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Two Years (and a few days)

I wanted to write something to mark the two years that have passed. At first I had no words. Then I started and never finished.

We had a great weekend in Davis at Picnic Days and on the 20th we were happy and together. I took a few pictures over the weekend that I wanted to share. We were walking around Friday and one of the first things I noticed was the Phi Delta Theta house. When I saw a second sign, I made everyone walk back so I could take a picture of the house! Lol

The second thing I noticed was a book. Patrick used to always tease us by saying, “You suck!” But he always followed it with “love ya”. I had no idea there was a book with that title!

Then I thought it would be cool if we saw a street musician. I saw a guy standing with a guitar but it seemed like it would be too posed. So the first actual street musician I saw was the banjo player, and I thought that was perfect!

https://www.danellt9.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/img_1448.mov

The next day I noticed exactly one fraternity in the parade, and of course, it was Phi Delta Theta.

Here are a few other pictures followed by my reflections on the two year mark. I got to see my girl playing intramural volleyball and soccer. He would have enjoyed that!

I can still remember waking up that morning to silence. Silence, then surprise that I did not hear him in the shower or moving around downstairs. Concern, but not panic. I had no idea. It’s so odd thinking about the moments before your world changed, and the moments after. Before. After.

My life with Patrick before that day was so much longer than the two years that have passed since then. Maybe that’s why it seems like such a small amount of time. Just a fraction of my life. What will it be like if i live another 30 years or more? I think it will still seem like it’s been forever yet just yesterday when I saw him last.

The second year was harder in some ways, easier in others. The fog lifted and reality set in. I missed having my person but I spent less time crying and made more memories with the girls. He missed awards and honors, two graduations, and multiple college acceptance letters. The girls are truly his legacy and I know he is beaming with pride. I also ventured out into the dating world and have opened up my world to the possibility of sharing my life with someone else.

I would love to not carry this grief around with me. But I don’t regret loving him. I would do it again, even knowing the tragic outcome. I have loved with every ounce of my being. Rest In Peace my wonderful husband. You made my life complete and your memory continues to enrich it.

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OCG

I have a love-hate relationship with food. Mainly I love food, but I hate the fact that I gain weight so easily. I’m definitely an emotional eater, and I mean ANY emotion! If something good happens, I like to go out to dinner to celebrate. If there is a special occasion, it’s usually centered around food. And if I’m sad, a bowl of ice cream might cheer me up, at least until the guilt sets in.

One of my favorite treats is Mickey’s Yogurt. I feel it is healthier than ice cream, as long as you don’t overdo the portions or the toppings. When Cathy and I were walking all of the time and I lost weight, we would allow ourselves yogurt frequently. Our favorite flavor is oatmeal cookie gelato (OCG). I don’t know what it is about it, but Cathy, Camille, and I just love it! We check the Mickey’s Facebook page regularly because it is not always available. When it IS available we have been known to cancel all previously scheduled activities to go get it! If one of us can’t be there, they are usually taunted with pictures like the one below.

I’ve shared this picture before. I took it to send to Camille the night before Patrick died (I also took some home to her) and I like to think of it as the last happy picture before my life changed forever.

I have always wished that I was one of those people who quit eating when under stress. I know that’s not healthy either but at least I wouldn’t add weight gain to whatever stress I am under!

The only time I completely lost my appetite was when Patrick died. Food was no longer important. I’m sure I could have survived for a long period of time without eating but that is not a healthy way to lose weight. And, when you’re under that kind of stress, you need sustenance.

Everyone felt helpless during that time. So many people wanted to help and there wasn’t much anyone could do. That first day I remember Phillip bringing me a Diet Pepsi. I realize it has zero nutritional value but there are worse vices I could have! Matt Lamb stopped by Mickey’s and got me OCG. I was surprised that it was about the only thing I could eat. I’m not sure how long they had it that time but a lot of the teenagers (nephews, nieces, and friends of the girls) found out I liked it so they kept bringing it, sometimes more than once a day! The OCG and the love of the people bringing it, helped keep me going.

As hard as it is to know what to do when there has been a death, it’s actually surprisingly easy to do small things that have a big impact. A lot of that time I was in a fog but I remember the little acts of kindness…the yogurt, the Diet Pepsi, making sure I had water at the celebration of life. I could go on and on but my point is, sometimes it’s the little things that mean the most.

There have been several other times over the last two years when the OCG has arrived at a time when I needed a little cheer. I wish I had written them all down. Suffice it to say, there had to be some divine intervention going on!

Today there was OCG again, it’s as if someone knew this would be a hard week of memories…

PS – I’m definitely sharing this blog with Mickey’s Yogurt in a shameless attempt to get them to make OCG available on a more frequent basis. A girl can try!

Facebook screenshot and extra artwork courtesy of Cathy Lamb.

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Celebrating Patrick

Every year, for his birthday, Patrick liked to take a guys trip. Usually he went with his “only friend” Joe. Matt usually joined them and Gabe did occasionally. Usually they went camping. Some years they went to Shaver Lake. Other years they went to the beach. He just wanted to relax, maybe do some fishing and drink beer.

I was thinking about these trips, wondering if I should have gone… Of course, in hindsight I would go back and take advantage of any opportunities to spend time with him. But I never felt that I was being a bad wife by not going. I’m sure he would have allowed me to go but he never really expected me to. And the truth was, this was his gift to himself, a little break from all his responsibilities.

There is a known tendency, among widows, to idealize, or sanctify their late spouse. I’m sure I do this to some degree but I do try to be real. Patrick was by no means perfect but he was definitely a wonderful husband and father. I’m happy that we took these little breaks from each other. It reminded us of all the time apart early in our relationship and made us appreciate our time together.

Yesterday would have been Patrick’s 51st Birthday. So, he really should have been camping this weekend. I’ve been a little emotional at times this week. At times I will have random thoughts or random anger. I try not to spend too much time on the anger but I admit that I am angry at times. His death was so random and unfair and if I really stop and think about it I am just so angry that it happened. Earlier in the week I was in the drive-thru at Taco Bell and I started thinking about Patrick and getting sad. I looked up and there were yellow flowers. They always make me think of him. 🙂

I like to add funny stories so I’m going to add my niece Shayna’s post. She actually posted this the day of his funeral but reposted it yesterday. I have no idea why he had these but it was classic Patrick!

Last night we had a huge get together and it was really nice to all be there and share our love. In a way, I’m glad that his birthday is a week before the dreaded anniversary of the day he died. We can always celebrate his life on his birthday! We will think of him next week but last night was a happy time! I am so grateful for our family! Here are some pictures!

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102 weeks

Everyone says not to dwell on the dates. Look forward, not back. But it’s April now. And April will never be the same.

I still can’t believe he’s gone.

I happened to be looking through pictures from 2012 on my phone and suddenly I really missed him. Just a deep sadness that he’s not here. It happens before I realize it. Unconsciously. And I’m not always sure what triggers it. I wasn’t even looking at a picture of him. Just pictures of the girls, growing up. And I just miss sharing that with him.

Has it really been almost two years?

Yesterday I noticed that a pair of shoes was really looking worn out and then I realized that I bought them after he was gone. How has it been long enough for me to wear out a pair of shoes?

So much has changed yet it seems like just yesterday. What I want more than anything is to have just a few more minutes with him. If I’m being honest, I’d prefer a lifetime with him but I’m not greedy so I would take just a couple of minutes. I just always want to talk to him one more time and let him know that I never realized what a truly wonderful life we had until it was taken away. As painful as it is, even when I feel deep sadness I feel equal amounts of deep gratitude. I am so grateful that he was in my life.

There’s this feeling you get, when something really great happens, and you just want to share it with someone, usually a specific someone. That’s the feeling I get when I look at pictures of the girls growing up. And I did get to share it with him! But there are still great memories happening and he’s not here for them.

I don’t want to be weepy all month. Next Friday is his 51st birthday. The week after is the two year date. I have the days planned out to stay busy. I will celebrate his life and acknowledge his absence. And I’ll keep moving forward. It’s been 102 weeks and I still can’t believe he is gone. That is all.

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Faith of my Mother

Today I interviewed my mom for an assignment on older adult development. I should be writing my paper but I’m trying to wrap my head around all of the old and new information I have now.

I wish I would have had this kind of conversation with her earlier in my life, but I also think that the knowledge I have gained in my education gives me a different level of insight into her history.

My mom is one of the happiest and most loving people I know. Anyone who is Facebook friends with any of her children or grandchildren has probably seen her comment on a post to express her pride and love of them! She loves her family more than anything and is always grateful for any amount of time we spend with her. We were raised in a loving, Christian home and my siblings and I all agree that this made us who we are today.

My parents divorced when my sisters were adults and Denny and I were teenagers. And, of course, this impacted all of us in different ways, but it didn’t define our childhood. We had a very good childhood. My mom was not so lucky.

In his younger days, my maternal grandfather spent a lot of time in bars. I’m assuming this was part of the reason my maternal grandparents divorced when my mom and their two other children together were very young. From that point forward their childhood became chaotic. At that time mothers were usually given custody, so they would live with their mom for a while then she would “run off with a new man” and my mother’s grandma would call her father to tell him to come get the kids. Eventually they would go back to their mom. As a result, she moved so frequently that she had few childhood friends since she was never in one place long enough.

At the age of 9, my mom was raped by her stepfather. Things were very different back then. Evidence was collected in the police station and until future custody was resolved she was placed in juvenile hall in a room with bars and a locked door.

At nine years old.

For three months, three weeks, and three days.

Protective custody.

That was the standard procedure in 1950. They didn’t want anyone to influence the child prior to court proceedings. No one thought about the impact that would have on a nine-year-old.

Grandpa was in Arkansas and it took a while for him to get back to California. Mom wasn’t really sure why it took so long for him to pick her up, but she knew exactly how long it took.

Three months, three weeks, and three days.

She did have some interaction with the other residents and, as you can imagine, most of them were not the victims of crimes. She does remember that a church group came each week and took them to Sunday school. They had fun activities and could win prizes such as a bowl with a goldfish, or dolls. By the time she left she had about ten dolls. She kept them until age 15 when her dad convinced her that she was too old for them and gave them away. I never understood where she developed her love of dolls, that continued into adulthood with a collection of porcelain dolls. The dolls that she bought for each of her granddaughters have a whole new meaning for me now.

She remembers her father attending the hearings so it seems like he probably couldn’t get custody of her until after the hearings. She also remembers seeing her mom outside the courthouse with her husband, the man who raped her. They were walking, holding hands, and eating ice cream cones.

After she left juvenile hall she was able to stay with her dad for the rest of her childhood. She had a loving stepmother who had no biological children and raised them as her own. Her name was Janell and I am named after her. She was, and always will be, my grandma.

I asked my mom how she got through all of this. She said that when she was very young her grandmothers would take them to Sunday school. She remembers asking Jesus into her heart at a church youth group event at a skating rink at age 13 but she feels she was a Christian long before that. And she credits prayer and her faith with getting her through her time in juvenile hall and everything bad that has ever happened to her.

She started going to church on her own from the time she was old enough to go alone and eventually her family started attending, including her uncle, Carl Hatch, who would become a pretty well-known evangelist in Texas.

In her early forties Mom found herself alone again after my parents divorced. This is not a story I can tell except to say that my Mom did not choose to be divorced. And, due to a series of events that happened after that, culminating in a deacon at our church calling to say that Mom should not teach Sunday school anymore, I kind of lost my faith in organized religion. Today I realized how ironic that was. My mom survived all of the trials of her life due to her strong faith, but I lost my faith when someone questioned hers.

I’m still a Christian, a Catholic now. Patrick also had really strong faith and it’s one of the things I admired about him and his family. I didn’t attend mass as often as he did, and I have struggled with it since he died. Recently, Camille and I started going whenever she is home from school and I am trying to be more consistent. Talking to my mom today made me realize I need to try a little harder.

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I miss my “person”

Since losing Patrick I’ve kind of been on a crusade to make grief and mourning a less taboo subject. Talking about a loved one dying seems to help ease the pain. I really believe this. So why do I sometimes feel that I can’t?

There are unwritten rules in our society that tell us we should get over it and move on within some unclear amount of time. I’ve heard that people have actually made comments about this to grieving people. Thankfully no one has ever said anything like that to me but I do it to myself!!!

I have been so obsessed with this whole dating thing and I think it’s been a way to redirect my grief. To be clear, I am not dating to “replace” Patrick. He’s irreplaceable! Any new relationship will be a completely new chapter.

I do think I can replace the intimate connection that I lost. And I’m not talking about sex. What I miss more than anything is having that one person that you can talk to about anything. I have thought about this a lot because I have a lot of friends and family who care about me. My loved ones would do anything to help me and they would love to be able to fill this void. So I want to be clear that this is not something I could get from a parent, sibling, child, or friend.

If I had to, I know I could survive without having this again. I hope I don’t have to, but I do think I could have a good life without it. Many people do. I just prefer not to be alone.

The other thing I have been doing is trying to convince myself and potential partners that I am mostly done grieving. I have this idea that men might think a widow sits around crying a lot that is probably not something they would want to sign up for. It’s such a hard sell!

I think I just need to be me and quit worrying about it. Yes, I lost my husband. Yes, I am sad about it, some days more than others. Most days I still can’t believe he is gone. But I still have fun. I smile, I laugh, I LIVE. I’m just going to focus on that for a while.