This Sunday it will be 6 years since Chuck died.
Just writing that number leaves me breathless, and not in a good way.
How can it be 6 years?
Though it might as well be 6 centuries. That's how it feels.
So, my thoughts on this fractured time as they meander through my mind...Read more
I am so f-in tired tire of being apologetic, or maybe, “pre-emptively apologetic” is a better word. It is the act of defending your views before anyone has even tried to refute them. To be pre-emptively apologetic means that I talk about my wife carefully because I fear the comments of others. With Natasha, there was no fear, I could just talk, and talk, and talk.Read more
It is easy enough for most of us to identify with our own, “widowed” side of the story. We’re the ones left behind when our partner dies. We are all suddenly single parents, sole breadwinners, alone, scared, and confused. It doesn’t matter if we’ve had years to accept the impending death, or minutes.
But, what if we were on the other side of that coin? What if we knew we were the ones leaving others behind? If we knew that our children, partner, friends and family were going to have to be without us? What if we had to trust...REALLY trust that when we were gone, it would be horrible for our loved ones, but everything would be alright?
Even more risky, what if the riskiest thing we had to do was the one thing that kept us around longer?
This is what I’m thinking about this morning, after talking with an old friend yesterday.Read more
Anger, my good friend, anger.
You are so reliable, so constant,
sometimes I can’t see you, but then suddenly you appear, snarl and bite.
you are always there, always so patient,
you never shut me down and tell me to look on the bright side,
with you, I can ‘be dark’ and talk about death whenever and wherever I want.
You are always deep in the core of my chest, sometimes you are almost dormant,
other times you shoot lava everywhere,
and then I get to grunt, bark and scream!Read more
I find that my deams often reveal the detail of my grief. In a recent dream, my wife was scolding me for my parenting approach, “You too often let her get away with not eating fruits and veggies!” Clearly, I have not moved on from feelings of self-doubt about my parenting skills. I know most parents struggle with healthy food options, but I know it would be A LOT easier to feed my daughter if Natasha were still here. She wasn’t just a good cook, she was a great food researcher: I didn’t have to read labels and search websites, Natasha would just say, “Buy this, and not that.” This is where relying on our community is very helpful.Read more
You may have noticed that last Tuesday, there was no post from me. In short, we had a major power outage at my work, starting the Sunday prior, and being the only IT person, it fell to me keep the business running.
I left home Sunday evening, towards the office, and I was there until 3 A.M. or so. Then home for a few hours, then back to the office. I got maybe 45 minutes of sleep between Sunday morning and Tuesday morning.
This kind of thing has been a part of my life for a few decades now. It just comes with my chosen career.
That doesn’t make it feel “OK” though.Read more
I have watched loved ones turn into corpses, and, I somehow managed to survive. Being alive means I get to watch an amazing little girl grow up, but each and everyday, I daydream of what life would be like if Anisha’s mother and grandparents were still with us. I try to look on the positive—I am the ONE who gets to raise an amazing little girl! I get to feel her hand on my face in the morning, “Dada, wake up! I’m hungry.” I get to hear her say, “Daddy, look at my new dance move!” or “Daddy I wish I could hug you forever and never, ever let go!” I try hard to remind myself of the precious joys of watching a girl who is a blend of my wife and I mature. I try, yet I still feel this never ending abyss of pain, fear and anger.Read more
There was always a bit of competition between Megan and I as to who could be the “favorite” parent. It was playful, obviously, but between the two of us, we were always trying to get the “better” birthday present for Shelby, or take her to the more memorable thing to do, or tell the funniest joke. Whomever could make Shelby laugh harder got to “win” that battle.
Megan won, more often than not. When Shelby was younger, it was Disney princesses and ice-capades. Pink everything and dance competitions. Every so often though, I would swoop in with something like fishing or a funny “dad” joke (to Shelby, at least), and I would get to win that day’s competition.
All of this was in good fun, and it only benefitted Shelby. She got to experience multiple events, types of hobbies, or memories that she wouldn’t have otherwise. It helped her form the interests she has today.
But, as I am sure you are aware, considering the fact that you are reading this on the Soaring Spirits website, Megan died a few years back.Read more
How many of us had dreamed of being super heroes when we were younger? Pulled between imagining magic powers and wishing we were older so we could do whatever we want and “oh how perfect life would be”. It’s true when they say to be careful what you wish for…Read more
Megan spent a lot of time in her pajamas. It kind of came with the territory, spending so much time in the hospital. When she was home, she often wasn't nearly at 100%, so being in her pajamas was comfortable, warm, and easy. If there was no need to been seen in public, she figured, why get all dressed up and ready? Pajamas made sense.
She was tiny. Five feet, three inches, and at her absolute heaviest (after a double lung transplant and a lot of steroids) she was able to crack 110 pounds. She spent more of the time in the sub-100 pound range. Still, she wore those same big baggy pajamas.
In the final year of her life, she struggled to keep 80 pounds on her frame. Those pajamas fit her in a very specific way. The waistband was tight enough, but the flannel fabric draped off of her like curtains. Her accompanying t-shirt seemed far, far too large, with the sleeves actually hanging down to her elbows.
When I eventually got around to clearing out some of her clothes after her death, I don’t know exactly why I kept some of her pajamas. It may have been a small feeling of comfort in knowing that the things she wore so much weren’t just going away. Possibly, it felt a bit wasteful, knowing that they were so “broken in” that even a thrift store wouldn’t take them.
Mostly though, I imagine there was a lot of “oh, Shelby can wear these someday”
It’s now someday.Read more