Santa and Sandy Hook

I haven't blogged on here for a very long time.  This is our fourth Christmas without Michaela.  It is just as hard as the first one.  Maybe harder.  I certainly don't remember last year being this hard, but it probably was.  Last year, though, by now the house was filled with Children.  People were coming and going constantly.  The shopping was done early and the decorations were up.  It was such a frenzy of activity, I can't even remember it all.  We were packed in the house like sardines for weeks and I loved every minute of it. 

This year will be wonderful too.  It is just the lead up that is making me sad right now.  Family is coming.  Mom and Dad will be here Friday.  Dan, Val and Nathan (my brother's family) will arrive on Saturday (blizzard permitting).  We have plans for my birthday on Sunday with family and friends.  Christmas Dinner on Christmas Eve, a traditional Christmas morning and then some Florida time.  Dan's family can only stay three days, so that is a little bit sad, but we'll make the most of those days. 

We had the decorations up early this year, or at least some of them.  We had several redecorating projects going on at once, so really the house was in complete disarray for a few weeks which added to my stress.  But we knew these last few weekends were packed solid and for the first time in 4 years I am maintaining a full time work schedule.  The last few years I switched to a part time status around Thanksgiving and kept it to January.  That helped immensely.   But this year, although I was too busy at work to go part time, I have the luxury of being able to take the entire time off work while my family is in town.  So it will even out. 

But the build up and the preparations have taken their toll.  Even before the Sandy Hook tragedy, I was overtired, overstressed, and very emotional.  I took a couple of sick days, just because I really couldn't keep going, I needed sleep and I needed to be in my house.   I had to get things done that needed done (in my mind) or have a nervous breakdown.  After my mini-break I was feeling a lot better.  But Sandy Hook did me in.  Like so many other parents, grieving parents or not, it caused a physical reaction in me.  This is the first time I would say I had something like a post traumatic stress syndrome reaction, although I have been diagnosed with it for some time (no you don't just get it from war). 

I have had to turn off the news and hide certain people on Facebook.  I am very careful to read only the best, happiest news articles.  I take small bites of the Sandy Hook coverage.  I feel literally and physically for those families.  It was all I could think about for a few days.  The horror those parents have to live with forever.  I know how they feel.  I don't empathize, I know.  Because it doesn't matter how your child dies, the heart break part is the same.  They have the added burden that is was deliberate.  That is tragic.  They also have to deal with their child "lumped in" with 20 others forever, in a sense losing their individuality.  That is hard too, I think.  And the rest of us (grieving parents) have to admit we feel somewhere deep inside that our child's death was just as tragic (to us), but it wasn't on the media 24/7 and the president certainly didn't send his condolences to us.  But rationally, we know, the president will go home and the media will go home, and the friends and neighbors will go on with life and they will be EXACTLY like the rest of us.  Only living in a town where the rift between those who kept their children and those who lost their children will be a difficult one to face.  And so I cry.  Over every little damn thing. 

I commissioned a small piece of art a few weeks ago.  The artist called me today for the name of the art piece and I told her "Michaela".  She asked if that was after someone.  I said yes.  I could not say one more word.  I'm sure she found it strange, but if I had spoken another word, she would have felt awkward.  She handled it very gracefully.  I expect the art will be exquisite, Mishy has her way with things like that.

I have the luxury, as I said, of taking some time off.  I will rest.  I will eat right. I will destress.  I will make time for my grief.  That is the recipe for me to have a good holiday myself and provide a good holiday for my family.  I hope all of the other grieving parents figure out their own recipe and enjoy the holiday with their loved ones, living and deceased...I hope they understand that their loved ones really aren't that far away.  Set that place at the table and see if they stop by (rare private reference to a dear, dear friend).

We will be celebrating a 'normal' Christmas this year.  There will be too much food, too many presents, lots of drinks and talking and hanging out by a fire; but some part of my heart will be in Connecticut, in a town a mere 10 miles from where my own tiny grandchildren live, imagining the devastation of this Christmas on those families.  Hoping and Praying that they have love and support from family and community.  That nobody rushes them into anything and they are allowed to grieve exactly in the way that is right for them, for as long as they need to.

Art Festival Observations

When I announced my plans to go into business I promised to keep you all updated on how it was going and on the trials and successes of my attempts.  First thing I have learned is:  if you are going into a part time business, working a full time job, and living a normal life...well, there is little time to blog about it all!  But...

I did my first art festival this past weekend.  What a crazy business.  I’m hoping not all festivals go like this one did.  I have been assured by veteran festival artists that this show was not the norm, and I certainly hope so.  I jumped into this with both feet, probably a little too quickly and am learning some lessons through hard knocks.  But that is ok.  I’m not trying to feed my family or pay my rent with it, so this way may work for me. 

I love to go to art festivals to shop.  I never know what I am going to find or who I might be buying something for, but like most shoppers I went in with a pretty cavalier attitude.  Either I’ll buy something or I won’t, based on what I see. (admittedly I seldom go home empty handed)  I had absolutely no idea what goes on from the other side of the canopy.  I like to think that I was a courteous shopper, but there are times I may not have been.  I’m just going to share some information, I am absolutely not complaining, just hopefully widening knowledge and sharing some experiences and advice.

At this festival, much of the crowd was not out to shop.  It seemed they just wanted a destination for a family outing and the festival organizers catered to that need.  There was a kiddie area and an area with live music and food vendors.  That is a great idea.  It brings out people and people sometimes buy things.  I know, though, that I will look closely at festival plans in the future before I sign up to show there.  At this show, I was able to categorize the crowd into four distinct categories:  Lookers, Parents, Thrift Shoppers, and actual shoppers.  I have a request for each of you J. 

For the festival attendee (lookers), this is what I would ask.  If you have absolutely no intention of buying anything at all, no matter what you see, please keep your browsing brief or at least step to the side so others can also browse.  My tent is very small.  If you come in and want to talk to me for 15 minutes about your trip to Africa, your dream of a trip to Africa, what kind of camera you have, or where you took your last pictures, that is 15 minutes that I spend on you, while I miss people who might actually be shopping.  I will never be rude to you.  I will never ignore you.  Just please be aware I am not a guest at this event, I paid to be there and if I don’t make sales, I lose money.  Once, after listening to a man describe his own photography for about 20 minutes, I waved at a friend who walked by outside.  I never removed my attention from him other than that small wave, but he was offended, stopped mid-sentence, and walked out (no great loss, he wasn't buying anything, but I felt he was rude after commandeering my attention for so long).  On the other side of that coin, I had many people who came in, told me straight away that they couldn’t buy anything, but that my work was beautiful, who looked around courteously and seemed aware when so when a potential customer came near, they moved out of the way…thank you to these thoughtful people.

Parents, I know my pictures (primarily of wild animals) are interesting to your child and you are trying to make a hot, boring day bearable for your kids, please feel free to come in and point out the animals to your child(ren) for a brief stop, but don’t come in with 6 children and three strollers and spend 10 minutes monopolizing my space.  While you and your family are in there, shoppers with intentions to buy, walk right by.  They might peek in and make an intention to stop later if they like something, but they aren’t coming in while you are there and they won't be back later.  I watched one family in the booth of the mixed media artist across the street from me touch each and every piece and literally try to pull pieces off of the 3D work (parents and children).  So, to the parents who kept their littlest ones in the stroller at the entrance and to the side while pointing out the animals and  to those who were diligent about not letting their children touch, thank you to you.

Thrift Shoppers, please understand that art festivals are not flea markets.  I understand they look quite a bit alike, but the artists are not selling stuff they bought from a Wholesaler for pennies on the dollar or stuff they picked up from a garage sale last week.  We have to meet very specific criteria to even be accepted to show our goods at these festivals and we have very high relative costs for each show.  If a print from Walmart will do for what you need, then by all means go to Walmart and buy a print, but don’t expect me to match Walmart’s prices with a limited edition, signed print, a handmade leather bag, a hand carved flute or a one of a kind framed painting.  We just can’t do it.  Our prices are set mathematically to try to cover our expenses, compensate the time we took to create the object of your desires, and the 20 hours we are going to stand without so much as a potty break to try to find the perfect buyer for our unique creation.  Please treat our offerings with a bit of respect as we have our heart and soul tied up in them.  The five dollars you want off of the least expensive thing on my wall might be the difference between my making or losing money on the piece (or the day).

Shoppers (buyers), thank you so much for coming out.  I realize you are looking for that one special thing and may not find it in my booth.  You don’t need to patronize me with excuses or promises to come back if you don’t find anything else.  To the lady who admired a piece, asked the price, and then moved on, thank you so much for coming back and buying it.  You knew you didn’t need to say you might be back.  You, being a retailer, also probably knew if you did say that, I would disregard it, but also watch the crowd for you, hoping against hope that you would come back.  For the lady who agonized over two pieces, whose husband encouraged you to buy both and even had out his card to pay for them—who asked me to hold both pieces for you; I’m sorry you didn’t make it back, but I understand there are a lot of options out there; I hope you found the perfect thing.

Here’s some things I didn’t know before I ventured into this business.   First, I assumed that artists at these shows had less overhead cost than someone with a brick and mortar location.  Absolutely not true, actually probably the opposite.  Beyond the initial set up costs of purchasing a canopy and the structure to show your art, there are the fees for each show.  First is the Jury Fee, which is a non-refundable, $25 to $50 fee to apply to be at the show.  Judging consists of photos of three of your products and a photo of your canopy.  If you don’t have the “right” kind of canopy, you aren’t getting into the show.  For the high end shows that means a $3000 set up or more!  You also have to have the right kind of products…photographers who don’t do their own printing, mounting and framing, beware…the best shows won’t let you in, so don’t bother with that $3000 set up (something I wish I had known in advance).  If you don’t get in, then you are just out that money and need to make it up someplace else.

Assuming you are lucky enough to grab one of the limited spaces, there is the space rental:  $200-$500 for a weekend.  Just one weekend.  So if you do more than one weekend in a month, you have paid what a shop-owner would pay for a month’s rent for a much larger space.  Why does it make sense to do this instead of opening a shop?  First, for the built in crowds (hopefully, crowds with an intent to purchase).  Second, because you are an artist, not a retailer; you only have one product and don’t want to be buying and selling other people’s products.

And those are only the expenses for a show in your hometown.  You can’t make a living on two or three shows a year, so you are going to have to travel.  On weekends you travel, there is the additional expense of having a hotel or owning an RV.  Figure another $200 for the weekend for those costs and you have an artist who needs to make $450 to $750 in “profit” (over the cost of materials) just to cover their expenses for showing up that one weekend, never mind paying off that expensive canopy and having any money left over to pay your bills.

Also, like every shop-owner, we have to pay for credit card fees (about 3% of each sale), bank fees, insurance, inventory, materials and supplies, transportation, website, and hopefully a little money to buy a hamburger.  So please, if you are able, be generous with your local artists as well as with your local small businesses.  Uncle Sam Walton (Walmart) gets plenty of our money.

Will I stay in this business?  I don’t know.  But I’m not letting one event scare me away.  I have already been accepted for, and paid the rental space fee for events well into 2013 (yet another unanticipated fact… spending now for a possible profit 6 months from now).  The season in Florida lasts from October to May.  I will work as hard as I can this season and then reassess the situation.  I will look at other options to getting my work out there (thank you also to the retail lady who bought for also giving me her card to discuss showing my work in her home design shop).  And I will look at off season options. And I will ….well, let’s just see what the future brings.

 

The Power of Positive

Sometimes we are our own worst enemy.  It’s true.  It is obvious, if you have been reading my posts, that I have been having a difficult summer.  But what am I doing for myself to make it better?   The sad answer is nothing.  Ironically, I know things that make me feel better when I am down, I’m just not doing them.  Any of them.  After writing my last depressing blog and realizing that was at least three in a row, I figured it is time to step up and take control again.  I started by making a list of little things that help:

Get enough sleep

Read

Be in the Sun

Exercise

Listen to Music

Eat Healthy Food

Limit Alcohol

Chat with friends (especially others who truly understand)

Play with my dogs

Do something with a friend

Dress nice/wear make-up

Take a bath

Go for a walk

Plan something/Organize something (anything) 

None of these little things, on their own, are going to help me feel better.  Alone, each one might just feel like a chore.  But together, little things add up to big things.  If I want to stay off anti-depressants, I need some big things to change.   

Next I found an app that tracks my little things.  The little things that I need to make into new habits.  I put that in my iPad (already organizing something, check that off the list).  Then I started thinking about ways to make these habits easy to develop and fun to do.  Some of them are no effort, like listening to music.  There is nothing stopping me from playing music at my desk at work.  I just don’t think to do it.  Other things can be combined to happen at the same time, like reading or exercising in the sun.  Or exercising and walking the dogs.  Or exercising with a friend (and a dog, IN THE SUN!).  See how this is working?   

There is no way I will be able to do every single thing every single day, and most of these things don’t need to be done everyday, but by using an app to reinforce my plan, I hope to be able to see where I could improve.  I also would like to track bigger things.  Not daily habits, but things I should be doing regularly, that make me feel better like kayaking, going to the beach, learning new things, and taking short trips.  Those things that remind me that it is worth it to come out of the safety of my little cocoon in my house and join the real world.    

 

In another twist of coincidence (and we all know I don't believe in coincidence), my best friend, who has been going through a rough time of her own, through an entirely different process and with an entirely different catalyst, came to almost exactly the same conclusion:  that the way to make positive things happen is to do positive things and think positive thoughts.  Literally on the same day that I made the resolution to myself, she did the same.  This week our daily conversations have turned from a litany of complaints, counter-complaints and attempts to comfort and help each other (when neither of us had much to offer) into a snowball of positive thoughts and ideas, full of energy and optimism.  Breathing the air around me has gotten easier. 

I know this isn’t a magic bullet, but at least I’ll be doing something to help myself.  I know that I will still have down days to go with the up days, but if the power to negative can spiral out of control, than why shouldn't the power of positive? 

my life; a reality check

There is a commercial out for a movie (I don't know which one) where the parent sends the child off to school and says "Have a day."  Then he turns to the mother and says "I don't want to put too much pressure on him."  My husband said that to me before he left for work the other day and it made me smile.  Now, getting me to smile in the morning is quite a feat these days, so that is noteworthy, but really it was a bit of an ironic smile because of the truth in it. 

Most of the time this blog is all about rainbows and miracles and hope, but sometimes life is harder than my Facebook page makes it look.  This blog is a bit more honest and a little depressing, so if you are here for the miracles, you might want to skip this one.  The real truth of my life now is that with very few exceptions I don't have good days and bad days; I simply have days.  Sometimes it feels more like I have bad days and regular days.  And with time, it seems to get worse/harder, not better/easier. 

Morning is the worst part of the day.  I wake up.  I lie in bed and try to go back to sleep.  Can't do that, so I do what most people do (I think), I go over my plans for the day in my head.  If it is a regular day, not a bad day, my first thought won't be 'oh, crap, I had a 7:00 meeting this morning'.  Even on a regular day, it doesn't matter what those plans are, I don't want to do any of it.  I want to stay in bed.  I want to be alone.  I want to read a book.  I want to cry. 

Next I go over my blessings.  I have a wonderful husband, a son I'm proud of, super good friends, great step-kids, beautiful grandchildren, dogs I love, a beautiful home, enough money to live comfortably, a family that loves me, a cat that tolerates me, my health.  I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but the last thing I want to do is whatever it is I am supposed to be doing today.  No matter what it is.  No matter if I made the plan to do it myself because it used to be something I would enjoy.   I just don't want to go.  Don't make me.  (says the voice in my head)

I lose that battle (or win it, depending on perspective).  I get up, brush my teeth, shower, and put on my big girl panties.  I push all thought to the back of my head and go through my morning robotically.  I have already not done things that I keep telling myself I will do.  I did not get up 30 minutes earlier to walk the dogs, I do not put on make up or fix my hair.  I stand in my closet and look for the easiest thing to wear, not the nicest; what can I wear flat sandals with?  What won't feel tight around my ever growing tummy?   I drink a glass of tea and take my vitamins.  If I'm doing well, I will make a fruit smoothie to drink on the way to work and a veggie one for lunch.  If not, I just leave for work.

Now, I am a responsible person, don't get me wrong.  I do what has to be done.  I go to work.  I do my work.  If I make a specific plan to be somewhere and someone is planning on that, I will be there and I will do what I said I would do.  It is usually just myself I let down.  I don't get that workout in, I don't put out that extra effort to look nice, eat healthy, clean the house, go to that social function I said I would attend, or plan a nice dinner. 

What is missing is joy.  I don't have joy in my life.  I used to joke that David was my Pride and Michaela was my Joy.  I think I was right. 

I appreciate beauty.  I will stop for a sunrise or a sunset or a rainbow and enjoy the beauty of this world.  But I can't remember when I felt truly happy, or silly, or goofy, or fun.  I can't imagine something that would answer the question "what would I like to be doing right now, just for fun?"

I know I used to have a sense of humor. I know I used to make really bad jokes and laugh really hard at stupid things. I remember that I used to laugh until I cried on a regular basis (embarassing). I remember that Michaela used to call me cheesy for my weird sense of humor or roll her eyes at me as she laughed, saying oh, god, mom.    And I would try to convince her that it was funny stuff.  I know I used to dance, with my husband or just around the house.  And I used to sing out loud.  I remember that person and I miss her, but I don't think she's coming back. 

If you follow my Facebook or know me in real life, you know that I have had a series of successes lately.  A bunch of really nice things has happened in my life.  Things that should make me happy.  And they do please me.  But not like they should.  I sell an image and smile, but there is no little happy dance.  I am accepted into a huge art festival, I smile a little smile and post it on facebook so everyone will know how wonderful my life is and how much I appreciate my blessings.  But no happy dance.  No running out and shouting to the world.  No celebration.

On the other end of the spectrum, when something not so good happens.  I'm not talking tragedy here, just a little life annoyance.  I can't handle it.  It takes me down from whatever little perch I was holding on to.  I get angry.  I get sad.  I cry.  Sometimes I don't do things or say things because I just can't face the possible consequences...rejection, argument, whatever. 

Finally, comes the end of the day.  At night I reassess my day and determine that I could have done a lot better.  I kick myself around for the things I didn't do and maybe some of the things I did do.  I promise to do better.  I try to make a plan to do better.  I put off going to bed, I can't even explain that one.  I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, but I don't want to get into it at night.    But eventually I do.  And I sleep.  And it starts all over. 

So, no, I am not a crying, whining mess (most of the time).  The people around me seem to think I am ok.  That I am doing just fine.  That I am brave and strong.  That I am out enjoying life to the fullest.  They don't get that I don't feel anything inside but pain.  That I don't feel like I have anything to give, anything to offer.  No, I don't cry every day, but I could.  At the drop of a hat I could be in tears.  Every day.  All day.

Of course, what I just described is clinical depression.  There is no question of that, really.  So I should also say that I was on anti-depressants until a few months ago.  I hated them.  I felt nothing when I was on them.  I didn't cry, but I didn't laugh either.  I thought being off them and being able to feel would be better.  That I would feel more pain, but that I would also feel more joy.  I was willing to accept the downs to get the ups back.  I was wrong.  I feel the pain, but the joy is still gone.  I have been debating going back on them.  At least on them, I had the energy to try to live.  I suppose that is the answer to my own question, right here in black and white.

-- I thought about not sharing this blog because it is such a pity party.  But I know there are a lot of bereaved parents out there who read my blog and I feel it would be a disservice to them to not acknowledge this part of my (our) life.  They should not feel like they aren't coping if they feel this way too.  My blog is intended to offer hope and commiseration for those of us who are lost, but not by hiding behind rainbows and unicorns.  Sometimes just coping is the best we can ask for until a better day comes around.

An Imperfect Analogy

There is a quote floating around on the internet grief sites that says:  I don’t think people understand that when I say I think about you every day, I really mean every day.  That quote struck me as inaccurate.  Then I thought about it some more.  It came from a normal grief site, not a site for grieving parents, so maybe it is accurate for some types of grief.  But I think it is a gross understatement for a grieving mother.  I tried to correct it in my head.  I tried every hour, that wasn’t right.  I tried every minute, but that wasn’t right either.  It isn’t a thing that can be measured in time.   It is more of a measure of intensity.

By that I mean, that there is really never a second I am not aware of my daughter and my grief.  Sometimes it floats in the back of my consciousness and I function quite well, almost like a whole person.  Other times it punches me right between the eyes and I do not function at all for a while.  I came up with a little analogy that I like quite a lot.

Grieving my daughter is like I imagine it would be to lose my left arm.  I am right handed.  I can function with my right hand.  Some things are going to be a little inconvenient with only one hand (opening a door with something in my hand).  Some things will be much harder (turning a cartwheel, pushing a wheelbarrow).  Some things I will have to completely relearn to do a new way (type, tie my shoes).  Other things are simply impossible (playing a clarinet, carrying a large, heavy object).

One thing I know for sure, I will never be unaware that I don’t have that arm any longer.  It won’t slip my mind.  All that will change is the fierceness with which I am missing that arm.  Am I frustrated by an inconvenience or am I screaming with rage and frustration at what I can no longer do?  It just depends on the circumstances. 

Do I feel my arm still?  People say you do.  I certainly feel Michaela still; sometimes more than others.  Do I still unconsciously try to do things with that arm before I realize it isn’t there.  I’m sure I do that too.  I certainly still think, at times, that I need to remember to tell Michaela something, or I should buy something for Michaela for Christmas.  Less often now than I used to, just like eventually I would get used to not having my arm.  I wouldn’t forget about my arm missing, I would just adjust to not having it.  It would be futile not to adjust.  It would be impossible not to adjust in some way.  I’m sure some people adjust in more healthy ways than others.  Some people might lose their arm and find a way to excel as a one armed person.  Others might hold onto anger and never really adjust.  

 

I’m sure that when I would be thinking about my missing arm, that I wouldn’t be visualizing my fingers and my fingernails and my wrist.  I would be missing the functionality of that arm.  I would be missing the essence of that arm.  That is how I miss Michaela.  I don’t have her face plastered in my mind every minute of the day, but the essence of who she was (and who she would have been) lingers around me like the smell of flowers on a spring day.  It fades and swells and sometimes blows across my face with such a sweet smell that it makes me lift my head, breathe deeply and smile.

A Rainbow is a Poor Substitute

I’ve written several blogs on what (not) to say to a grieving parent, but as my years of experience in this role grow, so does my patience dwindle.  First, let me say that I always assume that people don’t have any idea what to say, and if they say the wrong thing it is probably not intentional.  But there is one ‘compliment’ that I get from time to time that just irritates the heck out of me.  I can deal with the obviously ignorant comments like “she is in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” or even “it is good that you have moved on with your life.”  I just figure the person is ignorant, and blessed to be ignorant, of what I am oh so knowledgeable of.

First though, let’s take a step back in time.  I remember when my children were very young and I was in the Air Force, working every day and leaving my children at day care.  It seemed like every single stay-at-home mother I knew complained about people making comments about their ‘not working’ or ‘how nice it was they didn’t have to work’ and we all wisely nodded our heads and said comforting things about how being a stay-at-home mom was a full time job.  But those same women, almost without exception, said to me at one point or another, “I admire you for being able to juggle both a job and family (or something along those lines)” and immediately followed that with “I just couldn’t bring myself to go back to work after Junior was born.”

Does anyone else see the backhanded compliment in that?  Perhaps it was intended as a genuine compliment, and the speaker was just too wrapped up in herself to hear the implication of the statement.  Perhaps I am oversensitive and hear an implication that wasn’t present.  But my ears heard “I am a better mother than you.  I love my children more than you love yours.  If you truly loved your children, you wouldn’t have been able to bear it either.”  And I always wanted to respond (and sometimes I did), with, well, it wasn’t like I had much choice.  I wasn’t independently wealthy or married to someone who could single-handedly support our family in the way we wanted our children to live (read 'not on food-stamps').  I see now that those women must have felt some kind of insecurity in their own status in the world, and were taking it out in a passive-aggressive way whether they realized it or not. 

My new pet peeve is also delivered almost exclusively by other mothers.  It too, starts out as a compliment.  Something along the lines of “I’m really impressed with your strength” or “you have done such a great job of dealing with everything” and then is immediately followed up with “I just don’t think I could go on if something happened to Junior.”  Do you see the parallel here?  I try not to judge, but I have trouble believing that they can’t see the insensitivity of that statement.  My ears hear exactly the same thing they heard all those years ago when I had to let other people take care of my children to put food on the table, "I love my child more".

I have to remind myself that they don’t know what they don’t know and they are blessed to remain ignorant.  What they don’t know is that I wasn’t given any choice in the matter at the time and I’m not given any choice in the matter now.  What they don’t know is that to get through any given day I have to force thoughts of my daughter to the back of my mind so I can function.  They don’t know that coping, by forcing thoughts of my child away, incites incredible feelings of guilt.  They don’t know that I can only force her to the back of my thoughts for so long before it (my grief) will find its way back out and knock me off my feet, sometimes for days at a time.  They don’t know that I don’t sleep at night and don’t function very well during the day.  They don’t know about nightmares, night sweats, and panic attacks.  They don’t know that every time they see me, I am putting on the “I’m Okay” show…I’m pretty good at it.  They don’t know that everything I do is twice as hard as it used to be; that life’s every little frustration is a huge hurdle for me; that every petty meanness that is thrown at me, even a rude driver, rubs against my skin like sandpaper; that every joy, every beauty, every moment of fun, is colored with sadness.  They don't know that for all of my positive posts about rainbows and miracles, that a rainbow is a poor substitute for a daughter.  They don’t know that not 'going on' isn’t an option.

They don’t know what they don’t know; and I honestly hope they never have to know. 

What's the worst?

I remember about six months after Michaela died, around Christmas time, people started asking me this question.  THE question.  The question I get asked more than any other.  What time of year is the worst?  Is it the holidays?  Her birthday?  The anniversary of her death?  At the time, I had no idea.  What kind of a question is that to ask someone in my situation.  My answer then would honestly have been...every day.  Every single F-ing day is the worst.  Every day I have to wake up is the worst.  They are all the worst and each one is worse than the one before. 

We just passed the third anniversary of Michaela's death.  I still can't put a date on it.  I noticed this year that her friends recognize the date of the accident; after all, she never woke up, so maybe that is the day.  People underestimate the wisdom of youth.  It is something I have struggled with...the date of the accident, the date she was declared dead, the date she went for organ donation, and the date we put her ashes in the ocean.  All separate and painful memories for me.  The whole week throws me...not by calendar dates, but by days of the week and surrounding events.


Michaela's accident was on the last Sunday of June.  That it was a Sunday was important because it defines what we were doing that day.  We were home.  I had been on a photo shoot the day before.  We were still in our lounging pajamas at 3 in the afternoon.  I was editing photos.  Bill was watching sports.  Michaela went to the beach for the afternoon.  It only makes sense on a Sunday, so regardless of the date, in my mind it will always be that last Sunday of June.  At the other end of the spectrum is the day we placed her cremains in the ocean.  That day was the 4th of July.  There is no other way to think about it...I couldn't tell you what day of the week it was.  It isn't important.  So from the last Sunday in June to the 4th of July...those are the days I relive the impossible. 

I have a better answer now, I suppose, for those who ask that question.  The answer is the anniversary of her death followed very closely by her birthday.  Sure the holidays are hard.  But anyone who knows, knows.  Every day is hard.  Every single day.  It numbs.  It gets easier, sort of.  But every day will never be like every day used to be.  I will struggle to get out of bed and put on a smile and do what needs doing; some days I will succeed, some days I won't.  But those two dates...they are killer. 

Here is why...simplified.  All of the holidays involve all of the family.  Kids, friends, parents, other family...there is usually a crowd and a lot going on.  Cooking, cleaning, presents--you know the drill.  But those two dates were (and are) all about her.  Birthdays are about the birthday girl.  As her birthday approaches, I think about all of the birthdays she had...what we planned, what we did, what she loved and even (stick shift car) when she wasn't pleased. 

But the anniversary of her death is worse yet.  In the month coming up to that, my mind is filled with what we did that summer.  We had a wonderful summer (a blessing).  The time is filled with memories of "the last time"....the last road trip, the last ice cream at Del's, the last visit with David, the last argument, the last hug, the last "I love you", the last, the last, the last. 

And then there are the messages from her friends.  Oh how I love the messages.  Oh how the messages make me cry.  I hope the messages never stop, but I know they will.  The messages are so bright they make my eyes water to look at them.  I love them.  I need them.  But they hurt too.  I would love the messages to come at other times.  I love that they come then.  But so many, all at once, I can only read them in short bursts.  The beauty of the Internet is that those messages stay and I can go back, during leaner times, and look at them one at a time.  When I am not so very raw. 

As an experienced griever...what a terrible thing to have on your life's resume....I know now that I can't look straight on at my grief very long or very often.  It is like looking straight into the sun.  You can glance at it or you can see it in your peripheral vision, but if you look right at it, it makes you cry.  It hurts.  It could blind you with its power.  It isn't safe at all.  It is much better just to grab a glance now and then.  You know it is there all the time.  It wakes you up in the morning.  It pops in and out of the clouds.  It warms you and sometimes it burns you.  It is ever present, but you don't think about it every minute; it is just part of your existence.  That is how my grief is.  More importantly, that is how my daughter is.  She is ever present.  She is part of my existence.  She colors everything else I see.  And when I can't feel her, all is dark.

Hello, It's been awhile

Hi!  Wow, have I been busy.  Last I left you, I was telling you about my plan to open a business this summer.  Well, here we are in summer and no sign of a business yet, but don't worry, we're working on it.  I have a story to share.  This blog isn't just about my life.  This is about my life as a bereaved mother.  And I have to tell you that there is nothing that happens in my life that isn't colored in some way by that.  Unless this is your first time reading my blog, you also know that I strongly believe that the line between this world and that one isn't very thick...we are just not equipped (usually) to see across it and we are trained from a very young age that we can't.  Once you tell a child they can't; eventually, they believe it.  Until something proves them wrong.

No, I haven't been gifted with the powers of a medium.  I can't see the future or bend spoons with my mind.  I have just learned to try a little harder to listen to the signs the universe is sending me.  My angels, my daughter, the universe, God, and all of my family members alive and departed want me to succeed in this life.  With a cheering squad like that, how can I fail? 

Ok, back on track.  I was working on a plan to open an art gallery.  Everything the universe was telling me was to do this.  But then a few things changed.  I looked at the real estate I had thought was perfect and it wasn't so perfect.  Then David got accepted into a great art school; which would mean I would have to find someone to run the business on a day to day basis or give up my job.  We had discussed putting in a coffee/wine/beer shop along with the gallery and that was causing a lot more research...what do I know about coffee?  The stress was building and time was crunching.  We were just about to leave for a magical trip to Africa and nothing was in place yet and I was stretched way too thin.  Too many irons in the fire with that project and so many family projects that are important to me. 

Then I had a dream.  In the dream, I was a terrible person.  I mean, seriously, the worst.  The dream was loosely based on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  There were some kind of tickets and whoever got one could bring one other person.  It wasn't to a candy factory though.  It was to go see or do anything in the world you have ever wanted to experience.  There were about 10 people who would win and the winners would magically do everything in a weekend.  Tickets were impossible to get, but Michaela got one.  She chose to give me the other one.  Then unexpectedly a casual aquaintance gave me one too.  But instead of giving Michaela back her extra one to give to someone she loved; I gave it to someone else.   I half heartedly told her not to worry, I would spend plenty of time with her, but it wasn't true.  I felt obligated to the person who gave me the other ticket and left her all alone, knowing no one. 

Another factor in the dream was that I had several animals--dogs, cats, even horses--but I was so excited about doing this adventure that when I was asked about the animals, I shrugged it off.  I said they would be fine for a weekend on their own.  I didn't even try to find someone to take care of them. 

In Ngorongoro valley. 
One of the real seven wonders of the world.

Finally it was time to pick our destinations.  I can't remember now what I picked, but they were enormous things...7 wonders of the world type choices; almost all about travel.  Even knowing that we would spend barely seconds in each place to get everywhere in one weekend.  I was greedy on top of everything else.  And the adventure happened.  And I didn't spend the time with Michaela.  She was alone.  And I didn't enjoy a single minute of it, because there was no time to breath and enjoy the beauty of the places I wanted to go.  And I woke up very upset.  I had taken Michaela for granted.  I had been greedy.  I had been thoughtless.  I had been selfish.  Just about as crappy of a person as one could be. 

Then oddly, I went back to sleep and the dream started over.  But I could remember the other dream.  I made better (but not perfect) choices.  This time I stayed with Michaela and the dream went on.  And I woke again disappointed, but not devastated like the first time.  At least this time I took care of Michaela; but she was disappointed in me.  My other choices weren't right.  Two more times that night I dreamed the same dream.  Each time I made better choices.  In the last dream, instead of trying to see the wonders of the world, I picked very simple things.  That is what Michaela was telling me to do.  I don't remember what they were...I remember one was something about making chocolate chip pancakes with Michaela and Grama.  They were all along those lines...learning something new, appreciating something small. 

When I woke the last time, I was happy.  I had learned what I was supposed to learn.  I got it.  I got it on a grand scheme of remembering what is important and what is beautiful, but I also got it in my current situation.  I believe I was being told to slow down.  Take small steps.  Don't forget what is important.  Learn one thing at a time.  I believe that Michaela, who in life wanted me to move faster at getting a photography business going, was telling me in spirit to slow down and not fall over my own ambitions. 

Out of that, the first thing I decided was to nix the coffee shop part of the plan.  At least for now.  That takes time, knowledge and money that I don't have at my disposal.  Next I decided to slow down the the opening of the actual storefront gallery.  First we need to sell some art at other galleries or in an art festival format.  Get things shown.  Build a resume.  Build a reputation.

And keep the momentum.  That is my biggest fear of going slower.  I have started so many good projects that I want to keep working on, but I lose my momentum.  I need focus.  I will continue all of those projects, but it will take time.  I wish I could not work my full time job, but that isn't in the cards either for a good long time.  There are only so many hours in the day; so I have to focus on 1. what has to be done and 2. my family/friends and 3. what my dream is.  The rest is just hobbies and pastimes...blogging, craftwork, and some other things I have started and not finished...these will fill in whatever cracks there is in time available.   But I will continue to find a way to follow my dream; one small step at a time.

I had envisioned blogging about my business set up experience initially, but that isn't going to happen for two reasons.  First, setting up a business, even a tiny one, takes a whole lot of time!  So instead of trying to write a whole blog on what is happening, you are welcome to follow my progress in fun sized bites on our Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/EnsoGallery

I will continue to write here, when I can, about my experiences as they relate to Michaela and my life as a grieving mother.  I have a lot to say.  Things are happening and she is constant in my life, but I didn't want to leave the business series unfinished.  But I also love hearing about other people's otherworldly experiences in all their various forms, so I set up a facebook site for sharing.  It is a non-judgement zone.  A few people have shared their experiences and I would love to hear from more:  https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/groups/205921422836363/

I had a wonderful gift from Michaela in Africa that I shared on that FB page all ready.  I opened my heart to meet someone I was very nervous to meet, but that worked out wonderfully.  I feel on the edge of a great something that she is leading me to.  But I also must point out that this week is the week of the third anniversary of the end of her time on this earth.  It is a difficult time for me.  I find myself crying a lot and not feeling physically well; wanting to cocoon myself in the safety of my home away from the people who would help me.  But I also must remember that in the past two years she has blessed me with a sign of her continued presence in my life.  I'm asking her again to be with me and help me through.  And maybe get TS Debby to move on her way and let the sunshine into our lives again.

With Blessings.

Katy