and so on that are so thoroughly depressing. I guess Eric will be spared most of that angst.
Like most things in his life, Eric had a different take on aging. Birthdays that most of us pass over with nary a thought are the ones that I remember. If you recall, Eric was a New Years Baby, the first baby born in our county in the year 1977. I think my parents got a free pizza for that accomplishment. Because of this, we were usually together on Eric’s birthday, even through college, since it was during vacation.
I specifically remember the year he turned 23. It was New Year’s Day 2000. We had just enjoyed a great vacation to Cambodia and celebrated the New Year’s singing karaoke on a boat in the South China Sea. Incredible. After we rang in the New Year Eric put on a song for all of us. I will leave you with that.
http://www.google.com/url?q=http://s0.ilike.com/play%23blink-182:What%27s%2BMy%2BAge%2BAgain%253F:12236:s15439.15722.13606697.1.2.78%252Cstd_f02d94e0263a47a19dabec7d910e5e6b&sa=X&ei=mwlYTJmpHeHnnQeAqPCsCQ&ved=0CBMQ0wQoADAA&usg=AFQjCNFZMg1cSsO9xRAxTa9M9RyjGuBedg
Like reaching the number 100, there are several numerical milestones in a person’s life. Early on there is the excitement of reaching double digits and standing on the threshold of the teen years. Eight years later comes the ability to vote and fight for your country, with the sting of still not being able to drink legally.
Finally comes 21, usually anticlimactic, and thoroughly downhill from there. After that it’s the round numbers, 30, 40, 50 and so on that are so thoroughly depressing. I guess Eric will be spared most of that angst.
Like most things in his life, Eric had a different take on aging. Birthdays that most of us pass over with nary a thought are the ones that I remember. If you recall, Eric was a New Years Baby, the first baby born in our county in the year 1977. I think my parents got a free pizza for that accomplishment. Because of this, we were usually together on Eric’s birthday, even through college, since it was during vacation.
I specifically remember the year he turned 23. It was New Year’s Day 2000. We had just enjoyed a great vacation to Cambodia and celebrated the New Year’s singing karaoke on a boat in the South China Sea. Incredible. After we rang in the New Year Eric put on a song for all of us. I will leave you with that.
http://www.google.com/url?q=http://s0.ilike.com/play%23blink-182:What%27s%2BMy%2BAge%2BAgain%253F:12236:s15439.15722.13606697.1.2.78%252Cstd_f02d94e0263a47a19dabec7d910e5e6b&sa=X&ei=mwlYTJmpHeHnnQeAqPCsCQ&ved=0CBMQ0wQoADAA&usg=AFQjCNFZMg1cSsO9xRAxTa9M9RyjGuBedg
Monday, August 2, 2010
#99 Bathtub bliss
I know I have already used this forum to expound on Eric’s love of baths. However, my parents have been visiting this weekend and I have learned, or been reminded, of some bathing facts that are just crying out to be shared.
I knew that Eric was banned from asking for a bath before the sun came up. I gathered that the ban came about because he would pester my Mom for a bath way too early in the morning. I didn’t know that he would stand by the side of her bed and take hold of her sheets and say “I count to three!” to motivate her to give him a bath.
I also knew that Eric liked to read and even do his homework in the bath. I had forgotten that when Eric lived in Austin, TX he had a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment and that his second bathroom was the “reading” bathroom. He set up the tub with a board across it to hold his book and that was where he went to relax. My Mom always said he should put a collapsible cookbook holder on the board and market it. We could still make a fortune…..assuming other people like to read in the bath as much as he did.
Last night I gave my boys a bath and I was looking at my 6 year old thinking, he’s getting too old for this, he needs to start taking showers. He doesn’t like taking showers though, so I guess I’ll let him enjoy the bath a little longer. After all, it was a pleasure his Uncle Eric never gave up.
I knew that Eric was banned from asking for a bath before the sun came up. I gathered that the ban came about because he would pester my Mom for a bath way too early in the morning. I didn’t know that he would stand by the side of her bed and take hold of her sheets and say “I count to three!” to motivate her to give him a bath.
I also knew that Eric liked to read and even do his homework in the bath. I had forgotten that when Eric lived in Austin, TX he had a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment and that his second bathroom was the “reading” bathroom. He set up the tub with a board across it to hold his book and that was where he went to relax. My Mom always said he should put a collapsible cookbook holder on the board and market it. We could still make a fortune…..assuming other people like to read in the bath as much as he did.
Last night I gave my boys a bath and I was looking at my 6 year old thinking, he’s getting too old for this, he needs to start taking showers. He doesn’t like taking showers though, so I guess I’ll let him enjoy the bath a little longer. After all, it was a pleasure his Uncle Eric never gave up.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
#98 Ninja!
One of the things I took from Eric’s apartment was a ninja costume. Yes, a costume, as in dress up or (hopefully) Halloween. It was unopened and sized for ages 8-10. I’m not really sure why he had this. I know it was not a hold over from childhood because we never bought our Halloween costumes. My very talented mother used to make them all. It took me a long time to get over the guilt of not doing that for my own children, but that’s a talent I did not inherit. I know he and his girlfriend had some inside jokes about ninjas, so maybe it was related to that, but why for an 8-10 year old?? Maybe he misread the package. I took it because I thought my boys might like it.
We opened it the other day and even on my oldest who will be 7 in December, the shirt is like a dress and the pants would come up over his head. Maybe Eric had the sizing right after all. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t fit, my boys still love it. We leave off the pants and they wear the other parts and run around the house doing made up karate moves. It’s pretty cute.
My parents are visiting this weekend and this morning when my Dad was in the shower my 3 year old dressed up in the costume. He had on the shirt which has a hood and the scarf that ties over the lower part of your face. He went to surprise Grandpa who pretended not to know who it was until the scarf was removed. My 3 year old found that hysterical.
I’ll never know why Eric had that costume, but I’m glad my kids like it. Thanks Eric, for the gifts you’ll never even know you gave.
We opened it the other day and even on my oldest who will be 7 in December, the shirt is like a dress and the pants would come up over his head. Maybe Eric had the sizing right after all. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t fit, my boys still love it. We leave off the pants and they wear the other parts and run around the house doing made up karate moves. It’s pretty cute.
My parents are visiting this weekend and this morning when my Dad was in the shower my 3 year old dressed up in the costume. He had on the shirt which has a hood and the scarf that ties over the lower part of your face. He went to surprise Grandpa who pretended not to know who it was until the scarf was removed. My 3 year old found that hysterical.
I’ll never know why Eric had that costume, but I’m glad my kids like it. Thanks Eric, for the gifts you’ll never even know you gave.
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