Eric was a fan of big families. He and Katie planned to have a brood. He was always emailing me hints to go for the third and once sent me an article that said families with sisters were healthier. The sister apparently cares for everyone and keeps the family more cohesive.
As far as Eric knew, we were done having children. We were actually trying for number three before he died, but keeping it very hush hush. We have had difficulties getting and keeping pregnancies in the past and were just keeping it to ourselves until there was something to tell.
Part of what spurred me on to have three kids was the thought of finally having a daughter. I’ve always wanted three kids, and I’ve always wanted daughters, but alas I will never have one.
We found out yesterday that baby number three is another boy.
There are different kinds of loss in life. There is the loss of something or someone well known and loved, like the loss of Eric. There is the loss of a new beginning, something longed for and dearly wanted but barely known, like our miscarriages. Then there is the loss of a dream. The perfect fantasy world that exists in my head with pink bows and party dresses and never any teenage discord just isn’t going to happen. Of course it wouldn’t have been all shared confidences and mother-daughter spa weekends, but now I’ll never know what it could have been like.
I already love this baby and that love will only continue to grow as he does. I am grateful that yesterday’s ultrasound showed him to be healthy in every way they measure. But I will always miss my girl.
And no, we’re not going for number four.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
#157 I'm famous!
Growing up I always knew my 15 minutes (probably more) of fame would come on Broadway. Obviously, that didn’t work out.
As an adult I’ve pretty much given up on my 15 minutes, I don’t need it, I’ve got everything I need already. I occasionally get 15 seconds like when I was on the news last summer discussing UV protection for the eyes (sunglasses for you lay people). Or on stage in last year’s production of Honk!. Its fun and I’d love to do more of it, but overall, I’m pretty content.
Well, today this blog and I are getting our 15 minutes. A friend I met during last year’s production of Honk! writes a column for a local newspaper and when she found out about the blog she asked to profile me. She interviewed me over the summer and the column ran today. I think she did a great job. Thanks Marissa!
I’d also like to thank Steph and my husband who also let Marissa interview them and provided some great background for the article. Steph, that quote from Eric’s email was priceless.
Go ahead and check out the article and pass it (and this blog) along to anyone you think might be interested or helped by it. And as always, thanks for reading.
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/09/29/1715669/blog-helps-sister-mourn-and-celebrate.html
As an adult I’ve pretty much given up on my 15 minutes, I don’t need it, I’ve got everything I need already. I occasionally get 15 seconds like when I was on the news last summer discussing UV protection for the eyes (sunglasses for you lay people). Or on stage in last year’s production of Honk!. Its fun and I’d love to do more of it, but overall, I’m pretty content.
Well, today this blog and I are getting our 15 minutes. A friend I met during last year’s production of Honk! writes a column for a local newspaper and when she found out about the blog she asked to profile me. She interviewed me over the summer and the column ran today. I think she did a great job. Thanks Marissa!
I’d also like to thank Steph and my husband who also let Marissa interview them and provided some great background for the article. Steph, that quote from Eric’s email was priceless.
Go ahead and check out the article and pass it (and this blog) along to anyone you think might be interested or helped by it. And as always, thanks for reading.
http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/09/29/1715669/blog-helps-sister-mourn-and-celebrate.html
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
#156 Tuesdays
Tuesdays must be especially uninspiring. It was last Tuesday when I almost forgot to write/post a blog. Since then the ideas have been flowing pretty well, at least until today. Are Tuesdays cursed?
Tuesdays are definitely my worst day of the week. Now that I’m only working three days a week, Tuesday is the only day of the week when I’m working for the second day in a row! I know, poor me, but it does make a difference.
I’m also working in our most crowded office where I have the least amount of space which inevitably leads to delays which leads to unhappy patients, techs and doctors. Tuesday is the only day I spend in that office.
When I first started writing the blog it seemed like I had writer’s block every Friday, but usually I had a few blogs saved up so it didn’t really matter. That passed, so hopefully the Tuesday blocks will pass too.
For all of you Office Space lovers out there (and Eric was one); I think I have a case of the Tuesdays.
Tuesdays are definitely my worst day of the week. Now that I’m only working three days a week, Tuesday is the only day of the week when I’m working for the second day in a row! I know, poor me, but it does make a difference.
I’m also working in our most crowded office where I have the least amount of space which inevitably leads to delays which leads to unhappy patients, techs and doctors. Tuesday is the only day I spend in that office.
When I first started writing the blog it seemed like I had writer’s block every Friday, but usually I had a few blogs saved up so it didn’t really matter. That passed, so hopefully the Tuesday blocks will pass too.
For all of you Office Space lovers out there (and Eric was one); I think I have a case of the Tuesdays.
Monday, September 27, 2010
#155 Great-Grandpa Herman
My father’s father was an amateur painter. After he retired from his job as a civilian engineer with the Navy he converted his basement into a painting studio and created. I think he did some great work and I have three of his paintings hanging in my house. A few days ago my soon to be four year old asked me about one of them. It’s a scene of Queens College, where my grandfather took art classes. He wanted to know where it was so I told him and I also told him who painted it. One of the other paintings I have by him is a self-portrait that is hung above our mantel. I took him over to that and showed him his Great-Grandpa Herman. Of course he wanted to know where Great-Grandpa was now.
So back I was explaining death to a preschooler. I told him that Herman was dead and he immediately made the association with Eric. He then asked me where they were. I am supremely uncomfortable with this question; probably because I don’t really know what I believe. I copped out and said heaven. Metaphysics and four year olds just don’t mix. He then asked me when Herman would be coming back. See what I mean?
I remember growing up when I would learn about relatives who had died before I was born, I would always imagine them dying just before I was born and wonder why they couldn’t hang on to meet me. Obviously this wasn’t the case, but it made sense in my mind.
I know my son’s mind is constantly churning and figuring out new things and I know he’ll figure this out too. Hopefully I’ll figure out a way to help him if and when he needs it.
So back I was explaining death to a preschooler. I told him that Herman was dead and he immediately made the association with Eric. He then asked me where they were. I am supremely uncomfortable with this question; probably because I don’t really know what I believe. I copped out and said heaven. Metaphysics and four year olds just don’t mix. He then asked me when Herman would be coming back. See what I mean?
I remember growing up when I would learn about relatives who had died before I was born, I would always imagine them dying just before I was born and wonder why they couldn’t hang on to meet me. Obviously this wasn’t the case, but it made sense in my mind.
I know my son’s mind is constantly churning and figuring out new things and I know he’ll figure this out too. Hopefully I’ll figure out a way to help him if and when he needs it.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
#154 Scattered
Scattering ashes is not like it looks on TV or in the movies. Obviously, the emotional component is different. Even if you are crying during that moment in the movie (as I usually am), it’s completely different when it’s your loved one who’s ashes are in that box.
In fiction, a person usually reaches in, grabs a handful of ashes and lets the wind scatter it from his or her hand. In real life, first there is a thick plastic bag that needs to be cut open. This isn’t easy, especially if you didn’t realize you’d need a cutting tool and you are shaking with emotion. Then there is the knowledge that you don’t really want to touch the ashes, you can hardly believe the person you love has been reduced to ashes, and yet you still don’t want to touch them. So you scatter them by shaking the plastic bag. But if the wind is wrong they can end up on your shoes. Of if there is no wind there is just a big pile at your feet which somehow defeats the purpose of the “scattering”. For me, at least, there was a lot of pressure to do this “right”, to properly honor Eric.
And there are a lot of ashes--a surprising amount for a relatively small person. You don’t want to leave any behind, but you also can only take the scattering for so long. You certainly don’t want to do it again, or have left-overs, so you persevere, or you make someone else finish it for you. It’s not easy.
We had Eric’s ashes split into two portions. We scattered some of them in the Las Vegas mountains. We drove up a winding road in two cars, my parents and husband and I in one and Katie and her Mom in another. When we reached a scenic view point we pulled off to do our scattering. I hadn’t thought about there being other people there. We walked forward so others were behind us and we could pretend they weren’t there and we each took turns. There wasn’t much wind so you could see the ashes building up on the stony ground. Then we got back in the car and drove back to town. My tears were flowing the whole time.
The second portion of the ashes were scattered in my parent’s backyard. We did this on his birthday. This is when I really remember thinking how many ashes there were. I just couldn’t scatter anymore, couldn’t deal with the finality. I did a little and gave the rest to my parents.
I still feel this was a good and proper way to honor Eric, I like knowing that his remains are in places that he loved to be. It was just so incredibly hard. And one more instance in which cinema and television didn’t prepare me for real life.
In fiction, a person usually reaches in, grabs a handful of ashes and lets the wind scatter it from his or her hand. In real life, first there is a thick plastic bag that needs to be cut open. This isn’t easy, especially if you didn’t realize you’d need a cutting tool and you are shaking with emotion. Then there is the knowledge that you don’t really want to touch the ashes, you can hardly believe the person you love has been reduced to ashes, and yet you still don’t want to touch them. So you scatter them by shaking the plastic bag. But if the wind is wrong they can end up on your shoes. Of if there is no wind there is just a big pile at your feet which somehow defeats the purpose of the “scattering”. For me, at least, there was a lot of pressure to do this “right”, to properly honor Eric.
And there are a lot of ashes--a surprising amount for a relatively small person. You don’t want to leave any behind, but you also can only take the scattering for so long. You certainly don’t want to do it again, or have left-overs, so you persevere, or you make someone else finish it for you. It’s not easy.
We had Eric’s ashes split into two portions. We scattered some of them in the Las Vegas mountains. We drove up a winding road in two cars, my parents and husband and I in one and Katie and her Mom in another. When we reached a scenic view point we pulled off to do our scattering. I hadn’t thought about there being other people there. We walked forward so others were behind us and we could pretend they weren’t there and we each took turns. There wasn’t much wind so you could see the ashes building up on the stony ground. Then we got back in the car and drove back to town. My tears were flowing the whole time.
The second portion of the ashes were scattered in my parent’s backyard. We did this on his birthday. This is when I really remember thinking how many ashes there were. I just couldn’t scatter anymore, couldn’t deal with the finality. I did a little and gave the rest to my parents.
I still feel this was a good and proper way to honor Eric, I like knowing that his remains are in places that he loved to be. It was just so incredibly hard. And one more instance in which cinema and television didn’t prepare me for real life.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
#153 Yellow Car
When Eric was in law school he drove a bright yellow Nissan X-Terra. Drove might be an understatement, at times he lived in it. Eric loved to road trip and the little SUV was tricked out with coolers and its very own mini-refrigerator. You don’t see that many yellow cars out there, and every time I see a yellow X-Terra I think of Eric. I have done this ever since he got the car, so it’s really nothing new, only now there’s a pang of loss along with my association.
I don’t think I see Eric on every street corner. I don’t think I hear his voice in a crowded restaurant. I don’t pick up the phone to call him only to remember I can’t. These are all things that you read about as typical grief reactions. Well, I guess I’m just not typical. I do still think about him every time I see a yellow X-Terra though, like I did last night on my way home from work.
I remember how much I made fun of him for driving a bright yellow car. I remember him taking me to run errands in it in Philadelphia and almost making me puke with his stop and go driving. I remember being amazed as he pulled out a cold drink from his backseat refrigerator. I remember his mix of sadness and excitement when he had to sell it to move overseas.
When he came back from New Zealand, he purchased a much tamer car. My well loved and used 11 year old Toyota Corolla. It served the purpose but wasn’t nearly as distinctive. I’ll always think of him when I see yellow Nissan X-Terras, that car really fit his personality.
I don’t think I see Eric on every street corner. I don’t think I hear his voice in a crowded restaurant. I don’t pick up the phone to call him only to remember I can’t. These are all things that you read about as typical grief reactions. Well, I guess I’m just not typical. I do still think about him every time I see a yellow X-Terra though, like I did last night on my way home from work.
I remember how much I made fun of him for driving a bright yellow car. I remember him taking me to run errands in it in Philadelphia and almost making me puke with his stop and go driving. I remember being amazed as he pulled out a cold drink from his backseat refrigerator. I remember his mix of sadness and excitement when he had to sell it to move overseas.
When he came back from New Zealand, he purchased a much tamer car. My well loved and used 11 year old Toyota Corolla. It served the purpose but wasn’t nearly as distinctive. I’ll always think of him when I see yellow Nissan X-Terras, that car really fit his personality.
Friday, September 24, 2010
#152 Eye stuff
I miss Eric sending me all of the latest eye research. At least what he thought was the latest eye research.
When Eric was in nursery school one of his teachers noticed that he seemed to be rubbing his eyes a lot and having trouble seeing when she would read stories. He was taken to the ophthalmologist, diagnosed with amblyopia and starting on a patching regimen.
Eric was very lucky in that he had an astute preschool teacher, a doctor who diagnosed him quickly and correctly, and parents who wouldn’t let him getting away with taking the patch off. Because of this he developed excellent eyesight in both eyes, with only a subtle difference between the two—but oh how that difference bothered him.
He was always emailing me articles from the popular press (usually the British popular press for some reason) that mentioned new treatments for amblyopia or any other eye disease. Usually most of the stuff was still highly theoretical, but it was nice to know that he was thinking about me.
Today, as I am slogging through actual medical journals in between patients, it would be a nice break to have one of his puff pieces to read.
When Eric was in nursery school one of his teachers noticed that he seemed to be rubbing his eyes a lot and having trouble seeing when she would read stories. He was taken to the ophthalmologist, diagnosed with amblyopia and starting on a patching regimen.
Eric was very lucky in that he had an astute preschool teacher, a doctor who diagnosed him quickly and correctly, and parents who wouldn’t let him getting away with taking the patch off. Because of this he developed excellent eyesight in both eyes, with only a subtle difference between the two—but oh how that difference bothered him.
He was always emailing me articles from the popular press (usually the British popular press for some reason) that mentioned new treatments for amblyopia or any other eye disease. Usually most of the stuff was still highly theoretical, but it was nice to know that he was thinking about me.
Today, as I am slogging through actual medical journals in between patients, it would be a nice break to have one of his puff pieces to read.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
#151 Etrog blog
My younger son goes to a Jewish preschool and it is closed today and tomorrow for Sukkot. This is the harvest festival where we build (and supposedly move into) a wood hut outside and celebrate nature and the abundance of the harvest. The ceremonial fruits associated with this holiday are the lulav and the etrog. Don’t worry if you’ve never heard of them, you wouldn’t have unless you’d celebrated this holiday….
Eric (and the rest of the family) loved to make fun of the lulav and the etrog. I mean why these fruits? I’m sure there is some reason that goes way, way back like in the rest of Judaism, but the meaning is completely lost on today’s children. Why not celebrate grapes and strawberries? Or any other fruit that we actually eat and might find in our refrigerators? Why are we teaching kids to be thankful for things they’ve never heard of?
I think in my house, were we to actually celebrate this holiday, we would have to go through the refrigerator and find the things we eat and discuss being grateful for those. Thank you for carrots and celery and cucumber. Thank you for apples and peaches and blueberries. Thank you for snow peas, broccoli and green beans. Thank you for bananas, pears and oranges. As for the lulav and etrog? Thanks for those too, I guess, but we’ll stick with what we can get.
Eric (and the rest of the family) loved to make fun of the lulav and the etrog. I mean why these fruits? I’m sure there is some reason that goes way, way back like in the rest of Judaism, but the meaning is completely lost on today’s children. Why not celebrate grapes and strawberries? Or any other fruit that we actually eat and might find in our refrigerators? Why are we teaching kids to be thankful for things they’ve never heard of?
I think in my house, were we to actually celebrate this holiday, we would have to go through the refrigerator and find the things we eat and discuss being grateful for those. Thank you for carrots and celery and cucumber. Thank you for apples and peaches and blueberries. Thank you for snow peas, broccoli and green beans. Thank you for bananas, pears and oranges. As for the lulav and etrog? Thanks for those too, I guess, but we’ll stick with what we can get.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
#150
150 is the age my husband and I plan to live to. We always said we would love each other until we were 150 when we would die simultaneously. I don’t know why we picked that age except that it seems so unobtainable that it would surely cover all bases.
They say you feel immortal in your teens and I certainly did my share of stupid things. One of the stupidest probably came in my early twenties when I invited my future husband, whom I only knew from internet chats, to come visit me and meet me in my apartment. Luckily he showed up with roses and not an axe.
Certainly the hint of personal mortality crept in when having children. I was, and still am, deathly afraid of c-sections although I’ve had two and am heading for number three. It’s hard to feel invincible when someone else is in control.
I have lost grandparents, but that seems sad, but normal. That didn’t bring home my own mortality, because that was “the natural order of things”.
Losing Eric was so totally unexpected I have no way to describe it. I have no context for it. There are times when it truly brings home a sense of mortality and times when it seems so unreal that it can’t.
A friend of mine today described her husband’s death over 40 years ago as feeling as if it happened yesterday and as if it never happened at all. I understand that.
I think it is a protective mechanism to deny our mortality, otherwise we can’t help but live in fear, and that is not living.
So I’m going to continue to plan to live until I’m at least 150. But maybe a little less recklessly.
They say you feel immortal in your teens and I certainly did my share of stupid things. One of the stupidest probably came in my early twenties when I invited my future husband, whom I only knew from internet chats, to come visit me and meet me in my apartment. Luckily he showed up with roses and not an axe.
Certainly the hint of personal mortality crept in when having children. I was, and still am, deathly afraid of c-sections although I’ve had two and am heading for number three. It’s hard to feel invincible when someone else is in control.
I have lost grandparents, but that seems sad, but normal. That didn’t bring home my own mortality, because that was “the natural order of things”.
Losing Eric was so totally unexpected I have no way to describe it. I have no context for it. There are times when it truly brings home a sense of mortality and times when it seems so unreal that it can’t.
A friend of mine today described her husband’s death over 40 years ago as feeling as if it happened yesterday and as if it never happened at all. I understand that.
I think it is a protective mechanism to deny our mortality, otherwise we can’t help but live in fear, and that is not living.
So I’m going to continue to plan to live until I’m at least 150. But maybe a little less recklessly.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
#149 I had nothing
I had nothing today.
I tried to write a blog first thing this morning but I had nothing. I let it go and figured something would come to me later. I got busy at work and forgot about it for a while.
A few hours later I emailed my husband and told him I had nothing. He said not to worry; something would come to me later. I got busy at work again.
After work I took my oldest to swim team and when that was over we picked up the little guy from his school and came home. My husband and I got the boys through dinner, baths and bed and then had our dinners and watched some TV.
It wasn’t until I was cleaning up the kitchen that I remembered I hadn’t posted anything today. At first I was going to let it go. I never specified 366 consecutive days after all. Some days inspiration just doesn’t strike.
But the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. So this may not be very interesting to you and it probably won’t tell you anything you didn’t know about Eric, but for my sanity and my sleep I had to post it.
I still remember, I still mourn, I still miss my brother. Even if I can’t come up with a clever, funny or sentimental way to communicate it today.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
I tried to write a blog first thing this morning but I had nothing. I let it go and figured something would come to me later. I got busy at work and forgot about it for a while.
A few hours later I emailed my husband and told him I had nothing. He said not to worry; something would come to me later. I got busy at work again.
After work I took my oldest to swim team and when that was over we picked up the little guy from his school and came home. My husband and I got the boys through dinner, baths and bed and then had our dinners and watched some TV.
It wasn’t until I was cleaning up the kitchen that I remembered I hadn’t posted anything today. At first I was going to let it go. I never specified 366 consecutive days after all. Some days inspiration just doesn’t strike.
But the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. So this may not be very interesting to you and it probably won’t tell you anything you didn’t know about Eric, but for my sanity and my sleep I had to post it.
I still remember, I still mourn, I still miss my brother. Even if I can’t come up with a clever, funny or sentimental way to communicate it today.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Monday, September 20, 2010
#148 Moving forward
I almost forgot to post yesterday’s blog.
When I first started this project, I posted the blog first thing every morning. There was a sense of urgency to it and I couldn’t rest until I had it out there. Even on vacation over the summer I made sure to build in a spot during the day to post the blog. Until it was done I was anxious about it.
Lately that anxiety has been fading. I’ve done almost 150 of these; I guess I’m in a routine. Yesterday morning I got up and made the boys pancakes (see yesterday’s blog) checked my email, had my own breakfast, and puttered around for a while. Eventually I wrote the blog but by that time my editor (read: husband) was out at the grocery store so I had to wait for his return. He came back and read the blog and gave it the ok but by then we were watching football. A little bit later I went out for the afternoon and it wasn’t until after we put the boys to bed that I realized I had never actually posted the blog. Wow. That’s not like me.
I got it out there, I still haven’t missed a day, but I almost did. And not even for lack of blog material.
Does this mean I’m moving forward? Can you move forward without even knowing or wanting to? Or does it just mean it was a busy Sunday? I’ve definitely gotten more relaxed about it. I don’t freak out if I can’t come up with a topic right away; I know that before the day is out I’ll figure out something to write about. If I don’t get it posted first thing in the morning I’ll get it posted that afternoon. But I don’t want to get so relaxed that I forget to post at all.
Maybe it’s just the routine. Writing the blog is still my dedicated time to think about Eric (not that I don’t think about him a million other times during the day), and it’s still very important to me.
Maybe I am moving on, after all life doesn’t stop, but I’m not leaving Eric behind.
When I first started this project, I posted the blog first thing every morning. There was a sense of urgency to it and I couldn’t rest until I had it out there. Even on vacation over the summer I made sure to build in a spot during the day to post the blog. Until it was done I was anxious about it.
Lately that anxiety has been fading. I’ve done almost 150 of these; I guess I’m in a routine. Yesterday morning I got up and made the boys pancakes (see yesterday’s blog) checked my email, had my own breakfast, and puttered around for a while. Eventually I wrote the blog but by that time my editor (read: husband) was out at the grocery store so I had to wait for his return. He came back and read the blog and gave it the ok but by then we were watching football. A little bit later I went out for the afternoon and it wasn’t until after we put the boys to bed that I realized I had never actually posted the blog. Wow. That’s not like me.
I got it out there, I still haven’t missed a day, but I almost did. And not even for lack of blog material.
Does this mean I’m moving forward? Can you move forward without even knowing or wanting to? Or does it just mean it was a busy Sunday? I’ve definitely gotten more relaxed about it. I don’t freak out if I can’t come up with a topic right away; I know that before the day is out I’ll figure out something to write about. If I don’t get it posted first thing in the morning I’ll get it posted that afternoon. But I don’t want to get so relaxed that I forget to post at all.
Maybe it’s just the routine. Writing the blog is still my dedicated time to think about Eric (not that I don’t think about him a million other times during the day), and it’s still very important to me.
Maybe I am moving on, after all life doesn’t stop, but I’m not leaving Eric behind.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
#147 Cooking
This morning I made the boys white chocolate chip pancakes. The white chocolate chips were left over from a cookie making project from a couple of weeks ago so I decided to throw them into the pancakes. They came out really well, a little sweet for me, but the boys gobbled them up. Between the pancakes and hot chocolate, they had a pretty good breakfast.
I really don’t cook a lot. I don’t enjoy it and I’m not that into food. As you may have figured out from earlier blog posts, I’m a pretty picky eater. I can handle pancake mix, but it took me a long time to get over feeling guilty that I wasn’t making it from scratch the way my mom always did. Oh well, cooking is one of her strengths, not one of mine.
If I do choose to cook, my food usually turns out well, it’s just that I usually choose not to cook. I can, however, vividly remember an episode from my childhood when my cooking did not turn out well at all.
A couple of weeks ago my kids both had Thursday and Friday off from school. My younger son goes to a Jewish preschool and they were off for Rosh Hashanah. My older son’s school was closed for teacher work days. Why they needed work days 10 days into the school year I don’t really know, but apparently they did.
I took the kids to the supermarket and let them pick out anything they wanted to put into the cookies. We ended up with M&M’s (my choice), white chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, sprinkles, red icing and blue sugary stuff. We made basic sugar cookies and I let the boys load their cookies however they wanted. It was a lot of fun and they certainly enjoyed making and eating the cookies.
I can remember making cookies with a friend when I was in elementary school. While we were doing this, our little brothers were playing together. I can remember sitting at my kitchen table measuring out the ingredients and waiting and waiting to finally taste the finished product. They didn’t taste very good, in fact they were terrible. I think we accidentally substituted salt for sugar.
We decided we should try them out on our brothers anyway. My friend’s brother was very polite and in between winces told us how good they were. Eric had no qualms about spitting his out and telling us how awful they were. At the time I was mortified and wished he had acted more like my friend’s brother, but that would not have been Eric. And through the years as I’ve teased him about his cooking adventures I think I have gotten even.
I really don’t cook a lot. I don’t enjoy it and I’m not that into food. As you may have figured out from earlier blog posts, I’m a pretty picky eater. I can handle pancake mix, but it took me a long time to get over feeling guilty that I wasn’t making it from scratch the way my mom always did. Oh well, cooking is one of her strengths, not one of mine.
If I do choose to cook, my food usually turns out well, it’s just that I usually choose not to cook. I can, however, vividly remember an episode from my childhood when my cooking did not turn out well at all.
A couple of weeks ago my kids both had Thursday and Friday off from school. My younger son goes to a Jewish preschool and they were off for Rosh Hashanah. My older son’s school was closed for teacher work days. Why they needed work days 10 days into the school year I don’t really know, but apparently they did.
I took the kids to the supermarket and let them pick out anything they wanted to put into the cookies. We ended up with M&M’s (my choice), white chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, sprinkles, red icing and blue sugary stuff. We made basic sugar cookies and I let the boys load their cookies however they wanted. It was a lot of fun and they certainly enjoyed making and eating the cookies.
I can remember making cookies with a friend when I was in elementary school. While we were doing this, our little brothers were playing together. I can remember sitting at my kitchen table measuring out the ingredients and waiting and waiting to finally taste the finished product. They didn’t taste very good, in fact they were terrible. I think we accidentally substituted salt for sugar.
We decided we should try them out on our brothers anyway. My friend’s brother was very polite and in between winces told us how good they were. Eric had no qualms about spitting his out and telling us how awful they were. At the time I was mortified and wished he had acted more like my friend’s brother, but that would not have been Eric. And through the years as I’ve teased him about his cooking adventures I think I have gotten even.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
#146 Atonement
Today is Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year. It is the Day of Atonement, when Jews all over the world ask forgiveness for their sins of the previous year and prepare for the year to come. It is a day of fasting and religious services.
I am having a hard time atoning this year. It’s not that I haven’t made mistakes or miss-steps. I certainly have done things I shouldn’t and not done things I should have. There are many things I can improve and will work to do so in the coming year. I’m not sure I believe in God, but if there is one out there, I’m angry with him. I feel he (or she?) should be asking forgiveness from me.
This is not the attitude I’m supposed to have, I know. I’m supposed to accept that all things happen for a reason even if I don’t understand it. I’m supposed to be ok with not understanding. Well, I’m not. I’m supposed to strive to get to that place, but I don’t know the way and honestly I’m not looking all that diligently for it.
Eric had become a Christian, so today would have been just another Saturday for him. I am not very observant, but I do try to acknowledge and celebrate the high holy days in my own way. This year I’m excused from fasting due to my pregnancy, but I’m having trouble maintaining a spiritual mindset. If I have done something to offend or insult or injure in the past year, I ask your forgiveness. I forgive those who may have offended, insulted or injured me. Except God. Right now, to me, taking Eric away is unforgiveable.
I am having a hard time atoning this year. It’s not that I haven’t made mistakes or miss-steps. I certainly have done things I shouldn’t and not done things I should have. There are many things I can improve and will work to do so in the coming year. I’m not sure I believe in God, but if there is one out there, I’m angry with him. I feel he (or she?) should be asking forgiveness from me.
This is not the attitude I’m supposed to have, I know. I’m supposed to accept that all things happen for a reason even if I don’t understand it. I’m supposed to be ok with not understanding. Well, I’m not. I’m supposed to strive to get to that place, but I don’t know the way and honestly I’m not looking all that diligently for it.
Eric had become a Christian, so today would have been just another Saturday for him. I am not very observant, but I do try to acknowledge and celebrate the high holy days in my own way. This year I’m excused from fasting due to my pregnancy, but I’m having trouble maintaining a spiritual mindset. If I have done something to offend or insult or injure in the past year, I ask your forgiveness. I forgive those who may have offended, insulted or injured me. Except God. Right now, to me, taking Eric away is unforgiveable.
Friday, September 17, 2010
#145 You want to eat what??
My husband and I watched the conclusion of “Master Chef” last night. We watch this mainly because we love watching Gordon Ramsay, not because we’re that into food or cooking. Well, I’m not, my husband is a little more so. For those of you don’t know, this is a reality show in which amateur cooks from all over the country compete for the title of “Master Chef” which comes with $250,000 and a cookbook deal. The challenges ranged from the (supposedly) easy, like chopping onions, to very complex, like catering a wedding or catching a fish to then prepare for three renowned food critics.
The last two contestants standing were a computer guy and a 22 year old student from Mississippi. Their challenge was to create and cook an appetizer, entrée and dessert for Ramsay and the other two judges in two hours. It looked like a lot of work. The programmer made very complex, highbrow food including beef wellington. The young girl made down home southern dishes and ended up winning.
Her winning entrée? A variant of one of Eric’s favorite dishes, chicken fried steak. Yup. The New Jersey born and bred world travelling sophisticate loved chicken fried steak. He always did like to be contradictory. Technically the winning dish was southern fried chicken breast, but it was close enough.
I could never understand his love of this food, usually served with a “gravy” that looked like Elmer’s glue. I was relieved to see no sign of this gravy in the show last night.
I don’t know where Eric’s taste for this dish originated, but I do know that he always had an open mind and never condemned anything sight unseen. He appreciated more than most that just because you’ve never heard of something doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad or undeserving. I’m still not going to eat chicken fried steak, but I will try to keep more of an open mind. But probably not with food….those of you who know me know that’s just not how I was made.
The last two contestants standing were a computer guy and a 22 year old student from Mississippi. Their challenge was to create and cook an appetizer, entrée and dessert for Ramsay and the other two judges in two hours. It looked like a lot of work. The programmer made very complex, highbrow food including beef wellington. The young girl made down home southern dishes and ended up winning.
Her winning entrée? A variant of one of Eric’s favorite dishes, chicken fried steak. Yup. The New Jersey born and bred world travelling sophisticate loved chicken fried steak. He always did like to be contradictory. Technically the winning dish was southern fried chicken breast, but it was close enough.
I could never understand his love of this food, usually served with a “gravy” that looked like Elmer’s glue. I was relieved to see no sign of this gravy in the show last night.
I don’t know where Eric’s taste for this dish originated, but I do know that he always had an open mind and never condemned anything sight unseen. He appreciated more than most that just because you’ve never heard of something doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad or undeserving. I’m still not going to eat chicken fried steak, but I will try to keep more of an open mind. But probably not with food….those of you who know me know that’s just not how I was made.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
#144 Happiness
My book club discussed “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin last night. I am not really into self-help books, so I wasn’t really looking forward to reading this one, but that’s one of the reasons I joined a book club. It’s a way to stretch my horizons and read things I wouldn’t normally read.
I started the book determined just to suffer through it so I could participate in the discussion. Somewhere along the way I found myself nodding my head and agreeing with a lot of things. I found I identified with the author, a lawyer turned writer, mother of two and therefore identified with some of the obstacles to happiness she found in her life. In general she has a pretty good life, and so do I, but this book is about enjoying the moment and wringing all the happiness you can out of the things you have to do anyway as well as the things you really want to do.
What the central message of this book boiled down to for me was “change your attitude”. It’s the one thing you always can change (although it may not seem like it sometimes). If you decide to be happier and act in accordance then you will feel happier and so will everyone around you. I really try to put this into practice with my kids. After a long day of work for me and school for them we all come home tired and cranky. Instead of snapping I try to remember to smile and laugh with them and make dinner and everyday chores a little more fun. I don’t always succeed, but at least I’m trying.
I was wondering this morning how this would apply to dealing with Eric’s absence. I can’t be happy about it and I can’t pretend to be happy about it. I can be happy for the times we had though. I can be happy that I found a creative outlet in this blog. I can be happy that I found this huge support group in my friends, family and readers.
Ms. Rubin states in her book that being happier in everyday life strengthens relationships and helps you to cope better in emergency situations. I don’t know if this is true, but I think in general being happy is a good goal so I’m going to keep trying to change my attitude and find the things that make me happy.
I started the book determined just to suffer through it so I could participate in the discussion. Somewhere along the way I found myself nodding my head and agreeing with a lot of things. I found I identified with the author, a lawyer turned writer, mother of two and therefore identified with some of the obstacles to happiness she found in her life. In general she has a pretty good life, and so do I, but this book is about enjoying the moment and wringing all the happiness you can out of the things you have to do anyway as well as the things you really want to do.
What the central message of this book boiled down to for me was “change your attitude”. It’s the one thing you always can change (although it may not seem like it sometimes). If you decide to be happier and act in accordance then you will feel happier and so will everyone around you. I really try to put this into practice with my kids. After a long day of work for me and school for them we all come home tired and cranky. Instead of snapping I try to remember to smile and laugh with them and make dinner and everyday chores a little more fun. I don’t always succeed, but at least I’m trying.
I was wondering this morning how this would apply to dealing with Eric’s absence. I can’t be happy about it and I can’t pretend to be happy about it. I can be happy for the times we had though. I can be happy that I found a creative outlet in this blog. I can be happy that I found this huge support group in my friends, family and readers.
Ms. Rubin states in her book that being happier in everyday life strengthens relationships and helps you to cope better in emergency situations. I don’t know if this is true, but I think in general being happy is a good goal so I’m going to keep trying to change my attitude and find the things that make me happy.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
#143 Size Matters
I’m listening to the sounds of my husband working out (go husband!) and thinking about how important physical fitness was to Eric. It’s one of things that make this so unbelievable. It’s not like this was his first race, or that he just woke up one morning and decided that running a race would be a good thing to do. He was in great shape. He ran and/or worked out everyday. He ran a race almost every weekend. He liked doing all of this. He had a before and after photograph on his refrigerator of himself pre- and post- getting into shape. He took good care of himself.
So where does that leave me and the rest of the world? I know what I should be doing, but it doesn’t seem to make much sense. After all look where exercise and eating right (except for Doritos) got him.
Right now I have the excuse of pregnancy to get out of starting a new exercise routine, and it’s ok if I have another serving, the baby needs it. Someday though, I will no longer be pregnant and I will desperately want to lose the weight I have gained. Some of it will come off easily (thank you breast feeding), but some will not. I will have to work at it. I did this really well after my first child, even losing an extra 20 pounds. I felt really good about myself. I didn’t do so well after my second child and I’m still carrying around extra weight that I really don’t want.
My goal is to get it off and get back to the size I want to be after I have this baby. But I’m a little bit scared. Do you blame me?
So where does that leave me and the rest of the world? I know what I should be doing, but it doesn’t seem to make much sense. After all look where exercise and eating right (except for Doritos) got him.
Right now I have the excuse of pregnancy to get out of starting a new exercise routine, and it’s ok if I have another serving, the baby needs it. Someday though, I will no longer be pregnant and I will desperately want to lose the weight I have gained. Some of it will come off easily (thank you breast feeding), but some will not. I will have to work at it. I did this really well after my first child, even losing an extra 20 pounds. I felt really good about myself. I didn’t do so well after my second child and I’m still carrying around extra weight that I really don’t want.
My goal is to get it off and get back to the size I want to be after I have this baby. But I’m a little bit scared. Do you blame me?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
#142 I'm meeeeeelting........
My kids are really into making disgusting noises at the dinner table. It seems I am constantly asking them not to spit, or make farting or burping noises. I guess this is what I get with boys. I don’t remember Eric and I doing this (although we probably did) but I do remember some other things that would drive me nuts if my kids did them now.
I can remember being out at a restaurant (several actually) and pretending to melt off of our chairs. We would say “I’m meeeeelting, like buuuutterrrr….” and slide off the chairs to end up under the table. Then we’d regain our seats and do it again. I’m not sure why this was so much fun, but trust me it was. We would laugh and laugh and laugh.
It also amused us to scratch each other’s itches. Or more accurately, decide the other person had an itch and then reach over and scratch it while telling them they had an itch. Again, it doesn’t sound so exciting when I type it out, but it was a riot at the time.
Last Thursday night we took the kids out for dinner to a local pizza place and they each got some pizza dough to play with while we waited for our food. I had to restrain myself from telling them how to play with it—although I did draw the line at putting it in their hair. I have to remember that someday these will be memories they will cherish, just as I cherish my memories of Eric. Only, hopefully, their circumstances will be different.
I can remember being out at a restaurant (several actually) and pretending to melt off of our chairs. We would say “I’m meeeeelting, like buuuutterrrr….” and slide off the chairs to end up under the table. Then we’d regain our seats and do it again. I’m not sure why this was so much fun, but trust me it was. We would laugh and laugh and laugh.
It also amused us to scratch each other’s itches. Or more accurately, decide the other person had an itch and then reach over and scratch it while telling them they had an itch. Again, it doesn’t sound so exciting when I type it out, but it was a riot at the time.
Last Thursday night we took the kids out for dinner to a local pizza place and they each got some pizza dough to play with while we waited for our food. I had to restrain myself from telling them how to play with it—although I did draw the line at putting it in their hair. I have to remember that someday these will be memories they will cherish, just as I cherish my memories of Eric. Only, hopefully, their circumstances will be different.
Monday, September 13, 2010
#141 What's in a nose?
Eric hated his nose. It was large and ethnic and he thought it spoke to people before he did. He felt like he was judged and categorized and possibly dismissed before he even opened his mouth. Even as a child he didn’t like being Jewish, was ashamed to be part of a people that he felt let themselves almost be wiped off of the face of the earth. It’s a shame he wasn’t able to be more at peace with a permanent part of his body. I know at one point he contemplated plastic surgery but I’m not sure if he thought better of the idea or if it was a financial limitation that kept him from pursuing it.
Personally, I thought Eric was very handsome, and his nose never stood in the way of that. It’s just another example of how much more closely we scrutinize ourselves.
Because I am aware of how Eric felt about this, I feel that I owe him an apology. Over the weekend my husband and I were sitting on the couch watching football and talking. He was telling me about watching “Wipe Out” with the boys that morning. He was describing one of the contestants and said he had the stereo-typical Jewish nose and immediately I realized I hadn’t posted yesterday’s blog and I needed to get on that. Sorry Eric.
While I loved you for everything you were I know that you had issues with some parts. I’ll try not to remember you solely by those parts, but to think of you as a whole. Sometimes my brain makes connections that I don’t get a chance to sensor. Next time I’ll try to do better.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
#140 Public vs Private Grief
Yesterday was September 11th. Nine years ago on that day this country was under attack. I walked into the ICU to round on my patients when I saw that all of the televisions that normally pointed into the patient rooms were facing the hallway and the staff was gathered around watching them. I was just in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center. Somehow I managed to complete my rounds (after all, the patients were still sick; still needed to be cared for) and then I was sent home. The medical school was closed and all hands were asked to stand-by in case of overflow from New York and Washington. Sadly, this did not happen, there were not enough survivors.
This year there is a lot of controversy surrounding the physical space where the World Trade Centers were. A mosque is proposed to be built two blocks away and many people are incredibly upset over this. Personally I stand by our country’s founding ideals of religious freedom. Not all Muslims are terrorists and if that is the lesson we take from 9/11, then the ones who are terrorists truly have won.
I saw a quote in the New York Times this morning that really touched me. The sister of a 9/11 victim said, "I’m tired of talking about everything else, tired of the politics. Today is only about loss." Amen.
I wonder how it feels to have a nation mourn with you for your loved ones, to have a day set aside every year where the wound opens again in a very public way. In some ways I wish the world mourned with me, how can everyone not be missing Eric and be appalled at what happened? In other ways it’s better to have my grief be private and not have people intruding on my emotions on the most painful day of the year, the anniversary.
Please don’t misunderstand me, 9/11 is an event that was tragic and needs to be remembered and memorialized. But I wonder if the survivors of the loved ones lost get tired of the burden of always having to speak out and be at the forefront.
To the sister mentioned above and everyone one else who lost a friend or loved one, I’m so sorry. And now I’m going to leave you alone. That’s the best thing I think I can do for you.
This year there is a lot of controversy surrounding the physical space where the World Trade Centers were. A mosque is proposed to be built two blocks away and many people are incredibly upset over this. Personally I stand by our country’s founding ideals of religious freedom. Not all Muslims are terrorists and if that is the lesson we take from 9/11, then the ones who are terrorists truly have won.
I saw a quote in the New York Times this morning that really touched me. The sister of a 9/11 victim said, "I’m tired of talking about everything else, tired of the politics. Today is only about loss." Amen.
I wonder how it feels to have a nation mourn with you for your loved ones, to have a day set aside every year where the wound opens again in a very public way. In some ways I wish the world mourned with me, how can everyone not be missing Eric and be appalled at what happened? In other ways it’s better to have my grief be private and not have people intruding on my emotions on the most painful day of the year, the anniversary.
Please don’t misunderstand me, 9/11 is an event that was tragic and needs to be remembered and memorialized. But I wonder if the survivors of the loved ones lost get tired of the burden of always having to speak out and be at the forefront.
To the sister mentioned above and everyone one else who lost a friend or loved one, I’m so sorry. And now I’m going to leave you alone. That’s the best thing I think I can do for you.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
#139 Bobbled gifts
I have written a lot in this space about the gifts that Eric has given to me and my family. I don’t think I have written so much about the gifts I gave to him. Eric was always tricky to buy for. He was into so many things and never hesitated to get himself what he wanted. Many of the things he did required equipment that was too expensive for me to get for him, so I would struggle to find the gift that would fit him the best.
The last gift my husband and I gave him might have been the best gift we ever found. We had a custom bobble head doll made from pictures that Katie took on the sly. It came out really well and of course we had it dressed in a tuxedo. (See last post)
Over the years some of the gifts I have given him included a home planetarium that projects stars onto the ceiling, an optical illusion coffee table sculpture, a set of DVDs of the television show The Office and a subscription to Wired Magazine.
Perhaps the worst gift I ever gave him was when we were kids. It’s one he never let me live down, and rightly so. It was a Chanukah gift, and I think I had actually forgotten to get him one. I was at the Temple for something and saw a box of left over yarmulkes (skull caps) from someone’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah, so I took one for him. Keep in mind that we are not a religious family. We did not regularly attend services and I don’t think that either my father or brother owned a yarmulke before this. What made this an even better (or worse) gift was that the yarmulke was purple. I think Eric was probably around 10. Purple was not a color he was into.
I don’t remember what he got me that year, but I’m sure it was better than the purple yarmulke. What can I say; at least I remembered to get him something, right? It’s the thought that counts?
I guess I deserved it when years later he got me an incredibly ugly knit hat with braids down each side. Touché, dear brother, touché.
The last gift my husband and I gave him might have been the best gift we ever found. We had a custom bobble head doll made from pictures that Katie took on the sly. It came out really well and of course we had it dressed in a tuxedo. (See last post)
Over the years some of the gifts I have given him included a home planetarium that projects stars onto the ceiling, an optical illusion coffee table sculpture, a set of DVDs of the television show The Office and a subscription to Wired Magazine.
Perhaps the worst gift I ever gave him was when we were kids. It’s one he never let me live down, and rightly so. It was a Chanukah gift, and I think I had actually forgotten to get him one. I was at the Temple for something and saw a box of left over yarmulkes (skull caps) from someone’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah, so I took one for him. Keep in mind that we are not a religious family. We did not regularly attend services and I don’t think that either my father or brother owned a yarmulke before this. What made this an even better (or worse) gift was that the yarmulke was purple. I think Eric was probably around 10. Purple was not a color he was into.
I don’t remember what he got me that year, but I’m sure it was better than the purple yarmulke. What can I say; at least I remembered to get him something, right? It’s the thought that counts?
I guess I deserved it when years later he got me an incredibly ugly knit hat with braids down each side. Touché, dear brother, touché.
Friday, September 10, 2010
#138 Formal Wear
I was in the car with the kids the other day and my 6 year old asked me if they made tuxedos in his size. I told him they did and asked him why he wanted one. He wanted to look nice for a dinner we were going to. This totally reminded me of Eric. Eric was always very formal and never understood why my parents wouldn’t buy him the three piece suits he requested as a child.
He used to get hand-me-downs from the son of good family friends and I remember his glee whenever a blazer was included. He always had a weak spot for formal attire.
My son gets to dress up about three times a year, for Thanksgiving and his two piano recitals. Usually for the piano recitals I get him a nice button down shirt to wear with slacks. Once I was at Marshalls and for less than the price of the button down shirt I already had in my hand I found an outfit complete with pants, shirt, vest and clip on tie. My son was ecstatic. I guess I should have seen the tuxedo question coming at that point.
I like to dress up as well but more and more it’s a question of whether or not anything fits and not as much fun as it used to be. I’m glad at least one member of my family likes to dress up and will carry on that part of Eric’s legacy. Although I’m still not buying him a tux.
He used to get hand-me-downs from the son of good family friends and I remember his glee whenever a blazer was included. He always had a weak spot for formal attire.
My son gets to dress up about three times a year, for Thanksgiving and his two piano recitals. Usually for the piano recitals I get him a nice button down shirt to wear with slacks. Once I was at Marshalls and for less than the price of the button down shirt I already had in my hand I found an outfit complete with pants, shirt, vest and clip on tie. My son was ecstatic. I guess I should have seen the tuxedo question coming at that point.
I like to dress up as well but more and more it’s a question of whether or not anything fits and not as much fun as it used to be. I’m glad at least one member of my family likes to dress up and will carry on that part of Eric’s legacy. Although I’m still not buying him a tux.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
#137 L'shana Tova (Happy New Year)
So I thought getting pregnant and bringing a new life into this world was the biggest step I’d taken in moving forward without Eric. Then my sons and I talked about Rosh Hashanah.
For those of you who don’t know, Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year and it’s today. Every year we eat foods that symbolize our wishes for the year ahead. We eat apples dipped in honey in hopes of a sweet new year. The challah (bread) we eat is baked in a round form, instead of a long braided form like the rest of the year, to symbolize the unbroken circle of the year for which we hope. It is a time to make peace with mistakes from the previous year, atone for sins and hope your name is written in the book of life for the coming year.
Last night we had a wonderful celebration with friends. It was the first traditional Rosh Hashanah dinner I’ve been to in many years and it brought back many memories and created new ones. I’m grateful to my hosts for including my family and helping my kids see what all the fuss is about.
This morning I gave the boys a special breakfast. I had gotten a round challah (with raisins, again to symbolize a sweet new year) and we toasted it for breakfast. My 6 year old was trying to guess why we eat a round challah on Rosh Hashanah and thought it was the 24 hour circle of the holiday. I explained about the circle of the year, but he didn’t really get it. It wasn’t until we talked about how Uncle Eric’s circle had broken that he understood. We didn’t cry, we didn’t linger on the subject, but still it hurt. Eric was too young and too good to have his circle break.
So here we are starting a whole new year without him. We’ll do it again on his birthday when most of the rest of the world celebrates New Year’s Day. And I’m still not ready to move on.
For those of you who don’t know, Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year and it’s today. Every year we eat foods that symbolize our wishes for the year ahead. We eat apples dipped in honey in hopes of a sweet new year. The challah (bread) we eat is baked in a round form, instead of a long braided form like the rest of the year, to symbolize the unbroken circle of the year for which we hope. It is a time to make peace with mistakes from the previous year, atone for sins and hope your name is written in the book of life for the coming year.
Last night we had a wonderful celebration with friends. It was the first traditional Rosh Hashanah dinner I’ve been to in many years and it brought back many memories and created new ones. I’m grateful to my hosts for including my family and helping my kids see what all the fuss is about.
This morning I gave the boys a special breakfast. I had gotten a round challah (with raisins, again to symbolize a sweet new year) and we toasted it for breakfast. My 6 year old was trying to guess why we eat a round challah on Rosh Hashanah and thought it was the 24 hour circle of the holiday. I explained about the circle of the year, but he didn’t really get it. It wasn’t until we talked about how Uncle Eric’s circle had broken that he understood. We didn’t cry, we didn’t linger on the subject, but still it hurt. Eric was too young and too good to have his circle break.
So here we are starting a whole new year without him. We’ll do it again on his birthday when most of the rest of the world celebrates New Year’s Day. And I’m still not ready to move on.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
#136 Ambush by mail
I got a letter from the lawyer handling Eric’s estate yesterday. Just typing Eric’s estate gives me the chills. He should not have an estate, not yet.
The letter was a summary of the value of Eric’s estate. All of his banking and investment accounts have been identified and closed, his car has been sold and it’s all been added up to represent him in a series of numbers.
I don’t think this comes close to estimating the value of Eric’s estate. What about the memories? What about the Star Trek t-shirt on the very top shelf of my closet that makes me smile and want to cry at the same time when I see it?
I know we have to be practical and dot every i and cross every t, but it’s hard when it comes at you out of nowhere in the mail.
I don’t really know (or care) what will happen to the money represented there. I assume most will probably go to pay for the lawyer and the rest to my parents. That money does not represent Eric. I wish he could still be here to use it for vacations and sports gear and gifts for Katie and my kids and anything else he wanted to.
Seeing that letter in black and white, with it’s notarized signatures and legalese just made it real all over again.
The letter was a summary of the value of Eric’s estate. All of his banking and investment accounts have been identified and closed, his car has been sold and it’s all been added up to represent him in a series of numbers.
I don’t think this comes close to estimating the value of Eric’s estate. What about the memories? What about the Star Trek t-shirt on the very top shelf of my closet that makes me smile and want to cry at the same time when I see it?
I know we have to be practical and dot every i and cross every t, but it’s hard when it comes at you out of nowhere in the mail.
I don’t really know (or care) what will happen to the money represented there. I assume most will probably go to pay for the lawyer and the rest to my parents. That money does not represent Eric. I wish he could still be here to use it for vacations and sports gear and gifts for Katie and my kids and anything else he wanted to.
Seeing that letter in black and white, with it’s notarized signatures and legalese just made it real all over again.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
#135 Surprise!
I have written repeatedly in this space about not being ready, able or willing to move on; and yet the world keeps moving on, it stops for no one. I keep working and parenting and playing and doing what needs to be done. Nothing quite says moving on like having a baby though, and that is what I am getting ready to do. Yes, you read that correctly. I am 15 weeks pregnant today and am expecting to meet this little one at the end of February.
I am really excited about this and so is my husband and our families. My kids are excited too--although I think it will wear off quickly once the baby is actually here; especially for my 3 year old who is a huge Mama’s boy. My oldest wants a sister and my youngest wants a brother, I’m with the 6 year old, although really, I’ll just take healthy.
Although we are excited, there is a large part of me that is also sad. Eric will never know his new niece or nephew. My third child will never know Eric. This child will certainly know of Eric, there are pictures of him all over my house, but that is different from really knowing him. And that is really hard to accept.
Some days it just feels like Eric is on an extended vacation to somewhere wild and primitive where there is no internet or cell service. Other days the finality of his loss kicks in. It really hits me when I think about having this baby without Eric. No more goofy newborn pictures, no more crazy naming suggestions. (For my last child he went with a medical theme suggesting Bandage or Clamp)
I don’t want to move on and yet it’s happening anyway. That’s what life does.
I am really excited about this and so is my husband and our families. My kids are excited too--although I think it will wear off quickly once the baby is actually here; especially for my 3 year old who is a huge Mama’s boy. My oldest wants a sister and my youngest wants a brother, I’m with the 6 year old, although really, I’ll just take healthy.
Although we are excited, there is a large part of me that is also sad. Eric will never know his new niece or nephew. My third child will never know Eric. This child will certainly know of Eric, there are pictures of him all over my house, but that is different from really knowing him. And that is really hard to accept.
Some days it just feels like Eric is on an extended vacation to somewhere wild and primitive where there is no internet or cell service. Other days the finality of his loss kicks in. It really hits me when I think about having this baby without Eric. No more goofy newborn pictures, no more crazy naming suggestions. (For my last child he went with a medical theme suggesting Bandage or Clamp)
I don’t want to move on and yet it’s happening anyway. That’s what life does.
Monday, September 6, 2010
#134 TV
I am an HGTV junkie and I blame Eric. When Eric visited us in Philadelphia he always found TV shows that we had never seen, but usually liked. Once he discovered Sponge Bob Square Pants and we did like it at the time, although now that I have little boys, the shine has worn off…..
Another time he introduced us to the BBC version of The Office, a truly great show. We also like the American version.
He also introduced us to one of my favorite shows ever, TLC’s Trading Spaces, my first foray into design shows. For those of you who don’t know this show involved two families who each re-decorated a room in the other’s house with the help of a designer. Most of the time the results were good and everyone was pleased, but sometimes there were disasters. Back in the day when we started watching the show, the designs weren’t nearly as sophisticated as they later became, but it was always fun to watch.
I think I’m a decent decorator in my own house, but I still love watching these shows and getting ideas or just lusting after the things I couldn’t afford to do. Eric was always more of a TV watcher than I was, but in this case he has turned me into an addict….at least in this one category. I’ll leave Star Trek, Star Wars and Sponge Bob to him, my husband and my kids.
Another time he introduced us to the BBC version of The Office, a truly great show. We also like the American version.
He also introduced us to one of my favorite shows ever, TLC’s Trading Spaces, my first foray into design shows. For those of you who don’t know this show involved two families who each re-decorated a room in the other’s house with the help of a designer. Most of the time the results were good and everyone was pleased, but sometimes there were disasters. Back in the day when we started watching the show, the designs weren’t nearly as sophisticated as they later became, but it was always fun to watch.
I think I’m a decent decorator in my own house, but I still love watching these shows and getting ideas or just lusting after the things I couldn’t afford to do. Eric was always more of a TV watcher than I was, but in this case he has turned me into an addict….at least in this one category. I’ll leave Star Trek, Star Wars and Sponge Bob to him, my husband and my kids.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
#133 Aunt Liz
Yesterday we visited really good friends and met their new baby boy. It was amazing. I remember six and a half years ago when they showed up in the delivery room with a Grover doll to meet my new baby boy. We have always had our kids call them aunt and uncle, and they have served well in their roles. He even dressed up in the hot, smelly, rented Elmo costume for my oldest’s second birthday. It’s been a long, hard journey for them to start their family and we are thrilled that it has finally happened.
I was introduced to this beautiful baby boy as Aunt Liz. I loved that. I hope that my husband and I can be as good to their kids as they are to ours. Also, with Eric gone and my husband’s brother so far a confirmed bachelor, this may be the only chance I get to be an aunt. I’m grateful for that chance. I brought him some clothes and toys and I’m sure there will be more in the future.
I have spent a lot of blog posts talking about what a great uncle Eric was. I was really looking forward to being an aunt to his kids; he and Katie were planning on a big family. I had already picked out the loud obnoxious toys I was going to buy for them—every kid needs a siren right?
I won’t get to do that now, but I’m lucky that I have amazing friends who will let me stand in as a member of their family.
I was introduced to this beautiful baby boy as Aunt Liz. I loved that. I hope that my husband and I can be as good to their kids as they are to ours. Also, with Eric gone and my husband’s brother so far a confirmed bachelor, this may be the only chance I get to be an aunt. I’m grateful for that chance. I brought him some clothes and toys and I’m sure there will be more in the future.
I have spent a lot of blog posts talking about what a great uncle Eric was. I was really looking forward to being an aunt to his kids; he and Katie were planning on a big family. I had already picked out the loud obnoxious toys I was going to buy for them—every kid needs a siren right?
I won’t get to do that now, but I’m lucky that I have amazing friends who will let me stand in as a member of their family.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
#132 Football!!
Today is a day that would mean absolutely nothing to Eric, and yet to millions of college football fans it’s a great day! As I have written about before, Eric was an athlete, but mostly in solo sports. He ran and hiked, he was a scuba diver and a tennis player, but he didn’t really go in for team sports. He didn’t play them and he didn’t watch them.
In my house today is huge. My husband and I both went to different Big Ten schools (you don’t want to be here when we play each other) and we both love to watch the games. The build up to the start of the season is intense. Some Saturdays it gets hard to leave the house as we watch one game after the other. Our boys have the proper jerseys and we fight over whose team they will support. Eric never understood this.
I think that’s ok though. There are a lot of things he did that I never understood. Like driving 40 miles just to sit in a coffee shop and work on his laptop, he couldn’t find a closer place to do that?? Or furnishing his apartment without a couch—thanks for the reminder Katie—those movie theatre chairs were nice, but I need a place to curl up under a blanket.
So today I’ll watch football and it won’t really make me think of Eric, except that inevitably he would call during a game and not understand why I didn’t want to talk. So maybe I will think of him during the game after all.
Go Cats!
In my house today is huge. My husband and I both went to different Big Ten schools (you don’t want to be here when we play each other) and we both love to watch the games. The build up to the start of the season is intense. Some Saturdays it gets hard to leave the house as we watch one game after the other. Our boys have the proper jerseys and we fight over whose team they will support. Eric never understood this.
I think that’s ok though. There are a lot of things he did that I never understood. Like driving 40 miles just to sit in a coffee shop and work on his laptop, he couldn’t find a closer place to do that?? Or furnishing his apartment without a couch—thanks for the reminder Katie—those movie theatre chairs were nice, but I need a place to curl up under a blanket.
So today I’ll watch football and it won’t really make me think of Eric, except that inevitably he would call during a game and not understand why I didn’t want to talk. So maybe I will think of him during the game after all.
Go Cats!
Friday, September 3, 2010
#131 Golb tsop
S’yadot golb lliw eb trohs. Cire dna I desu ot klat siht yaw. S’ti hcum reisae ot yas sgniht siht yaw naht ot lleps meht. Taht thgim eb lla I nac od. Ees ouy worromot.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
#130 Heaven
In the car on the way home from preschool my 3 year old asked, “Who is heaven?” Before I could answer, my 6 year old jumped in. “Heaven isn’t a person, it’s a place. It’s where you go after you die. There are clouds. Uncle Eric is there……Mommy, I miss Uncle Eric.”
Wow.
I honestly don’t know if I believe in heaven. I would like to. I’d love to think that all of our late loved ones are hanging around somewhere waiting to be reunited with us. It takes a leap of faith that I just can’t quite make though. I think it’s more likely that when we’re done, we’re done and that’s it.
When Eric died I didn’t know what to tell my kids about where he was. I think I told them he was in heaven because it was easy and it was an answer they could handle. My 6 year old wanted to take a rocket to go there to visit Eric; he thought there would be signs along the way to tell us where to go. I don’t know if I did a disservice to them or not by telling them this, but it was all I could handle at the time. I could barely talk without crying, let alone handle a metaphysical discussion on the level of a 3 and 6 year old.
I think it’s comforting to think that Eric is somewhere surrounded by clouds and love. I hope my kids are comforted by that thought anyway.
We ended up having a discussion of our favorite moments with Uncle Eric. My 6 year old remembered playing a game where he put his feet in Uncle Eric’s face. My 3 year old remembered visiting with him at his grandparent’s house. They both talked about fighting Uncle Eric with light sabers and how Uncle Eric always won because he watched Star Wars so much and knew all the moves. Although the 3 year old thought maybe he was fast enough to beat Uncle Eric anyway.
I think remembering is my version of heaven. It’s how I keep him with me always. And it’s something I can believe in.
Wow.
I honestly don’t know if I believe in heaven. I would like to. I’d love to think that all of our late loved ones are hanging around somewhere waiting to be reunited with us. It takes a leap of faith that I just can’t quite make though. I think it’s more likely that when we’re done, we’re done and that’s it.
When Eric died I didn’t know what to tell my kids about where he was. I think I told them he was in heaven because it was easy and it was an answer they could handle. My 6 year old wanted to take a rocket to go there to visit Eric; he thought there would be signs along the way to tell us where to go. I don’t know if I did a disservice to them or not by telling them this, but it was all I could handle at the time. I could barely talk without crying, let alone handle a metaphysical discussion on the level of a 3 and 6 year old.
I think it’s comforting to think that Eric is somewhere surrounded by clouds and love. I hope my kids are comforted by that thought anyway.
We ended up having a discussion of our favorite moments with Uncle Eric. My 6 year old remembered playing a game where he put his feet in Uncle Eric’s face. My 3 year old remembered visiting with him at his grandparent’s house. They both talked about fighting Uncle Eric with light sabers and how Uncle Eric always won because he watched Star Wars so much and knew all the moves. Although the 3 year old thought maybe he was fast enough to beat Uncle Eric anyway.
I think remembering is my version of heaven. It’s how I keep him with me always. And it’s something I can believe in.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
#129 Traffic
Yesterday I was on my way from work to pick up my youngest son and go home when I get stuck in a bunch of traffic. I was trying to make a left turn from one busy street onto another but there are two left turn lanes with a dedicated arrow, so it’s usually not that big a deal. Yesterday it seemed to take forever. When the light would change one or two cars would go and the rest of us would inch forward. I couldn’t see anything up ahead that would be impeding progress, but I knew there must have been something. As I was following the light cycle and knew it would be just about time for the arrow to turn green again, I heard sirens. My heart sank; just what I needed, another delay. Sure enough, a sheriff’s car with lights blazing blocked the intersection and then another one came along behind it. I started getting really annoyed. It looked like I was never going to be able to move from that spot.
Then I realized the second sheriff’s car was leading a funeral procession. There is a church on that corner (actually two) and the cars were coming from there. Immediately my attitude changed. I mentally sent condolences to the occupants of the cars. I hope their loved one had a long full life and died peacefully after being able to say goodbye. I will never know whose funeral that was or who the mourners were, but it touched me in a way a funeral procession never would have before.
In the past I would have stayed annoyed, probably grumbling (or worse) to myself in the car. Yesterday my anger melted away and was replaced by compassion, empathy, sympathy and understanding.
Of course by the time I was finally able to detour around the two stalled cars in the left turn lane (maybe only was stalled and the other was with the first?) and make my left turn I was back to being annoyed, but the moment stayed with me.
I have a new appreciation for other’s life changes. This is not how I would have chosen to get here, but I think it’s a good thing that I’ve arrived.
Then I realized the second sheriff’s car was leading a funeral procession. There is a church on that corner (actually two) and the cars were coming from there. Immediately my attitude changed. I mentally sent condolences to the occupants of the cars. I hope their loved one had a long full life and died peacefully after being able to say goodbye. I will never know whose funeral that was or who the mourners were, but it touched me in a way a funeral procession never would have before.
In the past I would have stayed annoyed, probably grumbling (or worse) to myself in the car. Yesterday my anger melted away and was replaced by compassion, empathy, sympathy and understanding.
Of course by the time I was finally able to detour around the two stalled cars in the left turn lane (maybe only was stalled and the other was with the first?) and make my left turn I was back to being annoyed, but the moment stayed with me.
I have a new appreciation for other’s life changes. This is not how I would have chosen to get here, but I think it’s a good thing that I’ve arrived.
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