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 ...

Let's say that grief is a road. It's pretty bumpy, windy, and kinda dark right now. There are also all these opportunities to pull off and take a side trip. Like I can choose to focus for a while on the Well-Being of the Teens, but eventually that path rejoins Grief Road. I can also distract myself with Raising Awareness, but only for so long. Then there's the lovely Organize the Garage So We Can Park a Car in It...I'm too lazy to even go there. In between side-trips I experience these awful, shocking moments when the enormity of his absence hits me.  Halloween 2010 One of those moments was yesterday when I went out to the Hoarders-worthy space that is my garage to get Chance his evening scoop of dog food. I saw Chance's Halloween costume. It's a hot dog. Sam picked it out on our last outing to Target (the one that inspired this post ). Chance is here, but Sam is not. Sam will not dress up for Halloween. He will not go trick or treating. That means I'm not g...

My thoughts are so jumbled, incomplete, I can't focus.  I start to think about how much I miss him, and then I get distracted by images of the moments and hours after his death-his last breath or his little body on the gurney, under a quilt being wheeled away from the house.  The teens are distraught and scared to go back to school.  The dog is acting weird, he's suddenly so needy.  Sometimes I feel numb and so guilty that I am functioning. Why am I not weeping and useless all day? I should feel worse. I don't feel badly enough for a mother that buried her son less than a week ago. That 20 pounds I put on over the course of this last year is really bothering me, but I write this in between bites of red velvet cupcake and sips of red wine. I can't believe he's gone, and yet I watched him die. How is this possible? I can only remember sick Sammy. I see flashes of healthy Sammy, and then I realize I'm remembering photographs. When will my memories of healthy Sam re...

Sweet and gentle Sam�my �lil� guy�:   From the moment I first saw you I knew you were someone special.  I knew you would have an impact on me and the rest of the world that we would feel forever.  From day one you were a beacon of sunshine and energy so powerful that I always felt safe around you, and I was comforted by the knowledge that the world would benefit from your presence and the gifts you would share.  I  didn't  know at the time what those gifts would be and I  couldn't  know at the time how you would share those gifts but the magic was there.  Everyone around you could feel it. Sweet and gentle Sam�your time with us was far too short; but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the time you did give us.  In your lifetime you taught me many things:  You taught me that a small, quiet voice could have an enormous impact on people; you taught me that being kind and gentle was far more powerful than a booming...