Ms Big Stuff

Dear Lil' Miss Vegetarian obsessed with Judaica,

I just ordered the backpack you picked out for big school.
I'm very excited about all the things happening for you. I'm wondering what treasures you'll put in this bag each day....I'm happy to be on this journey with you.

Love you,

Mama

What's on my mind?

Random thoughts from this week:

• Grief-o-meter set to NUMB.
• When I'm feeling NORMAL, I think, "Gee, I'm feeling kind of normal." I realize that this is not normal.
• I must talk to each of my parents at least one time each day.
• When I feel someone trying to pull me from my funk, either knowingly or not, I feel kind of angry. Even the neighbor who innocuously invite El into his workshop, I think, "Dammit, we can't just go see what's in your workshop...the walk, by itself, is the best I can do right now." We go into the workshop and I'm grateful for him helping pull me out of the cloud over me.
• Can't look at a bridge without thinking of her friend's mom who committed suicide this way a couple of years ago. We talked earlier this week about how traumatizing bridges have become. I wonder if garages will do the same for me.
• How do I get rid of my brother's handprints on the rafters in the garage? My parents haven't noticed, and I don't want them too, but they drive me crazy.
• Even though right now I'm inclined to think, "My life is inordinately hard, harder than most of the people I know," and pity myself a great deal, I'm hating being told I'm an inspiration or a hero, or any other fluffy term to euphemize(?) that "Gosh, your life is shitty, and watching you helps me realize that I'm kind of lucky." It's not a goal of mine to inspire you with my trials and tribs. I'm looking to have a happy life here. If I think too much about how hard all this is, I might just fall into a pile on the floor like Humpty Dumpty...please don't remind me.
• I think about relationships in terms of whom I will bury. If I'm lucky, I'll bury my parents. (I hate the thought of them having to bury me). My husband is older...and I'm sure I'll have to bury him. What does he want done with his body? I have so many friends. They make my life rich and warm. Will I have to tell them goodbye? What a terrible cost of love. I can't live any other way.
• I am overwhelmed. My life is hard. I want my husband home. I want to be a more present parent. I don't want to worry about money so much. I want for simple things that aren't things. I wish I had the capacity and presence to give back to so many who do thoughtful things. Can I manage some thank you notes?
• I don't want to talk to you, whomever you are. When I do talk to you, I feel strange like I'm outside of myself. If I enjoy talking to you, I think about it constantly afterwards, and feel guilty for laughing or chitchating or being the person I was two weeks ago.
• I want to hold and kiss and tell my children each moment I see them. I tell them how beautiful they are, how perfect they are. I seek to love them more perfectly. I'm grateful for this lesson.
• I have nightmares. They are gruesome and sometimes terrifying. They involve all sorts of people. I remember these nightmares the next day and replay these scenes along with Galito's final moments each day. In some ways I feel traumatized.
• I've forgotten so many things and so many plans.
• My summer plan was once--have a house full of kids coming and going and slipping and sliding and eating popsicles...now it's survive the summer, open the door if you feel like it.
• Do people know how much it means to show up at a funeral or do small things for a funeral service? It means a lot. Each sympathy card means a lot. Saying something to acknowledge something that has changed me forever means a lot. Thank you.
• I'm an only child now, and think about how alone I feel in the universe. I'm suddenly grateful for having 3 kids, so they have more than just one other person, just in case.
• Please God, don't ever take a child from me.

Chit Chat

I'm just not in the mood.

Oliver at 9 months

At 9 months, you're a sharky one, and quite toothy with EIGHT (8) whopping chompers. You use them on any and everything around, including me!

You are a charmer, and LOVE to make sweet eyes, with a crinkle of the nose, and a toothy, dimply grin.

You're cruisin' all over the place, and a few weeks ago, I would've pegged you as an early walker, but lately, we're all just holding you so much, for love, for hugs, for kicks, that we might delay your gross motor development accidentally.

You're so vocal, especially while eating--grunts and moans and groans and songs. When you're not eating it's a DADADADA or AY-DAY. Occasionally a mama, but hey, I'm not complainin.

You're also like the house taster. I'm sorry to say, that we love just giving you any old thing to see how you'll respond. This morning, Daddy completely flipped because he realized (too late) that the cinnamon roll he'd broken a piece off of had pecans! You were some angry when I tried using my famous finger sweep to take out the offending sweet bits. Were they yummy baby? Plenty of time, plenty of time...

And that's what I look forward to...plenty of time to watch you grow, plenty of time to share in your warm smile, plenty of time to wipe your tears and hold you close, plenty of time to hear your Elliot coo sweetly to you each morning, plently of time for Ana to pretend you're hers.

We're spoiling you, all around.

A week ago today

A week ago, in about 30 minutes, Mom called me and told me you were dead. That you'd killed yourself.

I stared blankly at the wall. I wokr up Kevin. I thought about my work appointment--I was so numb to you that I actually thought to myself I would run home, then meet those folks at 7. I fed the baby, changed clothes, and drove over.

There were three big fire trucks driving away from the house very slowly when I arrived.

I thought I would throw up.

As I waslked up the driveway, the cops scrambled, and quickly closed the garage.

I then heard mom and dad tell over and over what had happened. Over and over how you must have been hanging there while mom ate her breakfast. Over and over how dad cut you down. He must've had to take off the tape to do CPR. I didn't think of that til just now.

I know you're at rest now, and felt some peace at the service Monday. I can't take this painful end out of my head though.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you more that I love you, that you are a good person, that I'm sorry life is so painful for you. i'm sorry you felt so hopeless. I'm sorry I felt so hopeless about you.

Final moments

Last night I couldn't stop thinking of your final moments. I cried and cried imagining how very lonely that would be. I thought of the masking tape, and why your lips were the color they were at the funeral. and i couldn't take any of it out of my head.

Ms. Gladys says I don't know what your final moments were. That we are never alone. I'm holding that close to me today, and will use it if it comes to me again tonight.

I can't sleep Galito.

Revised Eulogy

Galito,
I felt your presence today, and got through it. I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to get the words out. But you were with me, and before I spoke, there was a tremendous peace. Thank you for that. I hope you heard what I said. I meant every word. It was hard to see you, so still and so cold, but your hair felt the same, thick and curly. I can still feel it in my hand. I miss you brother. I miss you.
****
Galito

Our friend, uncle, cousin, nephew, father. Only son of my parents. My dear sweet brother. You were beloved.

You were unwell for so long. But although you felt overwhelmed by your disease, we can’t define you by your illness. You were more than that to us, for so many many happy years, don’t you know Galito?

As a son, you deeply loved your parents. One of my happiest memories of you, is seeing you return from fishing in Honduras with Dad, smiling from ear to ear, your catch held high. So proud. You posed for pictures, holding up your fish, standing next to Dad, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you looking up at him, him smiling down at you. I could see by your bright smile how much you enjoyed that time, just you and dad and the open sea. How happy you were to share that adventure with him.

You and Dad shared that hot temper, and it often got in your way. But that last night, you kissed him “Goodnight.” You wanted him to know how much you loved him. And you knew how much he loved you.

Mama was your little queen. You loved looking for ways to make her happy, even if it was just finding Colombo on TV, and calling her over. You towered over her, and rarely missed an opportunity to playfully hug her, and affectionately give her a kiss.

She loved when you were working and would come home happily saying, “Mom, I’m home!” You were so close to Mom, that as unfair as it is to be standing here, I don’t think you could have ever been able to let her go to Heaven before you. You couldn’t live without her. You had to go home first.

She loved you as only a mother can. Through Mama, you were understood. The two of you would have long talks when you were feeling down, and she wouldn’t rest until she’d eased your worries. Mama’s compassion for you was unyielding: plentiful and saintly. She was your best friend.

Through her and Dad, you knew unconditional love. God’s love was always there, even when you all struggled, because they would do everything they could to help you. Never were there two parents more devoted to a child than our parents for you, Galito. And they never gave up on you.

You loved being Mara’s daddy. And were happiest when you were working, and could provide for her. Every penny you would earn would go to her. You loved buying her toys and fun things that you could enjoy together.

You wanted to be the best father you could, and you did the best you could for her. And she loved you so much. A friend of yours recently shared with me how quickly you’d whip out your wallet to show her off. You were so proud. I am happy that you got to enjoy fatherhood, and your daughter’s joy and laughter, that you celebrated her successes and everyday fun.

As my brother, I always knew how much you loved me. You always included me, even when you were hanging out with your cool friends in high school. Even when I wanted to wear your leather jacket. You’d take me out with you on the weekend, and you’d drive the Gold LTD, and we’d go to the lake or French Quarter, and you were always proud to have me by your side, and were always looking out for me.

And when you were playing in your band, I’d stand in the front of the crowd at the VFW hall, and make sure everyone knew I was your sister. I was proud of you too. And my friends, especially the older ones, sometimes I wondered if they wanted to come over just to look at you. You were just so handsome.

I loved when you taught me riffs on the guitar, and staying up late watching MTV together, and all those years when we were so very close. Where did they go?

I remember the slobbery kisses you’d give—and I’d always complain that they were too wet, and try to dry off my cheek. What wouldn’t I do for one of those kisses right now?

I miss you so much. I thought I had lost you so many years ago, as you became ill and distant, and I became confused by who you were. But now that you are gone, I understand how painful it is to really lose you, and I can see you so very clearly. You are unobscured by your illness, and all of those happy sweet moments are with me. They have replaced everything else.

No—I can’t define your life by your illness. There were too many good memories, and too much of a life before you got sick, and too sweet of a boy beneath it all. Please forgive me, Galito, and the rest of us-- who thought you had some control over your choices and behaviors. We were deceived by your disease, and sometimes, it kept us from being able to love you the way we wanted to. But we always loved you. We never ever stopped.

While we are relieved that you have found some peace, it will take us much time to let go of the many joys we wanted to share with you. We weren’t ready to let you go, and were always hopeful that you would get well, and be the boy, and young man that we knew, and fulfill the dreams you had in your heart.

I know that your grandparents were in Heaven to receive you, and Tia Chacha and Blanca, and Tio Nando were there to wipe your tears and hold you and tell you that you were OK. I know that there, you are well. You are perfect, and you are whole.

And now it is your turn to watch over us, the way you always wanted to while you were here. I find comfort in that, and find myself talking to you with the ease of those many happy years we shared. I feel closer to you than I have in so long. Why do I feel like I have my brother back when I can’t hold you or hear you? I know it is because you are in my heart, where you will always be. You are here with us now, Galito.

If a man is measured by how much he is loved, then you lived a successful, bountiful life. You were loved, and those closest to you knew who you really were. You were that sweet boy, who gave slobbery kisses, and loved fishing, and wanted to be a rock star. And Oh How We Love You.

I have never felt a pain so deep before.
I don't think I will ever be the same again.

Eulogy for Galito

Galito

Our friend, uncle, cousin, nephew. Only son of my parents. My dear sweet brother. You were beloved.

You were unwell for so long. But we can’t define you by your illness. You were more than that to us, don’t you know Galito?

As a son, you deeply loved your parents. One of my happiest memories of you, is seeing you return from fishing in Honduras with Dad, smiling from ear to ear, your catch held high. So proud. You posed for pictures, holding up your fish, standing next to Dad, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders. I could see by your bright smile how much you enjoyed that time, just you and dad and the open sea. How happy you were to share that adventure with him.

You and Dad shared that hot temper, and it often got in your way. But that last night, you kissed him “Goodnight.” You wanted him to know how much you loved him. And you knew how much he loved you.

Mama was your little queen. You loved looking for ways to make her happy, even if it was just finding Colombo on TV, and calling her over. You towered over her, and rarely missed an opportunity to playfully hug her, and affectionately give her a kiss. You were so close to Mom, that as unfair as it is to be standing here, I don’t think you could have ever been able to let her go to Heaven before you. You couldn’t live without her.

She loved you as only a mother can. Through Mama, you were understood. The two of you would have long talks when you were feeling down, and she wouldn’t rest until she’d eased your worries. Mama’s compassion for you was unyielding: plentiful and saintly. She was your best friend.

Through her and Dad, you knew unconditional love. God’s love was always there, even when you all struggled, because they would do everything they could to help you. Never were there two parents more devoted to a child than our parents for you, Galito.

You loved being Mara’s daddy. And were happiest when you were working, and could provide for her. Every penny you would earn would go to her. You loved buying her toys and fun things that you could enjoy together.

You wanted to be the best father you could, and you did the best you could for her. And she loved you so much. I am happy that you got to enjoy parenthood, and your daughter’s joy and laughter, that you celebrated her successes and everyday fun.

As my brother, I always knew how much you loved me. You always included me, even when you were hanging out with your cool friends in high school. Even when I wanted to wear your leather jacket. You’d take me out with you on the weekend, and you’d drive the Gold LTD, and we’d go to the lake or French Quarter, and you were always proud to have me by your side. And when you were playing in your band, I’d stand in the front of the crowd at the VFW hall, and make sure everyone knew I was your sister. I was proud of you too. I loved when you taught me riffs on the guitar, and staying up late watching MTV together, and all those years when we were so very close. Where did they go?
I remember the slobbery kisses you’d give—and I’d always complain that they were too wet, and try to dry off my cheek. What wouldn’t I do for one of those kisses right now? You loved intensely, and in so many ways, you were too sweet for this confusing, painful world.

No—I can’t define your life by your illness. There were too many good memories, and too much of a life before you got sick. Please forgive me, Galito, and the rest of us-- who thought you could change, that you had some control over your choices and behaviors. We were deceived by your disease, and sometimes, it kept us from being able to love you the way we wanted to.

While we are relieved that you have found some peace, it will take us much time to let go of the many joys we wanted to share with you. We weren’t ready to let you go, and were always hopeful that you would get well, and be the little boy, and young man that we knew.
If a man is measured by how much he is loved, then you lived a successful, bountiful life. You were loved, and those closest to you knew who you really were. You were that sweet boy, who gave slobbery kisses, and loved fishing, and wanted to be a rock star. And Oh How We Loved You.