I got her calmed down and made it as far as her door before I lost it. Why isn’t Anna wearing that god damned nightgown? Why does my daughter have to cry about not being a “normal” Kid? I went back in and hugged her and we cried together sitting on her bed. I told her that even though she may not be a “normal” kid, she’s a great kid. I told her it was a terrible, pitiful sad thing for a kid to grow up without her mommy and there’s nothing good to say about it. We just kind of left it at that.
I’ve been listening over and over to Martin Sexton’s Black Sheep from his Live Wide Open CD and he goes into this riff at the end where he says he’s thankful for all the hard times in his life, even though he didn’t want them to happen at the time. It’s a stunningly beautiful passage. It got me thinking about what gratitude I may be able to summon about having lost the woman I love so so so much. I surprised myself discovering that there really are some things I can be thankful about. Raising my kids by myself has bumped up my confidence a lot. I have a lot of logistical help. More than I could reasonably expect. So I can’t take a ton of credit in that regard. But being emotionally strong and available and connected has done a lot for my babies. For that, I’m thankful - Alyssa got her grades yesterday, and they were stellar. She makes me extremely proud. I’m thankful for the fact that, as the only adult in the family, decision-making and planning is just that much more frictionless. Perhaps a bit of a strange thing to be thankful for, but nonetheless. There are all sorts of things I’m thankful for in addition - a good job, a nice house, health insurance, good extended family, great friends & church community, good health (good music, too). I was consciously thankful for these before Anna died, for sure. Martin got me thinking, however, about what I may be thankful for as a direct result of these hard times. It’s a time of big change for me and for us, and I suspect that there will be even more coming out of this change that will be worthy of my gratitude in the years to come.
I’m also grateful that my one day of planning eating, and tracking has extended to four and that I’m feeling better and down about 4 lbs this far. I tried out Sparkpeople, at Kat’s suggestion, and it is extremely well done and fits my groove just right.
jase
| 18-Jan-07 at 10:52 pm | Permalink
And thanks for the tip, Kat! I forgot to mention it in the post and editing ink is a pain, unfortunately.
Kat
| 19-Jan-07 at 8:49 am | Permalink
You’re welcome and congratulations on the 4lbs.
Slightly off the subject but oddly related, I also grew up not being a “normal” kid. In my case it was abuse that robbed me of normalcy. I’m glad Alyssa has you to grieve with and that you are able to simply validate for her that what she is going through sucks! In terms of later, my abuse has now taken it’s place in the landscape of my past and looking back, though I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, I know that some of what I am that I do like is a direct result of surviving it.
jase
| 19-Jan-07 at 2:24 pm | Permalink
Kat - I’m so behind on your blog. Didn’t know you were having such a tough time lately. I sure do hope the pottery class gives you the space, time, and adult interaction you need. I won’t be so remiss in checking in again!
Missy
| 19-Jan-07 at 5:00 pm | Permalink
Once again I’m moved to tears and speechless.
Amy
| 19-Jan-07 at 5:07 pm | Permalink
Alyssa and you are lucky to have each other. She seems a very sweet and mature girl. I think you compliment each other. No one in this world is ‘normal’ and she will realise that. Big hugs to you and all your family xx
Magdalena
| 19-Jan-07 at 7:35 pm | Permalink
Okay, I am going to de-lurk for this. I have been reading passages of your blog for some time now, and I have never had the right words, so I haven’t felt like any would be good enough.
I just want to say how much I admire what you are doing; raising your kids in the midst of such heartbreak. I know you have no choice, and that is just it- that is what makes you a hero both to your children and the community that reads your blog. You and Anna are touching more people than you’ll ever know.
jase
| 19-Jan-07 at 10:07 pm | Permalink
Missy - thanks for also sharing your tears with us. It helps.
Amy - thanks for the hugs. She is indeed both sweet and mature.
Magdalena - thanks for checking in. I’ve also read your blog some as a lurker. Thanks for the admiration. It is heartbreak. It’s also joy - a natural and infectious state for kids.
Cathy
| 20-Jan-07 at 9:57 am | Permalink
You’re doing great, Jase. The first time I ever saw my father cry was when my 20-yr-old brother died. I was 22, and just shocked to see his tears. It was good for me to see that he could let his emotions show. It made him more of a “real” person to me, and I think we are closer now because of it.
It’s too bad that we can’t protect our kids in a fairytale world of unicorns and rainbows. Some things in life just suck, and there is no fairness involved. But you are teaching her how to deal with bad stuff — and she’ll be able to face the future (disappointments, etc.) as a well-prepared survivor who can overcome obstacles.
Anna would be so proud. Hang in there!
Kassie
| 22-Jan-07 at 8:21 am | Permalink
I too have often visited your pages and have found myself speechless, not able to find the words to express the feelings your words awaken inside of me.
After discovering your website I often think of you and your kids. I wish there was something I could do for you.
I admire your strength, your dedication and the love you have for your family.
thordora
| 22-Jan-07 at 12:41 pm | Permalink
If she ever ever wants to talk about not being a “normal” kid, you know where I am. I can relate all too closely to what she’s feeling.
The difference is, you’re there to cry with her. I wish my father could have done the same. You’re doing Anna justice by allowing your daughter to see that you aren’t afraid to miss her, and to speak of it. I could have used that.
But, I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I had not suffered so. Whether that is good or bad, I don’t know. it just is, and I’m grateful for everyday I have, as I don’t know when I’ll have no more.
Again, if she needs a shoulder, let me know. She wouldn’t have to explain a thing.
jase
| 22-Jan-07 at 11:13 pm | Permalink
Kassie - thanks for checking in. My strength isn’t so much sometimes. My dedication is. And my love is. I’m working on the strength part.
Thor - Alyssa has been asking about you more lately. I should put her in touch with you. At 9, she’s literate on the computer, but not fluent in terms of typing as fast as she thinks, expressing herself lucidly, etc, like she can verbally. Maybe we’ll find some other way for her to make use of your shoulder - skype or phone or something.
jase
| 22-Jan-07 at 11:16 pm | Permalink
Cathy - I didn’t know about your brother. That must have been so damn hard for you and your dad and your mom and your sister. I like the idea of Alyssa being a “well prepared survivor”. Would that we all are well prepared survivors. I should break out some Carrie Newcomer and play her “Survivor” for Alyssa. Have you heard that one?
thordora
| 23-Jan-07 at 10:41 am | Permalink
I don’t know how “mature” her reading skills are, but Motherless Daughters really helped me when I was a bit older. It might be good for you to read in order to understand what your girls WILL go through.
Part of her will always be 9, just as part of me will always be 11. In some ways, my life started at 11, so it’s like I have two. It’s an odd way to look at it, but a valid one nonetheless.
I’ll write a bit more about what I experienced when I first lost her-maybe that will help Alyssa realize that it will get better, and that she isn’t weird. Be there for her-she’ll likely go through a phase of worrying about you very soon, and she’ll start mother henning everyone. It’s so hard to be the oldest girl.
Anyway, I’m babbling. You know where I am.
Jill
| 23-Jan-07 at 12:34 pm | Permalink
Jason,
Thank you for sharing your blog. You are an inspiration in the face of something incredibly unthinkable. I can tell that Alyssa is so mature beyond her years. In a sense, it is amazing to see how strong a little girl can be, but on the other hand, it is heartbreaking that a little girl would need to be so strong. This should just not be happening. I think I will never forget Alyssa at Anna’s funeral — how she encouraged you to stand and talk about Anna, how she seemed to hold you up through it. It seems that somehow, very often, when going through something difficult, one person is falling apart while the other is strong for them, and then the roles change. But of course, as you experienced the other night, sometimes both are falling apart together. I find it amazing that you can consider the possibility of finding gratitude in the situation, but Alyssa learning that it is safe to express her own grief and that you will still be there for her even through your own grief is something really special.
jase
| 23-Jan-07 at 12:47 pm | Permalink
Jill - thanks for checking in and especially for sharing your experience of the funeral. It’s such a blur to me. A packed house, me crying yet trying to be strong, Anna not looking like herself, my friends and family members carrying the casket, flowers on the casket, everything. I’m glad you remembered Alyssa encouraging me to speak. And thanks for reading.
karrie
| 23-Jan-07 at 1:15 pm | Permalink
I’m glad you were able to be so honest with Alyssa.
I remember pulling out my father’s old t-shirts to sleep in after he died. (I was also 9.) He was a BIG guy, and a farmer so they were quite stinky! I freaked out when my mother sold his battered farm truck though. I know she needed the $, but watching some random guy drive off in my dad’s truck somehow made his death more real.
kassiemae
| 24-Jan-07 at 6:33 am | Permalink
I was 5 years old when dad died. I think of him to this day. I carry around a chunk of fools gold and a keychain that was his in my pocketbook. It is my way of keeping him with me. As a grownup I am happy to know that my father was a good man. I think as a child I experienced every emotion possible. I was angry at him for a long time for going away. I can say when my daughter was born I was able to make peace with what happened to him. I let the anger go away and I began to understand.
jase
| 24-Jan-07 at 9:29 pm | Permalink
Karrie & Kassie - thanks for writing about your dad. I didn’t know that you had lost him as kids. How did your mom handle it? I’m surprised neither of you have written about it on your blogs. I’d be interested to hear more. I really have no one to look to in terms of being a widow/widower.
Alyssa is definitely in a place where she is wearing a lot of Anna’s earrings and clothes and such. I wear her t-shirts and fleece and winter hat and such. And her sneakers, actually (she had the same size feet as me). It’s pretty comforting to wear her stuff. And I still wear my wedding ring, though I’ve switched it to my right hand.
Kate
| 30-Jan-07 at 9:57 am | Permalink
Alyssa is very lucky to have a parent willing and able to share the realities of grief with her. Any proof that we can go though intense and hard emotions and still survive on the other side is priceless.
And you’re very lucky to have kids that are sharing that grief with you.
I understand, you’d rather not have the grief in the first place, but it’s another one of those small things to maybe someday be glad for - the sharing of an emotion that polite society often avoids.
Be well…