brain cancer

These milestones are so painful. And to have them piled up against each other, like cars on Highway 99 in Tule fog, is unbearable. It started with the one-month anniversary of Sam's death on November 20th, quickly followed by John's birthday on the 22nd. Then we had the weekend to breathe before we took our first roadtrip without Little Guy on Monday so the man-child could see Stanford. Two days later Thanksgiving piggy backed on Chanukah. I had all day Tuesday and Wednesday to decorate for Chanukah, so naturally I got started around 3 o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, racing the sun to get things set up. When it came down to candle-lighting on that first night, the teens were on board with celebrating. If they want to observe Chanukah, then I will too, I decided. I enjoyed their enjoyment. I had purchased a couple of presents for them on a shopping trip a few weeks ago, so I'm not a total slacker. Watching them open presents, and light their menorahs (Abby has taken it u...

I'm sure this is obvious to most of you, but aside from this period of our lives being unbearably sad at times, I am struck by the number of firsts we are racking up. Each one feels like an elephant on my chest. It seems like it's too soon that life goes on, but it has. There was the first time eating out that I wrote about, which only happened a week after Sam died. Since then there have been many firsts that were expected and dreaded, and many I hadn't considered. My car buddy For example, I knew that my children would return to school and that John would return to work, but I didn't anticipate how the silence of the car after I dropped off the teens would feel. The teens and Sam always shared their good-byes, and then Sam and I would chatter on the way to his school/my work, or later I would just chatter to Sam as we headed home because he was no longer in school/I was no longer working. I found myself just losing it-crying all the way home because he is no longer in...

Back in the good old days when I would hear the UPS truck pull up in front of our house, I couldn't help but feel a small surge of excited hopefulness. Lately, though the packages have been related to Sam's death-sympathy gifts, flowers-so I'm less excited. Today I felt that old familiar feeling at the sound of the unwieldy truck outside our home. Not so much excited anymore, but still hopeful for a sign of compassion. Boy was I wrong. The package was merely an envelope. The envelope was addressed to John-"Work," I thought. I squinted at the return address in fine print: Los Osos Valley Mortuary. Oh. I pulled back the tab on the envelope a couple of inches and saw the familiar pattern of a county certificate. I didn't have to open the envelope the rest of the way. I have several county certificates in my possession-a marriage certificate, 3 birth certificates. Sam's death certificate has arrived. It stays in the envelope. I don't need to see it. I don...

The last few days have been so heavy . I should have seen it coming, what with Halloween and people participating in Celebrate Sammy today.  So Halloween, when your only child of dressing up and trick-or-treating age is dead, is not fun. Yes, it was lovely to see all of the children, especially former students. And I was touched that so many friends who do not live in my neighborhood stopped by to make sure things weren't too quiet here.  I anticipate that no matter how many costumed children ring the bell, no matter how cute they are, and how kind and sympathetic their parents are, it will never be enough to fill the void that Sammy left when he died far too young and our Halloweens came abruptly to a stop. I've always thought unkindly of those people whose lights were out on Halloween. Unless you have a religious edict that prevents you from celebrating, why would you not do it for the children? I'm afraid our house may be one of those dark houses next year. We may have ...