Grieving Parent

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  • Richard’s Fruit Salad

    Richard’s Fruit Salad

    The holiday season has arrived. And for us that means family gatherings.

    My siblings, our children and our dogs meet at “The Farm” – my dad’s place.

    The Farm is 153 acres of rolling hills surrounded by creaks. There are ponds for fishing and plenty of woods to explore. The kind of place you can let the kids and the dogs go free. Where they can let their spirits soar. The kind of place you can reconnect your soul to the universe.

    There is a also the house. It’s always been big. But since mom died in 2000 my dad has been expanding it. I guess that’s his way of dealing with grief. It could now serve as a small hotel. Heated with wood stoves, it’s the perfect place for a nice nap after a big holiday meal. Spots on the two couches in front of the stove fill quickly after dinner.

    And speaking of big meals.

    Our family gatherings include plenty of food. Dad usually provides a turkey and at Christmas a ham. Each of us kids bring several dishes as well. From appetizers and snacks to salads and casseroles to desserts, there is something to eat the entire time you’re there.

    Over the years each of our families has taken certain dishes as their assignments – bringing them every year.

    One of our “assigned” dishes has been fruit salad. I usually get the job of cutting up the fruit. This is an assortment of apples, white and red grapes, bananas and mandarin oranges. Debbie then mixes all these together in a big bowl and stirs in some salad dressing.  We might add some pecan pieces if we have any in the house.

    It tastes good. But it doesn’t age very well. Something about that mix of fruit, salad dressing and time doesn’t work. As the day wears on it sort of liquefies and darkens. It gets ugly. Still tastes good, but no one wants it.

    Richard used to complain about it.

    Last year Richard told us he’d make the fruit salad. In addition to the our usual ingredients he added pineapple, kiwi and strawberries. Instead of salad dressing he squeezed the juice from two fresh lemons and poured that over the fruit and mixed it together.

    It was good. It was pretty. And it stayed pretty. People liked it.

    So we assigned Richard the role of fruit salad chef for all future family gatherings.

    This past Thanksgiving we had to do the fruit salad again. We tried to use Richards recipe.  It turned out pretty good.

    But it was missing an important ingredient.

  • Thanksgiving – Our First Big Holiday

    Thanksgiving – Our First Big Holiday

    It’s Thanksgiving Day here in the USA. Time to give thanks to our maker for all the good things he has given us.

    It has also been six months since Richard died.

    So you probably think we won’t find anything to be thankful for. After all it’s hard to be thankful for grief, pain and a huge part of our life missing.

    It takes more work to find it, but yes, there is much to be thankful for.

    I’m grateful for my great family and friends. All the love and support they’ve given us has been pulling us through this process. It still hurts, but I can’t image what it would be like without them.

    I’m grateful to have my beautiful daughter and the grand-dog home with us for this holiday. She’s a very special young lady.

    I give thanks everyday for the wonderful memories. They make us realize how much we’ve lost, but they remind us of what we had. And it was special.

    And this one may make you think I’ve gone completely off the deep end. I’m thankful this hurts so very much.

    No, I don’t enjoy the pain. It’s nearly unbearable.

    But this pain is so intense because we had so much love and fun with Richard. He was a treat. We had a special relationship his whole life. I wouldn’t change much.

    Of course there are somethings I’d like to have been able to do. Richard did shot put and discus in high school. Because I work second shift I wasn’t able to be at all those week night contests. I would love to have been there for every one.

    And I missed most of his weekend camping trips with his Scout Troop because I had to work most weekends. But those weekend work days made it possible to send him to a great high school. He loved St X, and the teachers and programs helped make Richard into the fine young man he became. So I owe them my gratitude too. And his Scout Leaders led him to Eagle Scout. More to be thankful for.

    But we still had a lot of fun together. He never became the surly disrespectful person so many teens turn into.

    I’m grateful we had our kids. They taught me what love is all about. They made me a totally different – and much improved – person than what I was so many years ago. And Richard was a huge part of that.

    So yes, finding reasons for thanks is a hard thing. It takes work.

    About a year before Richard’s death, an employee of one of our on-site vendors lost his entire family in an auto accident. His wife and three kids gone. My friend Kathy, who hasn’t had children yet, asked me, “If you knew you would lose them early like that, would it be worth so much pain? Would you still want to have them?”

    I told her I thought I would, but because I’d never had to face that kind of pain and couldn’t really imagine what it must be like, I didn’t know for sure.

    I now live that pain. I know the answer.

    Yes I’d gladly have him again.

    He was worth it.

  • The Trees Fall

    The Trees Fall

    We’ve had our house for more than 25 years.  There is a huge maple tree beside the house. It’s not in very good shape. We’ve feared it would come crashing down on the house. For most of the 25 years we’ve been here, there’ve been plans to have that tree – and others – cut down.

    But every time we got the money together to get it done, something would come up. Something that required money. Usually something having to do with school. One of the kids would need books, or extra fees and tuition. Or one of their cars would need work or new tires. It was always something.

    And the big maple tree kept standing.

    The tree cutting crew is in our yard this morning. We are having 5 trees removed.

    It’s sad to see them go – they’ve been like part of the family for more than 2 decades.

    But it’s saddest to see them go because the only reason there is money to have this done is because Richard died.

    There are no tuition payments. No rent for his apartment. I know he won’t be coming along next month with a list of books he needs for class. If a car breaks down we have several spares.

    It’s nice having a little extra money.

    I’d rather have my kid back.

  • Emotional Tug-of-War

    Emotional Tug-of-War

    Last week was a bad week.

    Maybe it was because the holidays are getting near- Thanksgiving is this week, Christmas just around the corner. Maybe it’s because they’ve been advertising the benefits of generic drugs at work – but they left out the dead kid benefit part of the story.

    It could also be today is the six month anniversary of the day Richard died. Yeah, I know it says May 28 on his tombstone, but I know he really died on the 23rd. Half a year ago.

    I have this continuing tug-of-war between my brain and my heart.

    On the day Richard died, a Saturday, we were at my dad’s farm having a celebration for my niece Hannah. She had just graduated from college. Richard wasn’t there because he had to work that night. Well, we thought he wasn’t there because he had to work. He really wasn’t there because he was dead. But we weren’t expecting him.

    He told his mom the day before, he was going to try to get home on Sunday.

    Late that evening I went out and sat on the big side porch on the farm house. I sent Richard a text message asking if he was going to make it home. I didn’t get a reply. I remember sitting there, looking out at the stars, and having an uneasy feeling.

    My heart was saying, “He didn’t answer, there may be something wrong.”

    My brain replied, “You’re always worried about there being something wrong. You’re just being a paranoid parent again. Knock it off.”

    As the week progressed this little back and forth continued between my heart and my brain.

    My heart somehow knew something bad had happened. My mind refused to believe it.

    As the week wore on my heart got more worried. My brain tried to comfort my heart by telling it, “You worry too much. You know Richard would be pissed if you go bugging him because you’re worried.”

    Then I got the call from the coroner.

    When my brain heard “Feyette County Coroner’s Office” on the phone, it instantly knew – “Richard is dead. There’s no fixing this, he’s gone.”

    But my heart said, “No way. There’s no way that happened. There has to be a big mistake.”

    At the funeral home my brain said, “His gone. He’s in that oak box and we have to get it together and take care of him one last time.”

    Heart said, “Oh no, we’re not playing that game. We’ve never seen him you know. Who knows, he may not even be in there. There’s no way Richard is dead.”

    On visits to Richard’s grave brain would say, “OK Richard this isn’t funny. Get out of there. Come on, give me your hand and I’ll pull you out of there right now.”

    And my heart tried so hard to drag Richard back up out of that hole in the ground.

    But my brain knew that wasn’t going to happen.

    And still my heart doesn’t believe this can be real. It’s still waiting for my brain to wake up and end this really bad dream.

    And now my brain looks at the time, and it thinks six months is a long time, and still my heart isn’t believing this and is still broken and suffering.

    And my brain wonders how it will ever be able to get my heart through possibly decades of this sorrow and pain.

    And I don’t know the answer to that question.

  • Saying Goodbye a Bit at a Time

    Saying Goodbye a Bit at a Time

    I finally canceled Richard’s cell phone.

    For nearly six months we’ve been paying for that phone. And it has just sat there on the divider between our kitchen and TV rooms doing nothing. No phone calls. No text messages. Nothing.

    So why did we waste all that money?

    Because it’s just hard as hell to let go of anything that was a part of Richard’s life.

    He’s gone. But there are these little bits of him left behind. And getting rid of them feels like getting rid of him.

    We justified keeping the phone at first, because there may be messages or calls from friends that didn’t know Richard had died. We wanted to let them know..

    But news travels fast. So the messages and calls stopped within about the first week. So not wanting to let go was the only real reason.

    I know this is dumb. Having these things – Richard’s things – doesn’t bring him back to us. Holding his cell phone doesn’t give me comfort. I still miss him just as much as I would if I didn’t have them. But it’s still so hard to let go of any of them.

    So we’ve taken the first step. Truthfully it’s just a half step. We still have the phone sitting there. Just the phone number is actually gone.