Six Year Old Grief

My daughter has been gone for more than six years now.  Six years. 

Remember how a child's birthdays go (or at least they used to)?  Big parties for the big birthdays...1, 2, 5, 10, 16, 18, 21 or something like that.  This year isn't a 'big' year and I guess that is good.  I have a few friends who have been to the bigger years.  I haven't asked how that goes.  I think 10 years will be a 'big' year.  My heart breaks for my friend who will have that anniversary soon.

Grief is different now.  The fog is gone, the jelly-thick air is gone, the crushing mornings are gone...I am grateful that these things are over for the most part.  I'm in a new era.  A different phase.  A part of grief that the writers don't write about as much.  A part that is unknown and but not scary; a part that is a little bit unpredictable and strange.  A part that other people will not, and can't be expected to, anticipate or be terribly compassionate towards. 

It doesn't spiral up or down or go in circles like I talked about in my early blogs.  It strikes like sky lightning.  Not the spears of lightning that strike the earth and start fires, but the big lightning that lights up the whole sky and is followed by rumbling, growling thunder.  And it comes from nowhere like a midafternoon storm in Florida.  One minute you are sitting at the beach, enjoying the sun, and 5 minutes later the thunder is rumbling and its time to pack up and run.

I'm a happy, optimistic person; always have been.  I'm not a bubbly, social, exuberant type...don't confuse the two.  I just have always been able to see the future in a good way and never anticipate anything bad happening.  I'm completely surprised that hasn't changed about me.  I still don't worry needlessly much.  I still don't anticipate bad endings for anything.  I am a happy person.  I can't imagine how someone who does not have that internal mindset goes through grief; I'm sure it is completely different than my journey.   I, long ago, stopped reading books about grief because it was pick and choose about what fit and what didn't.  It is a completely personal, individual experience.

A song, a picture, a smell, a sudden memory.  Something that happens all the time, but just this one time, it makes me cry.  Driving past a place I drive by everyday, but just this one time, it strikes with a memory. A song comes on the radio, but just this one time, the tears flow.  Someone sends me a message, but just this one time, I have a flash of anger.  Like sky lightening, it is ok.  It is safe.  Crying happens, but it passes.  There is no danger of falling into a place I can't get out of.

Today was a pretty typical day.  Today went like this:  Reading the essays submitted by the returning RA's, candidates for the Michaela Thomas Heart of the RA scholarship and thinking about her journey.  Eating a hot dog and remembering a little girl complaining that her hot dog was 'too flavorful' to eat.  Updating the pictures on the wall, changing out everyone for more current pictures, but leaving some pictures just the same.  Hearing a song on the radio that speaks to my soul and the soul of my daughter...because 'In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal'...a topic that has been very close to my heart and the heart of our country.  And just letting the tears flow, because that is the best way to let it happen.  For me.

But in my daughter's eyes, everyone was equal.  Everyone.  White, Black, Hispanic, man, woman, gay, straight, bi, transgender....it doesn't matter.  My daughter had no prejudice.  I would like to say that I taught her that, but that would be a lie.  It was just part of who she was.  Even when she was angry, during African American Studies (when the teacher told her to watch her hubris, but he really meant to be aware of her privilege) in college, when she felt she was being discriminated against, when she said she was becoming prejudiced because of the class...she wasn't really.  It wasn't part of her.  It wasn't someone she could be.  And I learned it from her.  She didn't learn it from me.  Sure I said all the right things and hopefully I did the right things, I tried anyway, but I learned how to really feel it and live it from her. 

We are here to love each other and help each other and if you don't want to be a part of that, stay out of the way and out of my sight. 

TimeHop retrospective

I have this little app on my iPad called TimeHop.  Mostly in the few years I have had it, it has been a fun but disappointing toy.  Every day the app gathers your posts from social media sites from years past and sends them to you to remind you of where you were and what you were doing on the same day in other years.  The disappointing part is that before this year, it didn't seem to go back more than 4 or very occasionally 5 years.   Every day I would look at it hoping to see some kind of gift of from the past, but nothing much came up except things to remind me that I live quite a routine life. 

This year the app is a little more powerful, but still disappointing.  It has been showing me 6 and occasionally 7 years old posts, but they are still only my posts and what I am noticing is that 7 years ago I was a queen of vague posts and at least this month (July) all of my posts from six years ago were vague, sad, or about my lack of sleep. 

All of these reminders of what I felt like, the things I said and did, have me thinking back at the newest, freshest grief through the eyes of experience and time.  It took me a long time to figure out why I couldn't sleep.  You would think that grief would have made me exhausted and I would fall in bed as soon as possible, but it didn't work that way.  I was exhausted, but night after night I sat up most of the night. 

I didn't know what I was waiting for.  I would just get more and more tired and my thoughts and my posts would get more and more jagged and crazy.  Logic would say that escaping into sleep would be the best and easiest thing to do.

I knew I wasn't doing myself any good, but I just couldn't make myself go to bed.  I would lay down for a few minutes and decide I needed to get back up.  I searched through Facebook and reread everything that people sent.  I didn't know what I was searching for or what I hoped would happen.  I posted weird random thoughts...many of which I deleted the next day because they were just too raw. 

I think if you had asked me then, I might have said I was waiting for Michaela to come home.  Or for something to happen to prove to me that it wasn't real.  Or for some sign of where she is now and that she is ok.  Maybe that was some of it.  I'm not sure now.  I still look for those things, and love it when I get a little surprise, but mostly I sleep ok. 

These clips don't show the time I posted them the way TimeHop does.  All of these were posted very late at night.  When I was up for no apparent reason, doing nothing, looking for something, and very, very alone. 

A few days ago I woke up very, very sad for no apparent reason (anniversary?).  And suddenly I knew why I didn't sleep for so long.  While it may be true that I was hoping for something or looking for something, I don't think that is why I couldn't sleep.  I think I couldn't sleep because I didn't want to wake up.

Waking up was the absolute worst part of my day.  I woke up feeling terrible.  My body felt heavy and pushed down by gravity.  I couldn't breath right.  I was looking directly into another long day of hopelessness.  The sadness of the morning was overwhelming.  And I had to get up and move.  People still depended on me to do things, be places, act like a human being.  That was so much harder than seemed possible during those first minutes of morning.  So, although I was exhausted, I felt better at night, when nobody expected anything from me and I didn't expect anything from myself, when the day was over, not staring at me daring me to get up and face it; although I was still sad at night, it was bearable.  And as long as I was awake, I wasn't waiting to wake up again to that same heavy weight of the expectations of a new day. 

I sleep better now, most of the time.  I don't wake up burdened by the impossibility of every day.   Those early days (years) of foggy thinking and walking through jello instead of air have mostly passed.  I will always miss my daughter.  I will always be looking for those little gifts...I even got one today.  I'm not writing this because I am sad; I am writing this because I am ok. 

But I wasn't. I wasn't ok yet except for vague, sad, and unhelpful posts, I tried very hard to just be the competent and happy person I had been.  I didn't give many people a chance to help me and I didn't give myself much time to help myself and unfortunately, the universe didn't give me much time to take care of myself before throwing more at me, but even with all of that things do get better and become manageable. 

Like that one legged woman on the bicycle, you adjust and learn to balance again.

Why hate the word Step (parent)?

Several times lately I have heard the term stepmother or stepfather used in the negative, as in "there are no 'steps' in our house" or "it really bothers me when someone identifies themselves as a 'step' parent" or "why does a step parent always have to point out that the child isn't theirs"?  I am a step mother.  I am also a mother.  I love all of my children...my step children and my natural children and the 'step' daughter who was old enough to be getting married and having her own children when I married her father that we have decided I can be her kids grama and her friend because otherwise would have been just silly. 

I am not ashamed to identify myself as a step mother.  I will admit there have been times when some nameless bureaucrat has asked me if I am the mother and I said yes (even once in the case of the eldest).  It is 1.  easier and 2.  none of their business.  But the rest of the time I am happy to explain my complex family if someone really has the time to figure it all out. 

There are times when it is absolutely appropriate for a step parent to use the parent moniker.  If the child is very young, maybe.  If the other natural parent is not present, maybe.  If all of the parents are in agreement that is how it will be done, maybe.  If the child wants you to, probably.  Every situation is absolutely unique.  I am only addressing those who have made me feel like I should be ashamed to acknowledge my status as a step mother or that I should somehow be something other.

When a parent marries another parent and the children are not adults, there is always going to be some family blending issues.  I can't imagine a situation where there is not, but I suppose it happens.  For the step parent, there are so many issues that are out of your control that are going to effect your relationship with the children:  How old they are,  how recent the split was, how accepting the other parent is of you, the parenting style of your new spouse, the parenting style of their other parent, what happens when they are not in your home, and of course, money.  All of those issues can work for you or against you. 

Trying to be the parent, instead of the step parent, when the natural parent is still involved is a bad idea in most cases, I think, even if the child lives with you.  In fact, the more things that work against you, the harder it is.  You have to accept that you will always be the least important 'parent'.  Not that you won't do as much as the 'real' parents, you will do that and more.  You will try harder, listen more, get more frustrated, and get your feelings hurt the most.  You will be ignored, tested, and pushed to your limits.  You will be excluded and then asked to be inclusive, almost in the next breath.  You will be grateful for the little things and understanding of the big ones.  You will share your spouse with the parent of his/her child(ren), forever, because that is just the way it is and if you don't like it don't sign up.

I am a step mother, I love my family, and I am see nothing wrong with that.  

Five Years

Wow.  Five years.  Things change so much in five years.  But yet they don't.  Eventually this world will be unrecognizable to you, but for now, we are all still using Facebook, laptops are still viable, smartphones haven't evolved much and Del's Freeze is still standing.  The world is much like it was when you left.  I have an app that brings up "this day in your life" 1-5 years ago.  I like it, but I worry.  The days in my life 5 years ago are going to go from fantastic to horrific very soon.  I'm ready, I think.  But I'm not.  I'll be at the beach on Sunday.  I'll be watching for you.  I understand that you think I don't need you so much any more...maybe that is true.  Maybe it isn't.  I'm grateful for all you could give when I needed the rainbows and signs.  I miss them though, I'm not going to lie.  I still watch for them and I'm disappointed when they don't happen.

Anyway, I was rereading what I wrote at two years.  Every word of that is still true.  It still is an instant for me when I think I think of those things.  Every memory of that day and that time is still crystal in my mind.  But overall I'm doing better.  I guess that is to be expected.  I thought I might write today about the difference between 2 years and 5 years for me.  First, obviously, I don't write as much.  It is impossible to write "I'm sad" every day for 5 years.  There are people who do it...real bloggers who make a life out of it.  That's not me.  You know that.  So the last time I wrote was around New Years.  I reread all that, so as not to repeat myself.  No worries there, that isn't what this is about. 

Truth be told, I don't hurt as much as I used to.  Wow, that sounds harsh to say.  I think of you every day.  I miss you every day.  I miss what should have been every day.  But I don't live in pain every minute of every day any longer.  I hope you are glad about that.   I think mostly it is because a lot of the things that made me think of you are no longer here...Bear is with you, we moved, the music you loved seldom plays any more, new music that you never heard is now the norm.   I have numbed to the songs that make me cry...usually I can tough it out.  The anger is less now, but still present, I'm not going to lie.  I still get angry more than I get sad. 

Before you died, I never had a true tragedy in my life.  I had no idea what that even meant.  I would love to say that I am now a perfect person, but of course that isn't true.  The best I can say is that now I see other people's tragedies...perhaps I am getting older and they are happening more often, but I think it is more likely, that before I wasn't the type of person that people would share their problems with.  I hope I am doing better and helping people.  I hope someday to do much better...someday I would like to make helping people a true priority.  For now I try to help my friends and those I see in immediate need, but the world needs more than that.

So, five years.  Where am I?  Well, this is the first summer that I haven't slowed to part time for this part of the year, so that is progress.  We do have company coming over the 4th of July and that scares me.  Please send tolerance.  My box of Michaela, that I carry with me in my thoughts, never leaves my side, but I don't have to pull it out and examine it quite so often.  My rainbows have gone and that hurts.  I still watch the babies for signs that they might 'know' you.  I love that Ava drew an almost exact replica of your oil painting and that one day Miley got up and kissed it for no good reason.  I no longer try to assign meaning to such little things, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying them. 

I have books on grief sitting in the other room.  Books that I intend to read...but for now I'd rather lose myself in a novel in the few spare minutes I have.  I know grief now, I'm not sure someone else telling me what to do is still helpful.  Even my counselor, who I quit seeing years ago, told me "I'm obviously the Capt of my own ship" and pushed me out of the nest.  So I accept that sometimes I just want to curl up in the nest and be alone with you and myself and my anger.  It doesn't happen so often and that is good. 

I no longer have to sit with my back to the wall and have a quick exit strategy.  I seldom have to close my office door to be left alone.  I don't stalk your friends any longer to see where you might be today, slowly I am unfriending them as their lives move on and their posts no longer are relevant to me.  I haven't missed a day of work because my eyes were too swollen from a crying jag yet this year (that I remember).  I still don't do crowds well, though, not like I used to be able to work a room.  I still prefer small groups to big ones and close friends to new friends.  I still gravitate towards those who I already know and love and make little effort to open to new people.  I still don't have patience for those who want to make drama where drama is silly.  And occasionally I still lose my temper or control of my thoughts (mouth) and have to apologize later.

Most noticeably, I don't expect it to be you when the phone rings.  I don't look for your comments on Facebook.  I don't worry where you are late at night.  I don't constantly think that I need to remember to tell you something interesting.  I don't wonder how you are feeling or what you are thinking about current events.  I don't feel the need to tell you about my day, my new challenges, or explain why I haven't done what I said I would do.  I quit thinking about what you would like to eat when I am grocery shopping and what you would like when I happen to see things that you would like (ok, that one might be a lie).  I quit judging my decisions with any thought as to what Michaela would think about it (another lie).  In fact, I'm quite fine and don't miss you at all....(the eternal lie). 

So that, is the difference for me between 2 years and 5.  I wish I knew how it is for you.  I will write again soon.  Just a newsy letter to tell you what is going on down here.  I know you are busy keeping up with everyone, so I can help you out, lol.  Fly with those wings baby girl, fly like the wind.  But stop by and see me once in awhile.  I miss you.

the blond must be yours

At work I have a cork board full of pictures on my wall.  I change them out every few months.  Mostly keeping pictures of the grandkids relatively current.  Sometimes updating the kids pics  or new pics of something we have done recently.  Stuff like that. 

Today a young man (25-30) from another office was working in my office.  Somehow the conversation got onto parents and how since his parents have retired, they are more pushy with him.  I was sort of half listening, half working, but I remember him saying they (his sister and him) had gotten their parents dogs so they would stop bothering them about grandchildren and marriage.  He mentioned that every time he dated someone they would get excited hoping she was 'the one'.

I laughed and said I understood that, but I was lucky, because I had lots of grandkids already.  He pointed at my board and said 'I see that, but I wasn't sure which was which, how many kids do you  have?' I laughed and said the adults are ours and the kids are grandkids (not a strange answer because two women in my office, near my age have kids younger than my older grandkids). 

I gave my standard answer that my husband and I have 5, we're a blended family and we have 5 grandkids.  He kept asking questions, which even at the time I thought was a little odd (I have actually known this young man for awhile), but I just figured small talk, whatever, we're stuck in a small office together for the morning. 

Then he said, 'the blonde looks like you, she must be yours'.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Nobody says that.  Not from a picture.  I recognize that indeed, if you analyze our features, she has a few of mine, but mostly we don't even look like we are from the same country.  Usually people looking at the five kids pictures would pick Brandon and Mistina as mine (because I had said two were mine).  I was so confused that I pointed at the picture closest to me, one of Mich and Heather, and said this one?  And he said, the one in the yellow shirt...a different picture of Mich.  Then he looked at the one I pointed at and said yeah, that one.  I said, yes this one is mine and the other one is my husband's. 

Then I said, she died in a car accident several years ago.  He said he was sorry and the conversation turned to something else.  Diving, I think.  And on my day went...busy, strangely unique, and frustrating.  I didn't think about the conversation again until bedtime.  And as I pondered the thought that someone thought my daughter looked like me, I realized the truth.

He didn't think she looked like me.  He simply wanted more information about her...like is she single?  I am always so desperate for a chance to talk about her, think about her, have somebody recognize her existence that it didn't even cross my mind at the time.  Young, good looking, personable, polite, well employed, just the type of person I would have dreamed of for my daughter. 

If she was alive, I most certainly would have recognized his words for what they were, a quest for information.  Funny how we hear things through the filter of our own experience.

Dear Michaela,

Well, another year without you is coming to an end.  I decided to day was the day to write you.  This last day of the year, even though I hate starting my day with tears, I have come to know that the tears do stop eventually.

Things are changing down here as I'm sure you know.  Sometimes I wonder if you are glad you aren't here to see the hate and the ugliness, particularly associated with politics and bigotry.  But then I remember that you probably do see it, but you see it from a completely different perspective and I hope it is one far more peaceful.  More, I hope you just see love.

The holidays are winding down now.  Your brother was here and just went home.  It was a good Christmas.  Things are never perfect, but I have given up my need for them to be and my need to control everything around me (mostly).  It has been a big step for me, but it certainly makes my life less stressful.  When I feel the urge to nag about the things I don't like, I try to remember that if it isn't my life, it isn't my business.  Although I will speak my mind, sometimes I just must.  (But if you could get your brother to quit smoking, I would be most appreciative). 

Dave is living with Misti and Luke now.  Things are going well for him.  Getting the ball rolling as an artist isn't easy for anyone, but he is so optimistic about that.  Everyone knows he will be successful and he gets lots of support.  On the personal side, I'm hoping that living with them and the kids somehow helps fill the hole in his heart, at least a little bit.  He hasn't found the right person to love yet, but he will.  He is not making good dating choices yet.  Lol...but what young man does?  He will find someone fun and lively and able to put up with him eventually.

Haylee joined us a couple weeks ago too.  Of course I wonder if you met her before she came.  I wonder what you would have told her about the family she is about to join?  I watch Miley too, for some indication that she knows who you are, but she hasn't said so if she does, lol :).    She did climb up and kiss your picture of Mexico, the one you painted when you were 10, during that hard summer before I went to Korea.  That was a little strange, but I don't try to read into things. She turned two this year of course.  She is like a balm for my soul. Another friend is certain that her baby girl knew you and that makes me smile..

Anyway, the holidays were good.  We didn't do any kind of big deal.  We didn't even really exchange presents except with the babies. Christmas is for the children anyway.  Well, it is for the adults too, but in a completely different way.  Christmas day was a quiet day of simple family visiting.  Everyone got along and there was so much laughing.  It was nice to see everyone get along and put aside any differences between us.  It just isn't worth it to hold on to that stuff. 

It was also the first year that I was able to bring myself to hand someone a picture of you to hold in our family pictures.  In past years, I couldn't do it.  I wanted to, but I didn't want to make anyone sad or uncomfortable at a point when we were all on the edge anyway.  This year didn't have that feeling; the feeling that it could all fall apart in an instant.  Dave held it and I didn't ask how he felt about it, so I don't know.  Everyone is still reluctant to talk about you much.  I think you understand why.  It is hard to cry in front of people.  And even if the tears are normal and not always sad, they are still tears.  I make sure I throw your name out there every now and then.  Someday, someone will pick up the ball and the conversations will happen.  For now, just remember that they are young and missing you is impossibly hard.

Speaking of letting go of stuff, I'm sure you know Karen and I had a spat.  That can't have made you happy.  But we put that aside as well and everything is fine.  Life is too short to hold on to anger of any type. You would think I would know that well.

I still follow a lot of your friends on Facebook.  Sometimes I think of cleaning up my friend list, but then one of them will post something insightful or meaningful and I remember why I 'watch'.  It is interesting to me to see where the people you loved are going and what they are doing with their lives.  Plus, sometimes when I just need to see you, there you are...popping up unannounced in my newsfeed, reminding me that other people are still thinking of you too.  I don't keep in touch with many.  I chat with Erin every now and then and lean on her sometime when I am not at my best.  She is a good listener.  Non-judgmental.  You would be soooo proud of Sticks!  He is having another little one, so if you can find her and fill her in on what a great person her dad is!  Also tell her to brush up on bowling and basketball.


Grama and Grampa were down for a few days in December too.  We had fun.  Grama was lucky enough to still be here and be able to be one of the first to get to hold baby Haylee.  I have to laugh at Dave a little bit because he is falling into that trap of believing that the person he is now is the one he will always be.  We all do it, it is human nature...but I'm old enough to recognize it, so I don't bother arguing with him about it.  His life will happen just the way it is supposed to.  More and more I believe you were right about him.

I wonder sometimes if you are upset with me that I haven't done more with my photography.  I think now you would understand.  I don't have some vision for the world I want to share.  I don't have a story to tell.  I just like to take pretty pictures of things that I find beautiful.  I don't want it to be a job or a chore.  I just want to enjoy it. 

Overall the year 2013 had its ups and downs, but when I look back at the year, I think the downs were simply me taking things too seriously.  The fall months were a disaster for me, but when I look back at them I can't identify a reason.  Nothing was that bad.  I remember you saying that to me about your 'emo' stage...wondering what the heck you thought you had to be all emo and sad about.  Lots of good things happened this year.  Don and Kim got married.  We went to Peru.  It was beautiful, but I didn't feel you there the way I felt you in Africa, too cold for you?  I spent a day with my brother at the state fair in Iowa.  That doesn't sound like much but it was a pretty big deal.   Boston, DC, Gatorland, Disney, a visit to CT...we are so very blessed.  Chip and the girls came to visit for a week this summer.  And there was And I got Bill to go to a 3 day country music festival...that in itself is amazing, more amazing is that he wants to go back this year too.

The things I did for comfort after you left, I don't always do any more.  I don't check Post Secret very often.  Every now and then I check them, but I mostly find them full of gratuitous suffering.  The emo that didn't need to be. I feel for them, but they aren't exactly real any more.  I don't think you would still be following it either.  Instead I follow HONY, which I think you would love.  When someone is put on the spot and asked quick questions, their answers seem to be full of honesty...happy, sad, or otherwise. 

I still stop and take a picture, every single time I see a rainbow.  I listen for you to sing along when certain songs come on the radio. When I hear 'Sister Golden Hair' I wonder if you will come to me again.   I worry if I made the right decisions and did the right things for you and your memory.  I fight the guilt that we should have tried harder to make you come back to us.  But the absence of you, physically, doesn't consume my life any longer and I think that would make you happy.  So shortly before you died, just days, you wrote in that little book:  I hope your life is always fun.  What a strange thing to write.  I had the page out of the book on the refrigerator door and it drives me crazy that I can no longer find it.  I guess it got lost in the move somehow.  But I suspect it will turn up when I most need it.

On Sunday, I fell down.  Seriously it was an epic fall (and you know I don't use that word).  Definitely a 9 our of 10 on the klutz scale.  I was carrying a heavy glass pitcher, which shattered loudly into about 1 mill, 1 BILLION pieces.  And oh, yeah, it hurt...bad.  Heather ran in from the kitchen and stood there asking if I was ok...worrying, but unable to help.  Bill ran in from the garage and did what Bill does...he got a broom and cleaned up the mess (as I still lay on the floor rolling around in pain, lol).  But as the pain subsided (as much as it was going to), I thought of you.  I thought, the only thing missing is someone laughing at me...because I know you.  Once you knew I was going to live through it, you would have laughed your ass off.  And you would still be laughing at my inability to sit in this chair because of the pain in my butt :).  And your laughter....well, that is what I miss the most.

Love,
Mom

Condolences

As a bereaved parent, you would think I would be really good at condolences.  I even write this blog that sometimes talks about how to give (or not to give) condolences.  But in fact, I am terrible about it.  I was terrible at it before and I still am.  Oh, I can probably give condolences to someone face to face and not embarass them or me.  I certainly know what NOT to say.  But still, even for me, what TO say is hard.  (When at loss, give your sincerely condolences and not another word.)

What is also hard for me is cards.  Part of my job is to buy cards for all of our employees who have occasions...retirement, birthdays, births, and deaths.  I'm pretty good at the first three, but I find it harder and harder to do condolence cards.  And this is just for coworkers; I can't imagine how I am going to cope when someone I love loses someone they love. 

A few weeks ago a man I worked with lost his wife.  She was elderly and had alzheimers, but I knew her before that.  All I had to do was go into the card shop and buy a condolence card for the office to send to him.  It was damn near impossible for me.  Maybe, probably, worse, because I knew her and liked her.  It took me three weeks (unthinkable), to even walk into the store. 

Finally I did what I had been putting off.  I stood in front of the condolence card section in the store, looking for an appropriate card and I cried.  I saw all of the cards with their little white identifiers...Mother, Father, Grandmother, Grandfather, Son, and of course, Daughter.  And I just couldn't stand it.  Not just for me, but for all the pain of all of the people who are living with loss.  I lost my daughter and it hurts so much.  I can't imagine losing my husband, even knowing that it is a possibility someday.  I don't know how I could live through it.  I don't even think about the unthinkable possibility of losing one of our other children or grandchildren. 

After the trauma of the card store, the card sat on my desk for another week.  I just couldn't pick it up without tears.  Finally, I gave the blank card to my boss and asked him to send it.  I tried to explain why I couldn't do it, but I didn't make sense even to me.  He eventually did it.  I hope it was ok.  I don't know.  It seems like something I should have done myself.  That nobody could do it better than me.  But maybe .... oh, who knows ... maybe I'm the worst person for the job.

It seems so remote that the card shop puts them in categories with index cards.  I get it.  I understand that is how it needs to be.  It is the way of the world today.  But I can certainly see the beauty of the handwritten card of yesteryear.  Way before my time.  Where a blank card and words written from your own heart might be more meaningful to the recipient and even, possibly, less painful for the sender than having a "hallmark" moment. 

Where did my rainbows go?

I have written in past blogs about the number of brilliant rainbows I have seen sine Michaela died, the fantastic weather I have experienced, and my incredible good health. But now I am am lost and confused. I haven't seen a real rainbow in months, we had horrible weather while my family visited for Christmas, got rained on during a boat outing, and then I got the flu. All normal things that happen to normal people, but it makes me feel like I have been forgotten. Left behind.

An unsolicited medium, right after Mich died said she would be my guide, with me for 12 years. I was skeptical, but still held on to that number. Now I feel without her completely. It has been so long since I have felt her with me. I had dreams a few days ago, but they did not feel like she was with me, they just felt like dreams. I still appreciate them, they happen so seldom.

I was thinking of this yesterday while I was driving home from work. I was thinking that I still need these little signs...these tiny indications of hope. That if she thought I was ok and didn't need her any more, she was wrong. That I was sorry if I hadn't talked to her enough lately.

It was rainy of course. Why else would I be thinking of rainbows? And just as I pulled into my neighborhood a rainbow appeared. Just a thin, partial rainbow that lasted only a minute or two. It made me happy and sad. It made me feel like she is still there but leaving me. Like she loves me, but has to go. I felt a message there and I didn't like what I felt.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. It isn't fair. It simply isn't fair. I can't have what other mothers take for granted...a wedding, grandchildren, care in my elder years...but why should I lose my rainbows too?

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.