Tag: Caitlin

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Random Acts of Kindness

I know, right? Nothing for months and now two in, like, three days? In all honesty if tomorrow wasn’t Caitlin’s birthday (she’d be 36 tomorrow btw) and, therefore, Random Acts of Kindness (RAoK) Day, I probably wouldn’t have written one this quickly.

But it is (or will be) and so I am.

I think most of you are familiar with the story; Caitlin was killed by a drunk driver when she was 17 years old. It was a week before her high school graduation, three weeks before her 18th birthday. I’ll put some links in for anyone that needs a refresher; here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Jesus, seven links, I’m pretty sure that’s a record for ICRTD. I’ll keep this one intentionally short on the off chance any of you want to go back through some of these. There’s tearjerker or two, so maybe don’t read them at work…

So here’s the deal. All I’m asking for tomorrow is that you do something nice for some random person. Whoever is behind you in queue at the coffeehouse, drive-up or wherever. You can do it anonymously if you like, or you can tell the person that it’s in memory of a pretty amazing young woman, you can do anything you like, just do something. No act is too small, I’m not asking you to drop a hundo for this, if all you do is buy a beverage for somebody, that’s great. Heck just hold the door open for a stranger if that makes you smile, or help them carry groceries to the car. Just do something nice that you might not normally do for someone. If what you do makes your eyes light up, like the ones in these next two pictures, that’s a win. Actually, it might be a good thing for some of us to do on a semi regular basis, or at least more than once a year. But if you can do it tomorrow, please give a thought to Caitlin when you do.

Last thing (I think) that I’ll ask for today, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made the same request before; if you do something tomorrow for RAoK, please mention it, either in the comments here, or through whatever social media led you here.

I’d love to know we can continue to make a difference.

Thanks.

and Peace.

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Dates

I know I’ve written about this before, I’m not sure if it was here or on my old site, maybe both, but once again the calendar has managed to tie a wonderful moment in the history of our family with a horrible moment.

Regular readers, or people that know me (us) IRL might recognize May 24th as the anniversary of the day Caitlin died from her injuries after being struck by a drunk driver in 2003. From this point forward we can add May 24th as the date the oldest grandchild graduated from high school.

There’s no small amount of irony to me here, as Caitlin was one week shy of her own high school graduation when she was killed. This whole senior year for the Heir To The Throne has been filled with bittersweet memories. As I’ve watched his accomplishments in this final year of high school; from Honor Rolls, to FFA Banquets, going to three different Proms, to Senior Night, to walk-off home runs, to being named All-Conference catcher, I find it’s almost impossible to not think about how thrilled Diane and Caitlin would have been to watch this year unfold.

I haven’t had that conversation with him, but a couple of the offspring and I have talked about how proud Diane would be, not just about HTTT, of course, but of all five of the littles. But she loved baseball. We went to as many of her nephews games as we could and she was always yelling her encouragement to them. And she always told them how well she thought they played whether they had an 0-fer or got a hit every at bat. The Oldest One tends to be a wee bit vocal at HTTT’s sporting events. That’s an understatement, btw. On par with saying the Titanic had a mishap with an iceberg. And I don’t say that to make fun of OO (well, maybe a little) but rather as a point of reference, because I’m fairly certain Diane would have boosted the decibel level significantly above that produced by OO. Had she been in attendance at the walk-off she may well have jumped the fence to greet him at home plate with his team. And to hear he made All-Conference? I truly believe she would roll down her car window in traffic to tell random strangers about her grandson’s accomplishment. For real for real. As I wrote that I got a vivid image of her doing that very thing. And I laughed a little (I try really hard not to literally lol when I’m writing in a coffeehouse) when that popped into my head.

So yeah, tonight will be another in the line of bittersweet days for us all. I mean, we’ll get through it alright, we always do, but it’s just another example of the ripple effect. They never stop coming, it seems. There may be lapses between them, but they’re always lurking. At least it seems like it.

Before I let this devolve into anything darker, I’m going to wrap the post up with a couple pictures

The first is the HTTT with his (unanimous) All-Conference pitcher, the second is the HTTT with Caitlin taken Mother’s Day weekend in 2003. I felt like they were a far better way to end this post.

And so I am.

Peace

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For An Amazing Young Woman

Today, we should have celebrated Caitlin’s 33rd birthday.  I often wonder, as the Kenny Chesney (that’s right, I like both kinds of music, Country and Western) song says “Who You’d Be Today”.  As I wrote last year on the old site, our family looks to commit Random Acts of Kindness to honor her memory.  That helps with the day, it truly does.  And, of course, it’s always a good idea to be kind, but it just feels like the right way to honor such an amazing young woman, taken from us too soon.

The anger from that time, I think it is safe to say, has finally gone.  It took probably longer than it should have, and I don’t know, maybe not speaking about the events of that day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed it) regularly at Victim Impact Panels has finally allowed it to leave me once and for all.  I don’t know if that’s it, but that’s just the first thing that popped in my head as I realized I didn’t feel the rage (probably too strong a word but whatevs) rising in me.

The old saying goes; time heals all wounds.  But the truth, as Rose Kennedy said is more along these lines “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”  As the matriarch of the Kennedy clan, she knew a thing or two about grieving, so I give her words a lot of weight.  She was right.  

Back to the opening paragraph; I wonder how our lives would be different had Caitlin lived.  I think I’ve mentioned here before, I keep in touch with some of her bff’s and now, fifteen years removed from the crash, they all have their own places in the world, many are married and some have children of their own.  

Would Caitlin?  

Even though Diane had an underlying and undiscovered cardiac issue, would she still be alive today?  I’ve always believed the stress from Caitlin’s death was a key contributing factor to her death.  And that without the loss of her youngest child, she would still be with us.  I think, from time-to-time, of how over the moon Diane would be with all of the grandkids.  How excited she would be (and how vocal, lol) at the Heir To The Throne’s baseball games, how fascinated she would be by the Boy Genius’ science and computer projects,  how she would be enthralled by the former Beatle Baby’s knowledge of all things Skylander, and how absolutely giddy she would be organizing a shopping trip for the Reigning Princess and the Little Diamond.  

I have a feeling I would have had to put off my retirement to bankroll those shopping trips, lol.  And there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t be in central North Carolina now.  My feeling is that she would have vetoed being that far away from the littles.  Although she did love summer and summer here is so much more, uhhh, summer-y.  

This week (this month, actually) tends to bring up thoughts such as these.  In addition to it being Caitlin’s birthday today, my Dad’s would have been the 6th, and the Oldest One’s is tomorrow.  And the 12th is the anniversary of Diane and I getting married.  So, yeah, my mind tends to wander in this direction this week more than any other.  And doing something along the lines of a RAoK helps me to keep my emotional shit together.

So, here’s my suggestion.  Actually I guess it’s more of a request.  Go out today and commit a Random Act of Kindness.  If you choose to do it anonymously, that’s cool.  If you choose to explain that you’re doing it in the memory of an amazing young woman, that’s cool too.  But if you do it, please come back here and leave a note, either on the social media that brought you here or in the comments section below, and let everyone know what you did and if you had any interaction with the recipient, what was their response.  i.e. last year, I pre-payed for a bunch of people at the coffeehouse I used to frequent.  One of the regulars, a man I’d often seen but never spoken to, got a free coffee.  The barista told him why and pointed me out, so he came over to thank me and to ask about Caitlin.  It was a pretty cool moment.

Also, if you’re so inclined, please feel free to share this however you like.  The world, imho, can always use a little more kindness, and maybe by spreading the word, more good things will happen.  It’s worth a shot.

Lastly, I leave you with this.  These two happy mugs.  Another example of pre-cellphone camera selfie to put a little smile on your face.  I’ll always remember the joy they shared, and that which they spread.  Like I said last time; love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it were your last.  Now go be kind to someone, please.

Peace

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Immortality

I just got back yesterday, after a mad dash to Illinois and back.  Diane’s Mom passed away last week and the funeral was Tuesday.  Last minute airfare being what it is *hint- ridiculously expensive* the only choice was to make the drive.  So I left central North Carolina around 5:00 Monday morning and drove to the Greater Elgin area, paid my respects Tuesday to a truly lovely woman, and started making my way back Tuesday afternoon.

I have thoughts and comments about the driving portion of my week thus far, but before I bury the lede and wreak literary havoc upon the drivers sharing the road with me, I need to say a few words about my Mother-In-Law.

If you know any of us either IRL or at least on social media, you’ve probably seen the outpouring of emotions in describing what Laurelle meant to my kids and grandkids.  They all did a wonderful job painting the picture of what she meant to us and I’m not sure I can say anything that hasn’t already been said.  But I’m about to give it a shot.

I used the word “lovely” in the opening paragraph and I meant it.  From the start, Laurelle was exactly that.  She welcomed me, my kids, and grandkids into her family unhesitatingly and I don’t believe the word “step” was in her vocabulary. We were all part of her family and that was that.  And so much more.  She was, quite possibly, the only person that loved poor puns as much as I do and she threw them out with great flair and regularity.  She was not afraid to laugh at her own puns too and that just added to the enjoyment.  She enjoyed teasing, about any number of things, those she cared about and was always gracious on the receiving end when that time came.  She was a large, probably the largest, part of the sense of humor that endeared Diane (and her siblings) to me and even though their eyes weren’t a color match, they shared the same spark of pure joy that was visible from across a crowded room.  I have many fond memories of practical jokes played back and forth between Laurelle and Caitlin.  Like Caitlin hiding in a laundry hamper and jumping out at the last minute to startle her Grandma.  Or a long running gag that involved one of them being called “dumb” and the other being called “stupid”.

But Laurelle was so much more than just a comedienne.  She was, without question, the most devout person I’ve ever met.  Granted, I don’t spend a lot of time hanging around people of great faith, but I’d match her devotion to her faith with anyone, anytime, anywhere.  And while I didn’t share her views on everything, I always respected them, keeping my cynicism and skepticism at bay.  Whenever we met in the time I spent with the pirate and in the time since, she would always tell me she prayed for my happiness.  It always meant a lot to me (still does and always will btw) because I recognized the place it was coming from.  Absolute sincerity.  And the fact that, no matter what may have been going on in her life, she found the time to consider me and my emotional well-being in her private moments with her Maker was not something to be taken casually.

The service was much like any other, in the way that it was a chance to see old friends and family members and it’s an opportunity to be cherished even as we mourn the passing.  I saw one of Diane’s besties, Lorraine, for the first time in many years and she and I shared a couple laughs from the past as we caught up.  I also saw a few nieces and nephews that I hadn’t seen in a while and the changes over the years ranged from multiple (adorable) kids, to venturing out on new careers, to facial hair.  Nephews only on the facial hair part.  Just sayin’

One last thing about this week.  I don’t know if any of you share this, but I feel like it’s probably pretty common, so…

They make me flash back on final services for others I’ve either attended or been a part of.  Also, funerals tend to make me look at my own mortality.  And I spent a lot of time thinking about my own shuffle off this mortal coil.  Oftentimes there are things we know we should do, but for one reason or another, procrastination kicks in and we leave them undone.  Wills, for instance.  I know I should have one… but… yeah… you see… it’s like this… I don’t.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to me or my stuff after the fact.  So I sat down at the keyboard the other night and emailed a few thoughts to the progeny (which, btw, sounds so much better than “fruit of my loins” don’t you think?) to try to get some stuff right.  For example, I want to donate not just my organs, but my entire body.  I’m sure I’d make for an interesting trip around the cadaver lab at a medical school somewhere.  “Jesus, how did this guy live THIS long?” or something.  I want my memorial service to be light-hearted.  Or, at least as light-hearted as funerals can be, you know?  Tell stories of stupid shit I did and leave people laughing.  If you’re going to shed tears at my passing, I’d much rather they be tears of laughter.  I don’t know what awaits me (see my faith comments above) but I’m comfortable in the belief that whatever or wherever it may be, I’ve lived a great life.  I’ve experienced more love and joy than I was probably entitled to, so I’ll ask no questions when it’s time and gladly take what I’ve been given.

Nothing profound as I close, rather the familiar.  Love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it was your last.

One day, for each of us, it will be.

Peace

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Things Left Unspoken

I mentioned here a while back that I wanted to post excerpts of what I’ve written to this point on Caitlin and Diane, and my life without them.  I like the idea of, as I wrote then, “semi-regularly” posting excerpts from what I have done so far.

Today, I’ve decided, is semi-regular, so here’s the next one.  It’s not immediately after the last post I shared from my notes, it takes place about two months after we moved in to Wonder Lake.  In fact, it’s my recollection of some of the events from the night of the crash.

Obviously, it’s an emotional piece, for me at least.  And this post will be a little longer than my usual.  Typically, I try to keep these around 1,000 words and this one will be closer to 2,000 words.

As we move through this holiday weekend, take some time to let your loved ones know how much they mean to you.  That sounds clichéd, I know, but I feel like something that simple really does tend to get overlooked.  I wish I had something really profound to add to that, but instead, I give you this…

The phone rang and Diane answered.  It was Caitlin.  She was done shopping.  She found an outfit she was happy with and called to tell her Mother about it.  Since this was the first time Caitlin had gone to Woodfield Mall since we moved, she wasn’t sure how to get home from there.  Diane tried to tell her which roads to take and where to turn, but after a few minutes Caitlin told her she would just go the way she always went.  It would take longer but at least she would, more or less, know where she was.  Diane was tired.  She had worked that day and I had been off.  I told her to go in and go to bed and I would wait up for Caitlin.  This wasn’t all that uncommon.  She’d had to get up early that morning, at 5:00 AM, to get ready for work and I had nothing going on the next day so it didn’t matter if I slept in a little.  Diane went to bed around 9:15.  

I went into the office in our house and sat down at the computer to wait for Caitlin.  I started playing solitaire, trying to do something to pass the time until she got home.  Solitaire seemed like a nice, mindless way to fill some time.  

I need to get something off my chest here.  This will bother me until the day I die.  

I never told Caitlin that I loved her.  

From before Diane and I got married.  From before the point where we knew we would eventually get married, I felt like Cassi and Caitlin were my own daughters.  I knew they weren’t.  I mean, I knew I wasn’t their biological father.  But I did love those two girls, just like they were my own flesh and blood.  And I still do.  That hasn’t changed.  And it never will.  But I never said those words to her.  I never once, in the eight years between the time Diane and I met, to the day Caitlin was killed, said to her “Caitlin, I love you.”  And it bothers me.  Diane always told me, and Cassi did too, don’t worry about it.  She knew you loved her and she loved you too.  But still.  How could I do that?  How could I be around someone I cared about that much and not say those words?  There were many nights when it was just the two of us at home and we’d hang out and watch TV together until she went upstairs to do her homework.  She used to enjoy watching “Trading Places” a show where neighbors would remodel a room or rooms in each others house.  She started me watching it.  She also loved “Full House” and watched it whenever it was on.  And I made fun of her for that.

She was such a funny kid.  Funny, I mean, with a great sense of humor.  She had a vivacious personality too; it was impossible not to like her.  And she was as cute as a button.  She was about 5’2” tall and 100 pounds soaking wet.  She had the same electric blue eyes as her mother and the same “light up a room” smile.  Her natural hair color was blonde just like her personality, as we used to tease her.  The Blonde Child, we called her.  Plus she had really small feet.  No, I mean really small.  Petite.  And for some reason, Tobi the Jack Russell always felt the need to try and bite her feet.  This resulted in hours of entertainment for the rest of us.  Caitlin was the type of person that, in a room full of people, you could always find.  She was the one in the center of the biggest crowd.  She just had that effect on people.  She told us she’d thought she wanted to try acting.  I’ve often thought it was what she was born to do.

At 9:30 the phone rang again.  I answered.  It was Caitlin.  She was on Route 72 and she wondered if she was going in the right direction.  And I assured her she was.

“Should I be going east or west on Route 72?”

“You should be going west.”

“Oh good.  I’m going the right way.  I’ll be home in a little while.”

“Ok.  Drive Careful.”

I have no clue how many solitaire games I played.  But as 10:30 PM approached, I was getting tired.  I’d spoken with her an hour ago; she should be home by now, or at least very close.  I tried to call Caitlin’s cell phone.  It rang two or three times and went to her voicemail.  I didn’t think too much of it.  There were a lot of bad cell sites where we lived, especially back in 2003.  So I went back to my solitaire game.  And I waited a little while and tried the number again.  

Same result.  Caitlin’s voicemail.  

More solitaire.  

And I kept trying her number, the frequency coming faster and faster. 

I left a message on her voicemail “Hey kiddo, it’s me.  Just checking on you.  Call my cell when you get the message.” 

And I kept trying her cell phone number.

“She’s lost” I told myself.  “She made a wrong turn or two and isn’t sure where she is” I said.  “She knows it’s me calling her and there’s no way she’ll answer the phone.  She knows how much grief I’ll give her for getting lost.” I laughed to myself “That goof.”

And I kept trying to reach her phone, each call closer to the last.

“She must be on her way to Grandma’s house for the night.”  I was certain of it.  “Or maybe she’s going to one of her girlfriends.  She won’t come home this late, she’ll stay in Elgin.”

And then, around midnight, I woke Diane.  

“Caitlin isn’t home yet.”

Diane woke from the last sound sleep she would have for a long time.  She sat bolt upright in bed and said “Oh my God.  Something’s happened.  I’m going to go look for her.”  As Diane tried Caitlin’s cell phone, I told her I thought maybe Caitlin had made a wrong turn or two and had gone to Elgin to spend the night with Grandma or one of her girlfriends.  I told her Caitlin had called me from Route 72 wondering if she was going in the right direction.  

Diane called her oldest daughter, Cassi.  She was in her second year of college at Southern Illinois University (SIU).  She and Caitlin were very close and spoke on the phone often.  Diane asked if Cassi had heard from her sister.  Cassi said they had spoken around 9:15 when Caitlin called to tell her all about the outfit she’d bought at Woodfield.  Diane told her Caitlin hadn’t made it home from the mall yet and we were worried. 

Diane decided she was going to get in the car and go looking for her.  She was going to head down to Route 72 and start there.  I stopped her. “Wait honey, wait.  Don’t go running out of the house just yet.  Let me make some phone calls first.” 

I called the non-emergency number for the Schaumburg Police Department, the town Woodfield Mall is in.  When I spoke with the dispatcher, I couldn’t remember the license plate number so I gave the vehicle identification number (VIN) from a copy of her insurance card and a description of Caitlin’s car.   I asked if they’d had any incidents with the vehicle.  

“No sir.  Nothing with that vehicle.”

And I tried to retrace what I’d expected Caitlin’s route home to be.  I tried the Hoffman Estates Police Department.  I gave them the VIN and a description.  Same thing.  

“No sir.  Nothing with that vehicle.”

East and West Dundee Police Departments had the same response and so did the Kane County Sheriff’s Office.  And then I tried the McHenry County Sheriff’s Office.

“My step-daughter should have been home from the mall several hours ago.  She was on her way, I spoke with her, but she hasn’t made it yet.  Have you had any incidents involving this vehicle?”  And I gave them her VIN and the vehicle description.  

And they put me on hold.

Forever.

At least it felt like forever.  In all honesty, it was probably only a minute or two at most.  When the dispatcher came back on the line, she asked me a couple of questions and I really don’t remember what they were.  But I was put back on hold.

Again, forever.

When they came back on the line, I was told Caitlin had been involved in a crash.  She was being flown to Lutheran General Hospital’s Level 1 Trauma Center and we needed to get in there as soon as possible.  We got in the car and started driving to Lutheran General, a little over an hour away.  

It’s funny how some of this night is just gone and some of it is burned into my memory so vividly it can never fade away.  I’m sure Diane and I spoke on the way to the hospital but I have no clue what we talked about.  Probably trying to encourage each other that Caitlin was fine, that this was all just a precaution and she’d be home in a couple days.  Maybe just a broken bone.  Nothing serious.  But the reality of the situation is; you don’t get flown to a Level 1 Trauma Center for a broken bone.  Or two.  You get flown to a Level 1 Trauma Center when you have serious, life-threatening injuries.  And I think we both knew that.

As we walked in to Lutheran General’s Emergency Department, we were met by a Chaplain and a Trauma Surgeon.  They told us they were prepping Caitlin to transfer her up to the Neurological Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and they couldn’t take us in to see her just yet. 

They tried to prepare us for what we would eventually see.

They couldn’t do it.

I tried to find a couple different things to say here, but couldn’t come up with something that didn’t come across as disjointed at best and smarmy at worse.  So instead, I’ll leave you with this.

Again, love the ones you’re with, and let those that aren’t with know how important they are to you.

Happy Easter/Passover/Whatever you celebrate.

Peace

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Resolutions Are For Other people, Right?

Certainly not me…  I’ve actually never (probably never.  At least, I don’t remember making any and if I ever did, I know I never stuck with them) made resolutions at the start of a new year.

But, having said that, I came to a realization (thanks in no small part to the “subtle” urging of a dear friend) the other day.  I had been doing a terrible job of staying in touch with friends back home.  Which led me to another realization.  Self-awareness can be a bitch.  Because, in addition to the above, I’d also done a terrible job of keeping up with my writing.

And not just here.

I started this blog with a very specific purpose in mind.  To trigger my writing.  More to the point, to trigger my writing about Diane, Caitlin, and our lives together as well as my life since that time.  I had been encouraged by several people in my life to chronicle what happened, that it was a compelling story and one that should be told.  A daunting task to say the least.  But I cranked out a few thousand words in a relatively short period of time.  At least until I started getting to the “hard” part.

I don’t know if it was writer’s block exactly.  I think it was more the fact that I wasn’t prepared to rip the wound that far open.  And it became an easy excuse to not pick up where I’d left off.  I thought by taking on the blog world it would get me moving on the book again.

I was wrong.

So, despite my marginal success with calling myself out “in public” on staying in touch with friends back home, I thought I’d take a similar tack with my other project and call myself out on this platform to keep working on how our family has evolved since May 22, 2003.  To that end, I’m going to (semi-regularly) insert parts of what I’ve written in the hopes it inspires me to get my ass in front of the keyboard for the purpose of writing as I had intended once I retired.  I’m not sure if I’ll go chronologically or not, but right now I’m thinking I’ll just grab a few hundred words in somewhat random order and see how it goes.

So, without further adieu-

“Drive careful.”

Those were the last words I, or anyone else, ever spoke to Caitlin.  Of course, I couldn’t possibly have known it at the time.  At the time, I was just being a Dad, you know?  One of my kids was out at night and I was concerned for her safety.  

Having said that, I already realize I need to revise the statement.  I’m fairly safe in assuming that the firefighters, paramedics, police officers, and the Flight-for-Life medical helicopter crew spoke to her that night after the crash.  I’ll bet the doctors and nurses she encountered at the hospital that night spoke to her too.  But I’m pretty sure mine were the last words she knew.  She called home about 9:30. It was her second phone call home that night.  She wanted to make sure she was driving in the right direction.    Caitlin had spent the evening at Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, looking for an outfit to wear on a boat trip on Lake Michigan for her senior class.  It was the first time she had been to the mall since we moved and she wasn’t exactly sure how to get home from there.  

When I answered the phone the first words out of her mouth were “Should I be going east or west on Route 72?” 

I said “You should be going west.”  

She said “Oh good, I’m going in the right direction.  I’ll see you in a little while”  

And I said “OK.” 

And I said “Drive careful.”  And I waited for her to come home.

Diane and I met in June of 1995.  It was a blind date.  I thought she was beautiful.

My niece Melissa had lunch one day with her cousin Teena.  After lunch, they were sitting in Melissa’s car before Teena went back inside the salon where she worked.  Diane came out to go on her lunch break and Teena asked Melissa if I was seeing anyone.  Melissa told her she didn’t think I was and Teena said “We should fix those two up.”

We talked on the phone almost every night for about a week before we met.  It’s usually hard for me to talk to people I don’t know well, but it seemed pretty easy to talk to her.  Although my recollection was that she did most of the talking and I just listened.  She always told me that I was pretty talkative at that time.  We finally met on June 23rd at a local fair.  Diane’s eyes were the most amazing shade of blue I’d ever seen.  She had a quick, easy smile and when she laughed, it was if she’d just heard the funniest thing ever. 

Her two girls, Cassandra and Caitlin were twelve and ten when we met.  She had been a single Mom for eight years and she and the girls lived in an apartment she rented from her Mom and Step-Dad.  

I lived in an apartment in a small town about fifteen minutes away, with my two kids.  Emily was eighteen and Ryan was fifteen.  I had been divorced for about a year when Diane and I met.  She almost passed on my phone number because she didn’t think I had been divorced long enough.

By the time we got married four years later, my kids were on their own, so it was just Diane and I with her two girls, a one year-old Jack Russell Terrier named Tobi and a five year-old cat named Abby.  We lived in a three bedroom, one and a half bath townhouse.  In theory it was the right size for us, but we both knew we wanted to buy a house that was a little bit bigger, maybe had a little property around it.  We started looking in earnest in 2002.  We went through countless homes; old, new, ranch, two-story, big yards and postage stamp lots, new subdivisions and old but we couldn’t find what we wanted.  Some were more than we wanted to spend.  Some were in need of too much remodeling to fit what we wanted.  Some just didn’t feel right.  Some we waited too long to make an offer.  I’ll always remember one we waited too long on.  It was on a half acre in a nicer, new-ish subdivision that was close to town, but still kind of rural.  It was just off Route 72, about a mile east of Gilberts.  As I recall it was a little bit more than what we wanted to spend, but not by much.  We talked about it for a week before deciding we wanted the house but we were a couple of days too late.  Somebody else put in an offer and it was accepted.  

After that, we decided to stop looking for awhile.  Instead, we’d get the townhouse ready to sell.  That way, when we finally found the right house we’d be ready to go.  We painted and ordered new carpet, neutral colors because we were told that’s what sells fastest.  One Saturday morning while we were out running errands together, we stopped to drop off some clothes at the dry cleaners.  While I was waiting in line, out of habit, I grabbed a real estate magazine and brought it out to Diane.  She looked at me like I had a third eye and said “I thought we weren’t going to look until we got done with the townhouse?”

I said “I know, it’s just force of habit.”  

A few minutes later, while flipping through the magazine, she said “Oh I really like this one!” 

I asked her where it was and she said “It’s in Wonder Lake.”

“Why do you want to go all the way up there?”

“Because I like the way this house looks.  Can we call the realtor?”

“Yeah, I don’t care.  It’s just that it’s an hour from here.”

So we called the realtor and got directions to the house.  When we turned on the street, she recognized the house from the picture in the magazine.  It sat on top of a small hill and looked really pretty up there.  The yard was about a half acre, it was a newer subdivision full of custom homes in a small town of around 1,200 people.    

She said “I want to buy this house.”

“But we haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

“OK, but I want to buy this house.”

So we met the realtor and went inside.  The first floor was all hardwood floors.  It had a pretty open floor plan with a fireplace in the living room opposite from the kitchen.  There was a small, formal dining room, a powder room and a laundry room on the first floor too.

“I want to buy this house.”

“But we haven’t even seen the upstairs.”

Upstairs there were three bedrooms, each with its own full bath.  The master bedroom had a fireplace and the master bath had a jetted tub.

“I want to buy this house.”

“Umm, OK.”

A couple of days later, we brought Caitlin up to see the house.  Since Cassi was away at college and engaged to be married, Caitlin got her choice of bedrooms.  She chose the bigger of the two remaining rooms.  And immediately started thinking about how she wanted to decorate her room, with animal prints.  She loved the house as much as her Mother did.  She couldn’t wait for summer (the summer that, ultimately, never came), so she could lie out on the back deck and work on her tan.

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Triggers

As Sophie and I were enjoying a leisurely walk this morning after I got home from work, my mind started to wander.  If you ever read any of my stuff you know this is not a new phenomenon.  By any definition.

I thought about the anniversary of Diane’s death tomorrow, which coincides with the birthday of the little Diamond, who is turning two.  I wrote about this confluence of events and the emotions it brought out last year so I’m not going to get into that again, exactly.  But those thoughts morphed into these; the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby starts Kindergarten this week.  Meaning, he is now where the Heir To The Throne was when Diane died.

And I circled around in my head where we were eleven years ago today.  To the best of my recollection we spent a good portion of the day in her hospital room, talking about the days and weeks to come.  I had brought in pictures of the dogs to display in her room, the almost one year old Sophie and Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not a typo) and Diane mentioned to me that one of the nurses had told her I could bring Sophie over for a visit, to the outdoor sitting area that was just outside of her hospital room.

As I’ve said in the past (I may have even written about it before, I’m not sure) when you lose someone close to you, you don’t need triggers to think about them.  In fact, I think just the opposite is true, especially early on into your grief; you need a trigger of some sort to NOT think about them.

This evolves over time.  Of course when you’re living it, that time feels as though it will never arrive.

While I was at work yesterday I was going through my email and I’m not sure how it happened but I found an old “mailbox” that I used to store emails from an old account.

One Diane and I shared.

As I read through some of the last emails she received, mostly from families she served as an AAIM advocate, I flashed back through so many memories.  And when I say “flash” I mean it.  I pushed them through my brain as quickly as I could because the firehouse is the last place on earth I want to get emotional and I knew if I dwelled on those memories it would be unavoidable.  The hardest part for me was looking through some pictures Diane’s brother sent me, in case I needed them for her wake.  In so many of the images her beauty leapt out at me and there were so many great pictures.  This one in particular gets me every time, as it one of my favorites of the two of us.

It was taken at the reception we held in our backyard after the Quiet Child got married and it was one of our best days after Caitlin was killed.

I think maybe all of this was compounded by the fact that I’ll be on the road tomorrow, headed south to house hunt for a few days.  I probably would have swung by the cemetery tomorrow, although that may be my head telling me that because I know since I’m in transit tomorrow it won’t happen.  I can’t honestly say I would have gone had I been home all day.

But either way, I know I’ll be thinking of her all day tomorrow.

Even without the triggers.

Peace