#158 It's a .....

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.

#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

#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.

#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.

#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.

#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.

#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.