I apologize in advance for the somewhat raw emotion....it was just one of those days.
I actually picked up the phone to call you today. So many things happening in my world right now and all I wanted to do was call...so many things that make me remember. As I hit the 5 I realized - that number doesn't work anymore. So my hope is that maybe they have the internet in heaven....and I hope that those of you reading this will grant me some leeway in expressing these thoughts.
Mom,
I hope that today you were smiling down on me. I hope that today you saw the newest accomplishment in my life. I hope that the choices that I've made in the last 2.5 years have been ones you would approve. Mostly, I hope that today I made you proud.
Someone told me once that this gets easier as time passes. I'd actually like to find that person and punch them in the face, but I can't honestly remember who said it. Apparently it didn't register as truthful then either. I'd rather think of grief as holding on to a ginormous wicker basket filled with rocks. As time passes, more people come by and take one of those rocks out of the basket. They carry your pain with you, they share a portion of the dark moments, and the basket gets just a little bit lighter. You also get used to the weight, learn the best way to carry it, and develop the muscles needed to carry the pain. Sometimes, something else comes along and dumps more rocks in the basket. Today was one of those days.
But I'll tell you the truth - I wouldn't give up my wicker basket - I wouldn't trade everything you taught me, the love you had for me, the strength you gave me. I'd rather feel something than nothing at all. The greatest moments in my life have been when someone has told me that I was "just like" my mother.
I know that you saw it all - you saw my smile when I read the blog. You heard my story about baby Emma. You listened to the heartbreak of the day. You held me in your arms when I finally broke down. You were there in every moment, every breath. You cheered me on when I started to tell your story - finally without choking back tears.
I'm here to tell you that this hasn't gotten any easier. There have been more moments in the past 2.5 years that I've wanted my mother than ever before. I'm starting to deal with the feeling of being robbed, but on days like today it's difficult to bite back the bitterness. I know that tomorrow I will wake up without the overwhelming heaviness in my heart but I wish more than anything it wouldn't be there in the first place.
My newest philosophy is this one - "pain is the risk we all take for the greatest gift of love." I know you would approve - since you liked every single one of my random quotes and thoughts.
Thank you for that gift. I wouldn't be the person I am right now without you, both the good and the bad, and for that I will be forever grateful.
Love you,
Becky
*******
May you all continue to risk the pain of loss for the greatest gift of love.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
My Stand Down Experience
I don't know what I was expecting when I signed up to volunteer at Stand Down 2011. Honestly, I didn't even know much about it. It started with my participation in a committee at work, an opportunity to get involved. After calling to register, I did a little bit of research to what I had actually just volunteered for...
Stand Down is an event that takes place across the country to provide homeless vets access to services and basic necessities. It's first program started right here in San Diego in 1988 and has been replicated in several states since. At the very least I figured this was my opportunity to give back to the community....
I arrived at Stand Down bright and early Saturday morning at 6am. The volunteer tent seemed a bit disorganized to the outside observer, and I found myself almost instantly annoyed. There wasn't much for me to do, but the organizers were keeping me away from trash duty - and part of me was sincerely grateful for that. Turned out my entire job on Saturday was to stand by the entrance (which was also the entrance to the showers) and greet the participants. At first I was a little caught off-guard. Surely there was something more important to do than stand around all day and smile at people? Surely I didn't wake up at 4am on a Saturday to stand there and smile? I wasn't asking for trash duty, but seriously?
It took me less than 30 minutes to fully realize just how truly important my job was for the day. My favorite mantra is "There's a story everywhere." In the midst of standing and smiling, I had my first of many stories for the weekend. Because of their impact on me I feel compelled to share them with you.
I met Jose as we went searching for his bag in the claim area. He has lost his tickets but desperately wanted to get something out of it. He described the bag to the workers inside the gated area and they went on the hunt. As we waited, he and I started talking. I asked what he was looking for in his bag and he informed me that his Engineering book was the only thing in there. He just wanted to get it, to make sure it was there, to read a little bit and then give it back. He began to tell me about going to school - the GI bill was paying for tuition and books and he was going to make the most of it. Then Jose told me he lived out of his car. It was then I learned that while the GI bill can help our vets return to school, it doesn't cover housing. Jose, a 26 year old veteran, was attending college while living in his car. But he didn't care. He just wanted to do well in his classes, get past the events that happened while he was on duty, and become an engineer. We found Jose's bag after a bit of a search and we sent him on his way.
My next encounter was with a man walking towards the shower. We exchanged pleasantries briefly as he tried to beat the rush. I took note of the vest he was wearing - Vietnam Veteran, Rangers. I wished him a good shower and figured I'd see him on his way back. And I did. He came back obviously happy about the chance to shower, whistling with an extra little bounce in his step. He walked directly up to me, stood eye-to-eye, looked at my nametag and said, "Thank you Jennifer for your service today." For once in my life, I lost the words to respond. Tears filled my eyes. This gentle man survived a horrific war, was now fighting the street life of San Diego, and thanked ME for waking up at 4am.
The remainder of Saturday was filled with men addressing me by name, shaking my hand. I stood, I smiled, and at times I fought back tears. I learned that most of the participants were simply looking for a place to live and their attendance was in the hopes that one of the participating organizations could help find permanent housing. And then I learned that the wait list for permanent housing here has over 800 people. The amount of time it will take the clear that list.....
My second encounter in the clothing tent was a man, his wife and their 13 year old grandson. I took the father and grandson while another volunteer went with the wife. There was something about that child that drew me to him. He looked so uncomfortable walking around the tent, so embarrassed to be there. It struck me that here he was, living with grandparents who didn't have the money or the health to take care of him, to raise him the way I had been raised. He was quiet, reserved. We dug a little bit and found what I considered the best items on the table (from a shopper's perspective), including a Hollister shirt with the tags still attached, some button-downs and some t-shirts that a 13 year old would be okay wearing. I shook his hand as we walked out of the tent.
And then there was Dave, a man from New Mexico who only wanted a new pair of eyeglasses and a shave. First thing this morning he asked a co-worker if we knew anyone who wanted a cat. His travel companion, a 2 year old cat, was living in the car. He had the cat trained, it was a good cat he said, but he realized he just couldn't take the best care of Solomon anymore. Not living in his car. What an incredibly hard decision that had to be.....what a heartbreaking decision to make.
These are just a few of the stories that Stand Down brought into my life. 1,003 San Diego veterans participated in the activities this weekend. Men, women, children, infants. And today, a father and the tiniest newborn I'd ever seen. From my discussions with event organizers, they had to turn people away because of capacity. And the fear is that as our boys come back from this war, the numbers of participants will only continue to rise over the next 10 years. As a nation we are incredible when it comes to a crisis. The collective "we" bonds together in times like Katrina or international tragedies like Haiti and Japan. And yet, we are turning a blind eye to an ongoing crisis on our own streets. Our government is pulling back on resources and funding for programs that are designed to help.
I talked to a long-time volunteer today about my job yesterday of smiling - and she said, "Because outside of here they are invisible Jennifer. Your acknowledgement of their existence is sometimes all they need to brighten their days." That statement alone breaks my heart. My personal belief is a hand-up, not a hand-out - which is really all that most of these people wanted this weekend. Stand Down was truly the most humbling experience of my life. On an given day we could all find ourselves in similar situations, just looking for a smile and a hand up. I have found myself suddenly grateful for all that I have and a desire to continue to offer that smile any way that I can. My greatest hope is that our collective "we" can all do the same......
Stand Down is an event that takes place across the country to provide homeless vets access to services and basic necessities. It's first program started right here in San Diego in 1988 and has been replicated in several states since. At the very least I figured this was my opportunity to give back to the community....
I arrived at Stand Down bright and early Saturday morning at 6am. The volunteer tent seemed a bit disorganized to the outside observer, and I found myself almost instantly annoyed. There wasn't much for me to do, but the organizers were keeping me away from trash duty - and part of me was sincerely grateful for that. Turned out my entire job on Saturday was to stand by the entrance (which was also the entrance to the showers) and greet the participants. At first I was a little caught off-guard. Surely there was something more important to do than stand around all day and smile at people? Surely I didn't wake up at 4am on a Saturday to stand there and smile? I wasn't asking for trash duty, but seriously?
It took me less than 30 minutes to fully realize just how truly important my job was for the day. My favorite mantra is "There's a story everywhere." In the midst of standing and smiling, I had my first of many stories for the weekend. Because of their impact on me I feel compelled to share them with you.
I met Jose as we went searching for his bag in the claim area. He has lost his tickets but desperately wanted to get something out of it. He described the bag to the workers inside the gated area and they went on the hunt. As we waited, he and I started talking. I asked what he was looking for in his bag and he informed me that his Engineering book was the only thing in there. He just wanted to get it, to make sure it was there, to read a little bit and then give it back. He began to tell me about going to school - the GI bill was paying for tuition and books and he was going to make the most of it. Then Jose told me he lived out of his car. It was then I learned that while the GI bill can help our vets return to school, it doesn't cover housing. Jose, a 26 year old veteran, was attending college while living in his car. But he didn't care. He just wanted to do well in his classes, get past the events that happened while he was on duty, and become an engineer. We found Jose's bag after a bit of a search and we sent him on his way.
My next encounter was with a man walking towards the shower. We exchanged pleasantries briefly as he tried to beat the rush. I took note of the vest he was wearing - Vietnam Veteran, Rangers. I wished him a good shower and figured I'd see him on his way back. And I did. He came back obviously happy about the chance to shower, whistling with an extra little bounce in his step. He walked directly up to me, stood eye-to-eye, looked at my nametag and said, "Thank you Jennifer for your service today." For once in my life, I lost the words to respond. Tears filled my eyes. This gentle man survived a horrific war, was now fighting the street life of San Diego, and thanked ME for waking up at 4am.
The remainder of Saturday was filled with men addressing me by name, shaking my hand. I stood, I smiled, and at times I fought back tears. I learned that most of the participants were simply looking for a place to live and their attendance was in the hopes that one of the participating organizations could help find permanent housing. And then I learned that the wait list for permanent housing here has over 800 people. The amount of time it will take the clear that list.....
My second encounter in the clothing tent was a man, his wife and their 13 year old grandson. I took the father and grandson while another volunteer went with the wife. There was something about that child that drew me to him. He looked so uncomfortable walking around the tent, so embarrassed to be there. It struck me that here he was, living with grandparents who didn't have the money or the health to take care of him, to raise him the way I had been raised. He was quiet, reserved. We dug a little bit and found what I considered the best items on the table (from a shopper's perspective), including a Hollister shirt with the tags still attached, some button-downs and some t-shirts that a 13 year old would be okay wearing. I shook his hand as we walked out of the tent.
And then there was Dave, a man from New Mexico who only wanted a new pair of eyeglasses and a shave. First thing this morning he asked a co-worker if we knew anyone who wanted a cat. His travel companion, a 2 year old cat, was living in the car. He had the cat trained, it was a good cat he said, but he realized he just couldn't take the best care of Solomon anymore. Not living in his car. What an incredibly hard decision that had to be.....what a heartbreaking decision to make.
These are just a few of the stories that Stand Down brought into my life. 1,003 San Diego veterans participated in the activities this weekend. Men, women, children, infants. And today, a father and the tiniest newborn I'd ever seen. From my discussions with event organizers, they had to turn people away because of capacity. And the fear is that as our boys come back from this war, the numbers of participants will only continue to rise over the next 10 years. As a nation we are incredible when it comes to a crisis. The collective "we" bonds together in times like Katrina or international tragedies like Haiti and Japan. And yet, we are turning a blind eye to an ongoing crisis on our own streets. Our government is pulling back on resources and funding for programs that are designed to help.
I talked to a long-time volunteer today about my job yesterday of smiling - and she said, "Because outside of here they are invisible Jennifer. Your acknowledgement of their existence is sometimes all they need to brighten their days." That statement alone breaks my heart. My personal belief is a hand-up, not a hand-out - which is really all that most of these people wanted this weekend. Stand Down was truly the most humbling experience of my life. On an given day we could all find ourselves in similar situations, just looking for a smile and a hand up. I have found myself suddenly grateful for all that I have and a desire to continue to offer that smile any way that I can. My greatest hope is that our collective "we" can all do the same......
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The Baby Game...
So now it's happened twice. The first time I convinced myself I was imaging things....but now....
The conversation started off innocently enough. Each conversation with my father has started the same way. The typical "How was your day" turned and suddenly I found myself on a completely foreign planet. Here's how it went from there:
Dad: "I ran into so-and-so's dad today."
Me: "Really? That's cool."
Dad: "Yeah, she's on her THIRD kid. Things must be going REALLY well for her if she's already on her THIRD kid."
Me: (slightly uncomfortable here) "Must be....good to know things are going well for her."
Dad: "Yep. She's what? A year older than you?"
Me: "Yes dad, she graduated a year ahead of me."
Dad: "Yep, things must be going really well....married, and on her third kid."
Insert subject change here.
My father and I haven't really ever been extremely close. Up until the day my mom died, most of our conversations consisted of, "How's the car? You eating well? Need any money?" And in the two and a half years since, it's been pretty quiet on the get married/have babies front.
As I hung up the phone that night, I was immediately taken back to the last time I had been confronted with that question from my family. My mother had already gotten the diagnosis and was in the middle of her chemo and radiation. I had become the unofficial wicker basket for all of her emotions - her fears, her worries. She and I talked every night for hours at a time while I let her rail against the world that had been so cruel to her while she had been nothing but good to it. One particularly bad chemo day my mother was confronted with her own mortality and that night she decided to needed to share a conversation she had with my father. She was telling him about what she feared most about the cancer....and then she hit me with it. "I'm really afraid I'm going to die before Becky gets married. I'm afraid I'll never see her have children." (Side note here, I'M Becky)
It was like getting hit with by a semi - every ounce of my core hurt. It took my breath away. I fought back tears as she continued the conversation, oblivious to the impact that one statement had. And then I went into assurance mode - that she would beat the cancer, that she would be okay, that one day she would watch me get married and one day I would introduce her to her grandchildren. In a way, I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince her.
And then I went on a mission. Trust me, I tried to find a guy that would marry me after only knowing me for 48 hours, but apparently that's more stalker-status than anything else. Time passed...and just a few short months later my mother entered the hospital and never came home. I never got married.
That was the last time I was asked about marriage and babies. My sister welcomed my beautiful niece into the world and the focus was turned there. I was saved from the idea that I wasn't able to give my mother what she wanted before she died.
So now it's been two and half years and apparently it's time to start bothering the 32 year old youngest daughter about marriage and babies. My brother has 1, my sister has 1.....guess it's just time according to everyone. One person I work with told me that I needed to settle down soon because I "would make a great mother." I'm used to it from friends and well-meaninged random people. BUT MY FATHER?
I just can't seem to find the words to tell him that ever since that phone call a year ago I've been in an internal struggle with even having babies. So for now, I'll continue to say the line I've perfected - "A little after now and sometime before never." Seems like a pretty good tagline for my life. And I'll keep reminding myself that even without kids, I'm living a very good life.
The conversation started off innocently enough. Each conversation with my father has started the same way. The typical "How was your day" turned and suddenly I found myself on a completely foreign planet. Here's how it went from there:
Dad: "I ran into so-and-so's dad today."
Me: "Really? That's cool."
Dad: "Yeah, she's on her THIRD kid. Things must be going REALLY well for her if she's already on her THIRD kid."
Me: (slightly uncomfortable here) "Must be....good to know things are going well for her."
Dad: "Yep. She's what? A year older than you?"
Me: "Yes dad, she graduated a year ahead of me."
Dad: "Yep, things must be going really well....married, and on her third kid."
Insert subject change here.
My father and I haven't really ever been extremely close. Up until the day my mom died, most of our conversations consisted of, "How's the car? You eating well? Need any money?" And in the two and a half years since, it's been pretty quiet on the get married/have babies front.
As I hung up the phone that night, I was immediately taken back to the last time I had been confronted with that question from my family. My mother had already gotten the diagnosis and was in the middle of her chemo and radiation. I had become the unofficial wicker basket for all of her emotions - her fears, her worries. She and I talked every night for hours at a time while I let her rail against the world that had been so cruel to her while she had been nothing but good to it. One particularly bad chemo day my mother was confronted with her own mortality and that night she decided to needed to share a conversation she had with my father. She was telling him about what she feared most about the cancer....and then she hit me with it. "I'm really afraid I'm going to die before Becky gets married. I'm afraid I'll never see her have children." (Side note here, I'M Becky)
It was like getting hit with by a semi - every ounce of my core hurt. It took my breath away. I fought back tears as she continued the conversation, oblivious to the impact that one statement had. And then I went into assurance mode - that she would beat the cancer, that she would be okay, that one day she would watch me get married and one day I would introduce her to her grandchildren. In a way, I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince her.
And then I went on a mission. Trust me, I tried to find a guy that would marry me after only knowing me for 48 hours, but apparently that's more stalker-status than anything else. Time passed...and just a few short months later my mother entered the hospital and never came home. I never got married.
That was the last time I was asked about marriage and babies. My sister welcomed my beautiful niece into the world and the focus was turned there. I was saved from the idea that I wasn't able to give my mother what she wanted before she died.
So now it's been two and half years and apparently it's time to start bothering the 32 year old youngest daughter about marriage and babies. My brother has 1, my sister has 1.....guess it's just time according to everyone. One person I work with told me that I needed to settle down soon because I "would make a great mother." I'm used to it from friends and well-meaninged random people. BUT MY FATHER?
I just can't seem to find the words to tell him that ever since that phone call a year ago I've been in an internal struggle with even having babies. So for now, I'll continue to say the line I've perfected - "A little after now and sometime before never." Seems like a pretty good tagline for my life. And I'll keep reminding myself that even without kids, I'm living a very good life.
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