Tag: Diane

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Time

As I looked back through some of my posts over the last couple years, and thinking about some that I put up on the old site, I realized that so many have titles relating to the passing of time. This is, of course, a recognition on my part of the course my family’s lives have taken over the last 16+ years. As I was chatting with the Oldest One on our daily phone call as she makes her way home from work, we talked about today (since we talked yesterday, it was actually tomorrow then…) and, as I’ve written before, today is unalterably the most bittersweet of days. We celebrate the birthday of the youngest grandchild while acknowledging another year since Diane died.

To be honest, when I sat down yesterday to work on this, my first thought was to just do some cursory introduction-type thing and then put in an excerpt from what I’ve previously written about Diane and Caitlin. After I ruled that out I thought maybe I’d just re-post a piece I’d written on an earlier August 21st.

Neither of those things felt right as I looked at them (the posts) more closely, and the more I considered it, the more I knew the day deserved its own post.

So here goes.

As the Little Diamond gets older, I want to make sure she knows the Grandma she never got the chance to know. I mean, obviously, I want all of the grandkids to know her; the Reigning Princess shares some of her personality traits after all. The Heir To the Throne and the Boy Genius, while maybe not remembering her, at least had moments with her. Moments saved on film (or, you know, digitally) that the three younger ones never will have. So, while I don’t want to gloss over the other littles, because of the connection inherent in their “shared” date, it’s important to me that LD knows her Grandma. I know they would’ve been fast friends, LD has some of Ellie’s personality and she and Diane had a pretty solid relationship, after a time. I think, Diane would’ve been in on the Jojo Siwa phenomenon too. Maybe not to the point of wearing bows and/or unicorn headbands herself but, yeah, she would’ve loved taking LD shopping for Jojo-wear at the drop of a hat. I know her heart would have been so full watching the first dance recital last spring too, just for one example.

Quick side story, one of my favorite Diane/Grandma Ellie stories at that. When the Boy Child was in the Army he bought his first new car; a Jeep Wrangler. He really enjoyed driving it with the doors off and the top down. As you might imagine, this made for a pretty windy trip wherever you were going. Diane was pretty particular about her hair. I don’t mean to say she was obsessive about it or anything, but she always looked pretty dialed in before she left the house. One day, while I was at the firehouse, the two of them got in his Jeep and went for a ride. Someone else was with them, but I’m drawing a blank on who it was. And since that part isn’t germane to the story, I’ll leave it at that. Since it was a forty-five-ish minute drive from the house in Wondertucky (not the town’s real name) to the Greater Burlington Metropolitan (all 500 citizens) area to say they were a little windblown is an understatement of epic proportions. To further set the scene, Mom’s eyesight wasn’t stellar by this point in her life. As I wrote about on the old site after her passing, it wasn’t so bad that she wouldn’t point out (real or imagined) road hazards; other cars, dogs, deer, tractors, you get the idea, but it was bad enough that she wouldn’t always see faces clearly unless they got really close. So, when they stopped in for a visit, and the Boy Child greeted her with a typical “Hi Gram!” her response was an enthusiastic “Hi Ryan! Who’s your friend?”

We all had a good laugh about that one, and reminded Ellie about it from time to time. And it’s actually memories like that one that have helped soften the loss as the years have passed. It also feels a lot healthier mentally to laugh about our past than it does to weep over it. Kind of a celebrate what you had versus mourning what you lost perspective. I’ll always be able to connect with the last days. But I try really hard not to tap into that. Especially since I’m no longer doing VIP’s. I felt like ripping open that particular vein and bleeding on the stage helped get my point across. Now that I’m done with that part of my life, my grief can finally mellow. It will never go away completely but it allows me to live a normal-ish life.

Well this is starting to take a turn on me, so let me try and get back to where I was originally headed with this thing. I FaceTimed with the Little Diamond and her Daddy this morning, and she told me they were going to the coffeehouse and then the play place. I’m fairly certain there are (were) bunny cookies and a cupcake in her future. As there should be on a birthday, amirite?

Sweetie, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But one day I’ll sit you down and show you pictures of an amazing woman. I’ll explain to you how she was the life of every party she attended. I’ll explain to you how much she meant to, not just our family, but through her advocacy work, to people she barely knew. I’ll explain to you how much she would have loved spoiling you, and your big brother, and your cousins if she’d had the chance. And maybe one day you’ll understand why sometimes, on your birthday, I get a little tear in my eye.

Happy birthday sweetie, I love you!

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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Twelve and Three

I debated with myself whether to do this today or not.  And I won.  And, I guess since it was with myself, I lost too.  It remains to be seen if you think I made the right choice or not.  Here goes…

Twelve years ago was very likely the worst day of my life.  The day Diane died.  Now, astute readers may recall me mentioning that that happened back in June.  That’s because occasionally, I’m an idiot.  The date in June was actually our wedding anniversary, not the anniversary of her death.  That faux pas would have cost me big time (rightly so) had I screwed up an anniversary while she was alive.

Three years ago was among the best days of my life as we welcomed the youngest of my five grandkids, the Little Diamond, into the world.  I wrote about this a couple years ago, in the aftermath of LD’s first birthday, the emotional turmoil I felt, albeit briefly.  We just FaceTimed (a wonderful bit of technology) so I could see her on her actual birthday and I’m heading home for a week, leaving in a few days, but I wanted to see her on her special day.  I know Diane would be thrilled with our grandkids.  And she would spoil them unrelentingly, and support them unhesitatingly, as any grandma should.  But it wasn’t meant to be.

While I have things to say, I chose instead to leave it at this and finish it with an excerpt from what I’ve been working on, this time from Diane’s stay in the hospital.  I may close it with pictures, I haven’t decided yet.

I went into Diane’s room, for what felt like the hundredth time since I tried to get some sleep.  She had almost constant nursing care due to the fragility of her condition.  I don’t remember who was there on the overnight shift.  I remember Dani, Manny, Laura, and Missy, but I know there were so many more.  The perfusionists too, Paul is the name that sticks in my mind.  These people were with her around the clock, working their butts off for all of their patients.  I don’t think I could ever express my thanks to them enough.  

There wasn’t much I could do except hold her hand and talk softly to her.  I know there have been studies done that relate how comatose patients can hear even though they can’t respond.  I was banking on that.  Talking to Diane about everything I could think of.  Telling her how much fun we were going to have with Elliott and our new grandson, just born in April, Damian. 

As Saturday morning turned into afternoon, the CCU waiting area started to fill with friends and family.  And again, the staff there was incredible.  They brought us food, made sure the coffee machine was full, in short just went out of their way (it seemed to me) to make sure we were as comfortable as we could be given the circumstances.  And I went back into “shuttle” mode just as I had when Caitlin was in the hospital.  I knew I could go in and be with Diane pretty much whenever I wanted, day or night, so I thought I should defer to friends and family that came to visit.  And this way Cassi could spend as much time at her Mom’s bedside as she wanted.  I shuttled people back-and-forth from the waiting room to Diane’s room.  By this time I’d already gotten to be on a first name basis with the nurses caring for her and they did a great job of keeping us informed of her progress.  

Or lack of progress.  By Saturday evening one of the nurses told me they thought Diane’s kidneys had shut down.  She had stopped producing urine.  The cardiac surgeon stopped in late Saturday night and we talked, for a while.  I told him about our family, about what happened to Caitlin and tried to explain to him how important the relationship between Diane and her daughters was.  He told me, in no uncertain terms, the seriousness of Diane’s condition.  He said in addition to her kidneys shutting down, her brain didn’t appear to be functioning.  

I understood.  Whether I had been conscious of it or not, whether I was willing to admit it or not, I could see her deteriorating.  I’m sure I wasn’t completely prepared to accept that she wasn’t improving.  And yet, I distinctly remember telling her; when we were alone, after I spoke to the doctor, that I got it.  That I knew she loved all of us.  And that I knew, more than anything, that she missed Caitlin.

So, yeah, I understood.  But I needed the doctor to understand too.  And I told him, how important it was to me that Cassi knew we did everything possible for Diane.  She’d already lost her only sister.  I needed her to know that everything that could possibly be done for her Mother was going to be done.  And he agreed.  He scheduled a consultation with a neurologist for the morning.  

The kids were waiting for me in the family waiting room that we had commandeered.  They knew I was speaking with the surgeon.  So I told them what the plan was.  The neurologist was coming in at 9:00 in the morning to examine Diane.  

We all settled in for the night.  I went back out to the main waiting area, ironically enough for privacy.  Actually, since it was well after hours I had it all to myself.  I settled in to my lounge chair and started reading “Marley and Me” again.  I was getting close to the end, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight so I figured I could finish the book by morning.  I really enjoyed it to this point.  As I said, there were many similarities between Marley and our pup Sophie.  But the more I read, the closer to the end of the book I got, the more obvious it was to me how it was going to end.  I had to put the book down.  I just felt like I was certain Marley was getting to a point where I didn’t think he wasn’t going to be around at the end of the book.  And I had to stop reading.  I was getting too emotional to finish it.  Too many parallels between the book and what we were going through with Diane.  I put the book down and haven’t picked it up since.  It’s at home, somewhere.  Maybe on the shelf in her closet, I’m not sure.  I still haven’t seen the movie either.  And I won’t.  I mean, I heard it was well done; I just don’t have any desire to re-live that night.  I’m afraid that movie will do just that.

So I paced.  And I went in to sit with Diane.  I talked to her.  I talked to God.  I cried.  A lot.  It was my time for it.  The kids weren’t there; I didn’t have to put up a front of being strong, so I could let my emotions go where they would.  I knew there were huge differences in Diane’s condition.  In addition to what the doctor and I talked about, I could see the physical changes in her appearance. 

 And I noticed that instead of two nurses, like she’d had Friday overnight, there was only one.  

I was up before the sun again on Sunday morning; actually it was well before the sun.  I know I slept a little, but Saturday night into Sunday morning was a repeat of the previous night.  I finally got up for good, rolled up the blanket I had used, went into the back and got a cup of coffee.  Ryan joined me outside the entrance to the CCU a little after 6:00 AM.  As we sat there, making idle chit-chat, Dr. V, Diane’s cardiac surgeon, came in to do his rounds.  He was carrying a couple boxes of doughnuts for the staff.  I made a joke about him drumming up business.  He laughed and said he liked to do little things like this for the nursing staff since they all worked so hard to make the doctors look good.  I thought it was a pretty stand up move for someone that didn’t need to do it.  

Around 9:00 AM the neurologist came in for a consult.  We left Diane’s room so she could be examined.  A little while later the neurologist came out to talk to me.  She said she didn’t see any evidence of brain activity.  She said she couldn’t say Diane was “brain-dead” (a phrase I’ve grown to despise as you might imagine) because she had to do two distinct tests, separated by time.  

The rest of Sunday is kind of a blur.  There were many visitors; family members, and friends, trying their best to keep our spirits up.  I think we probably put up a good front, at least I’d like to think we did, but I’m not sure we pulled it off entirely.  I remember being in shuttle mode again several times over the course of the day.  I also remember thinking how noticeable the changes were now in Diane’s appearance.  Her face was starting to retain fluid, she looked puffy.  

When I had some time alone with her, I leaned in close and whispered to her, “It’s ok honey, I understand.  I love you and I’ll miss you forever, but I know you need to be with Caitlin again.  It’s ok.”  I had that “conversation” with her several times over the next 18 hours or so.  

It’s funny, as I’d looked at the weather forecast for the weekend; I thought Sunday afternoon would’ve been a good time to bring Sophie to visit Diane.  We could’ve sat in the outdoor courtyard right outside the Cardiac Care Unit and Diane could’ve showed off Sophie to everyone and anyone that showed an interest.  She was really pleased with what she accomplished with Sophie through their training.  She loved socializing Sophie around as many people as she could.  And Sophie ate up the attention.  But now, with the way things had turned, bringing the dog over was the last thing on my mind. 

As Sunday at the Cardiac Care Center progressed, we saw many people from across all of our various phases of life.  Family, both hers and mine, coworkers from jobs both current and past, and so many friends.  Once again, I was in shuttle mode between Diane’s bedside and one or the other of the waiting rooms.  And, once again, the staff was doing their best to make things as pleasant for us as they possibly could.  But as the day wore on, Diane’s condition spiraled down.  The kids did their best to take host pressures off of me, and it helped.  But we were all in the middle of the juggling act of keeping our best appearances up for the visitors while trying to get our heads wrapped around what was happening before our eyes.

This is an easy picture to post, from one of our best days after Caitlin was killed.  The Quiet Child’s wedding reception held in our back yard.

Obviously we had no clue what the future would bring, but this day, in particular, helped remind us that life still provided us with some good days.  And that, among those good days, you sometimes get visited by butterflies…

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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A Boy And His Dog.

I’m gonna tell you a few things right up front…

A.)This one is gonna be wordy and I make no apologies about it.

B.)If you don’t care about pets, particularly dogs, don’t waste your time going any further.

C.)If you do care about pets, grab some kleenex cause Imma rip your heart out.  After all, why should I be the only one to cry while I read this?

I took a journalism class a million years ago in high school.  And one of the things I learned (and if you read this at all you’ll recognize it’s probably the only thing I learned in that class) is that obituaries of famous people are written in advance.  That boggled my 17 year old mind, but it makes perfect sense really.  When famous people die, it’s news.  And, to get that news out for public consumption, the head start of a pre-written obit, sans last minute details, of course, really speeds up the delivery.

To that end, I started working on this post in 2013.  I’ve added to it here or there over the years, as things would come to my mind.  Even deleted a thing or two as situations changed over the years.  I did this all for a very specific reason.  To celebrate the life and to mark the passing of the best dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time with.

“Spending time with” is, btw, a terrible way to describe our lives together.  Since she came into my life in 2005, Sophie and I have been through a lot together.  Diane’s death, Mom’s death, a divorce.  That’s just off the top of my head.  There were many days when getting out of bed was the last thing on Earth I wanted to do.  But I had to, if for no other reason than for Sophie.  She still needed to go out and play fetch or splash in her pool or any number of other dog-related things she so loved doing.  And who was I to deny her due to my own grief?  So I had to keep moving.  Dogs do best when in a routine, you know?  Regular feeding times.  The same activities at the same time every day.   Tobi was a different story, I could just let him outside and he’d occupy himself until he was ready to come back in the house.  But Sophie was still learning, still needed some direction as she grew out of puppyhood.  By doing that for her, that ritual of routine, I was able to, at least in part, maintain some semblance of sanity in my life.  She helped me readjust to life far quicker than I was ready to.  And I don’t think I realized that as it was happening.

Brief confession time…

I’ve never seen “Old Yeller”

I’ve never had any desire to watch a movie where I know one of the main emotional points is the death of a dog.

Also, I started reading “Marley and Me” but had to stop.  Same reason.  Although, truth be told, I started reading it while in the hospital waiting room when Diane was in surgery.  It was (brief review alert) a really well done book, and I was easily able to relate to life with a Yellow Lab puppy.  Although Sophie was never as destructive as Marley was.  And reading it helped take my mind off the matter at hand.  In the evenings, after family and friends left I was able to focus on reading and not dwell on the well-meaning, though often off-the-mark, intentions of Diane’s visitors.  That weekend, as I got further into the book and real life started to spiral down, well, I just wasn’t emotionally ready to finish the book.  Anticipating what was coming in one, and fearing what was coming in the other was starting to rend the flesh from my soul like wolves on an elk they’d taken down on the tundra.

So, how do I celebrate the life of this spectacular beast?

Let’s start here, shall we?  This is Sophie –

It’s the first time I ever saw her.  I know, pictures of puppies are low hanging fruit, but look at that little face.  This is from an early cell phone camera, it was taken at the breeders, before she even came home with us.   I remember the phone call that preceded this picture.  Something along the lines of-

“They’ve got Black Lab puppies and Yellow Lab puppies, which do you prefer?”

After several seconds consideration… “I’m kind of a traditionalist, I think a Black Lab puppy.”

“Ok, well, we’re getting a Yellow Lab puppy.”

Not that I really cared, mind you.  That exchange always made me laugh though.  And, of course twelve years down the road, I wouldn’t trade her for any dog on the planet.

Then there’s this one-

Sophie and her new (then) buddy Beans.  In the old house, that was probably Sophie’s favorite place to lay and watch the world go by.

She is, without question, the sweetest, gentlest (is that a word?) goofiest, smartest dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of being around.  Some people say dogs don’t have a personality, I call shenanigans on that thought.  Sophie has got one and it cracks me up.  She’s got a beautiful Lab face, albeit with some small scars.  Leftovers from the oftmentioned, tyrannical, Jack Russell terrorist (not an autocorrect) named Tobi that ran the animal portion of our house when we brought Sophie home.  They were quite the pair.  She was small enough to run under Tobi for the first month or so, but even though she grew to outweigh him by a factor of at least 5 to 1, she still cowered when he glared at her.

I first realized just how devastating her eventual outcome would be a couple months after Diane died.  Sophie developed a very bad (to put it mildly) case of, what we call in the old country, “the runs”.  Like everywhere, everytime, explosive diarrhea.  Sorry if that’s a tad graphic, but I still shudder at the memory.  So a couple of visits to the vet, after multiple floor scrubbings and carpet cleanings, after every single home remedy provided little or no relief, Sophie had to go in for, essentially, a lower GI.  When the procedure was done, the staff told me I could go in and sit by her while she came out of the anesthetic.  I walked back into the recovery area and saw Sophie, an IV still hooked up to her front leg, lying in a kennel.

She looked like she was stoned.

Until she saw me approach.

She struggled to get up, but, still fighting the sedation, crashed into the side of the kennel.  She tried again to rise, until I opened the door and held her back down, stroking the fur behind her ears while her tail thumped an off-beat time against the floor of the kennel.

I sobbed like a child.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it.

She’s always loved people.   For example, in our old neighborhood, Sophie found great joy watching the spot where kids, one in particular, waited across the street from our house (along with her big sister and Mom) for the school bus that would take her big sister to school every day.  If we went outside while they were there, invariably we’d hear a soft, small voice call out-

“Hi Sophie!”

Sophie loves kids.  Like I said, she loves people.  And despite the occasional tough girl act (it makes me laugh whenever I hear her growl), she will usually try to sneak over to see neighbors.

And by “sneak” I mean everything from flat out gallop to wandering “aimlessly”, peeking back at me over her shoulder, “nothing to see here”, “pay no attention to the dog behind the curtain”, “you can’t see me” nonchalant, inch-by-inch way she moves to the boundaries of our yard.

I mean, seriously… look at that face.  That face would NEVER do anything like wander over to see the neighbors, would it?

Our neighbors in Wondertucky (not the town’s real name, btw) were held (although it does fit) in an especially (like a glove) high regard by the Blonde dog.  She regularly escaped the horrific conditions under which she lived at my house *snark* to go visit them any time she was outside and saw one of them.  Typically it would start with her tail keeping allegretto time like a maestro, feverishly thrashing the air until she was acknowledged.  But if that didn’t work, a bark, higher pitched than her normal, kind of a “Hey! Here I am! Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” bark, that would be answered by Krista or Wes with a “Hi Sophie” followed immediately by a burst of dog energy propelling her across the empty lot between our houses in world record time.

And it’s almost the same thing in our current neighborhood.  With arthritis in both hips and synthetic ligaments in both knees, she doesn’t really tolerate long walks.  So we walk several times a day.  And she has caused me to meet so many of our neighbors it’s not even funny.  In fact, more people around here know her name than mine.

I’ve noticed small changes in her the last year or so.  Gradual changes.  From more inconsistent eating habits to an increasing limp in a couple of her legs.  Occasionally she’ll stumble, tripping over some unseen obstacle.  I spent some time out of town last spring.  And, while I was gone, the Boy Child and his family took Sophie in for me.  And, from the texts, pictures and videos I saw while I was gone, I’d say everybody enjoyed the arrangement. Witness my little Diamond with her bestie-

But when I got Sophie back home after the trip, the changes seemed more pronounced.  More limping, less eating.  And, markedly, a reluctance to go for a walk.  These short walks have been a staple of our life for the last three years or so.  When she balked at going for a walk, stopping short about 75 feet from our yard and wanting nothing to do with moving forward, it worried me.

She was due for her annual checkup anyway, so I called her vet and got an appointment earlier than I’d planned.  He listened to my description, suggested an added medicine to ease some of her discomfort and, like last year, ran a blood test to check her overall well-being.  He called the next afternoon to give me the results.  When he told me her liver enzymes were high, as high as 6 times the normal level, and high on numerous values, my heart sank.  It could be something minor, treated with more medication.  It could be tumors in or on her liver.  He recommended an ultrasound and a more in-depth fasting blood test.  The tests proved inconclusive although we did find out she had contracted Lyme Disease.  Treated with an 8 week course of antibiotics but no changes came.  Her spirit, as always, was strong.  But her body was weak.  And as time passed it became weaker and weaker.

It became common for one or two of our daily walks to last no more than the neighbors front yard.  She’d lay there and watch the world go by for ten minutes or so, then struggle to get to her feet and head back home.  She’d have good days, where we’d get three decent walks in and she’d have bad days, where she showed little interest in her food and even less in going for walks.

This last week was pretty good actually.  We’d gotten several good walks in, and she saw many of her neighborhood friends.  As I said before, more people in the neighborhood know Sophie, than know me.  But it’s true.  Our walks often take us past the public library in town.  I feel safe in saying at least 50-60% of the employees know her by name.  They’ll come up to her and make a big fuss over her, Sophie soaking it all in, but not a single one knows my name.  I’m fine with that, by the way.  I’m perfectly content to be the guy that walks Sophie.

So, when I got the call last night, at work, in the middle of a block party no less, from the guy that takes care of Sophie when I’m at work, I took it.  He was so distraught he couldn’t even speak.  All I got from him was “Sophie’s ok” and it took him two tries to get that out.  His wife got on the phone and explained to me that Sophie wouldn’t get up to go outside.  For the better part of the day.  They’d tried several times to no avail.  Deb cleaned her up, and cleaned up the accidents Sophie had left in the house, but she didn’t know what to do.

By the time we got back to quarters it was after 8:00 and I got a text update on Sophie.  I called one of the guys that works today, explained the situation to him and asked if he could come in early for me.  He asked if 5:00 AM was good and I told him it was.  We hung up and I got a text from him to the effect of “I’m coming in now.  Go home, take care of Sophie” I thanked him several times (not enough, I’m sure) and was home by 11:00 last night.

As I write this, now Sunday morning, she still hasn’t gotten up.  I’ve tried coaxing her with leftover yogurt, a favorite thing of hers, but she hasn’t done it yet.  The closest she got was when I walked in last night.  She made one attempt but quickly laid back down.  Instead I got the familiar tail thumps on the floor.

I’ve got the Weather Channel on, for background noise as much as to watch what Irma does to Florida and I can’t help thinking about perspective.  I’m sobbing over a dog while actual humans are losing everything they own and in some cases, their lives.  And it’s not that I don’t care, but, I don’t care.

I also think of all the times I’ve cried with Sophie.  Burying my face in the comfort of her fur as I try to understand the “why” I’ve lost the ones I love.

This time, the tears are for Sophie.

Peace

PS-

If Disney is the happiest place on earth, this is it’s polar opposite.  I pull into the parking lot and see a guy in camo on the verge of tears.  Me too pal.  And as I walk in to check Sophie in and get help getting her out of the car I meet two people walking out, tears streaming down their faces.

My mind races as I get ushered in to the exam room.  The tech tells me the doctor will be in to talk to me.  Is it me or is she being dispassionate?  I mean, I get it.  I’ve seen the look she has on her face before, not making eye contact, looking around me instead of at me.  Heck I’ve made that face before.  She bears news she isn’t prepared to tell, to someone that may not be prepared to hear.  Every bark that comes from the back; is that her?  But no, none of them were.  I  know every bark she makes and those weren’t any of hers.

The doctor comes in with a similar look.  It’s not the one I wanted to see, but it’s, quite frankly, the look I expected to see.  He tells me Sophie is in a lot of pain.  So, the decision, though it’s one I never wanted to make, is one I knew I would probably have to make at some point.

This is that point.

It’s time.

That, for what it’s worth, may be the hardest thing I’ve ever written.

Again, Peace

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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