Jason's Untimely Thoughts

When first in the hospital in New Orleans, we went straight to the surgery waiting room.  It was nice and plush.  We were there all day, after all the others had left, so eventually had the room to ourselves.  We received the good news from surgery and were naturally feeling pretty good about ourselves.

Sarah was then transferred to ICU, which had a separate waiting room.  I remember walking into that room and seeing people whose loved ones were obviously having a hard time.  We were happy, but tried to be quiet and respectful of their needs, worry, and sorrow.  Over the days, there were several bad visits from doctors with others in that room, delivering bad news, which would send us scampering away both to give them privacy and to avoid the awkwardness.  Mostly though, I was relieved that it wasn’t us and cocky that it wouldn’t be.  Everything was good for us, I would reply.

Quite a change from the wreck I became later.

It’s been three months.  Everything is going as well as it possibly could — the sitter is great, Jack loves CDC, Adelaide loves kindergarten, I’m able to work enough, meals/cleaning/laundry are almost all taken care of by others, Tiger football is winning, etc.  Again, it’s all going well.  Except I still feel like that broken dude in the waiting room much of the time.

And there’s not much going on that is fun to me, including most of the things that used to be fun to me.  Most days are a series of sprints to the next thing, broken up by silence at work or silence after the kids have gone to bed.

I read and re-read and re-re-read everything I can find… notes from everyone while Sarah was in the hospital, e-mails that came pouring in after the bad news, the various internet articles and sites, my updates, and on and on.  It’s heart-breaking, but helpful at the same time.  At least sometimes it helps.  I hope the kids will be able to read all that later and be able to easily tell how much Sarah meant to so many.

We’re lucky in Columbia with lots of places to go where there are friendly faces.  I ate two meals downtown yesterday, for example, where I had chats with people we’ve known forever, who still miss Sarah like I do.  I go there mostly so I can have those brief chats, in between the sprints.

I wish I could have something besides brief chats, but that’s all there is.  Even when I try to have a real conversation, it doesn’t seem to be possible for me.

I’m going to Texas next weekend.  A trip to see the Tigers play that Sarah & I had started planning in the Spring.  A great group of friends will be gathering from all over the country.  The kids and I are returning to Texas over Halloween, another trip we’d planned in the Spring, to visit friends again.

Those trips will be good for all of us.  Will certainly be some times when I can find some fun and some conversation.  It will be around a bunch of people who can each make me laugh which is a good start.

There is still no normal for me.  I still have no idea what is appropriate for me to do or think, except that it seems most of what’s going on for me is to be expected.

Finally, I’m sorry for those that read this that have dealt with losses of your own.  In some cases I wasn’t aware until recently, in some I knew but didn’t know how to say anything to you.  I am sorry, though, and wish I could repay the kindnesses you’ve shown me.

I write to make sure everyone knows of an event that is being planned by a group of Sarah’s friends and peers — “Hold That Hug“, a drop-in family photo shoot, is taking place next Sunday, October 12, from 3 – 5 pm at Stewart Park in Columbia.  (If the esteemed President of the Stewart Park Association happens to be reading this, please remember my extra contribution to your slush fund recently and kindly look the other way as it seems we’re proceeding without waiting on official approval.)  Photo taken or no, come hang out with the gang if you like.

From the site:  http://www.holdthathug.blogspot.com/

Sarah Becking’s photographer friends are hosting a tribute event that’s taken the shape of a drop-in family photo shoot from 3-5 PM, Sunday, October 12th. (If it’s raining at 12 noon that day stay tuned to this blog. If it’s still raining at 2 PM, we’ll reschedule for the event to be held on Sunday, October 26th instead.) note:  There’s a step we haven’t yet taken in getting official permission to use the park, but plan on dropping by sometime during 3-5 pm at Stewart Park in Columbia. Hang out with us. Play with us. Get your picture made by us.

every family is welcome.

“family hug” type group pictures will be created (at no charge) for every family in attendance.

family pictures will be posted online via sarah becking’s zenfolio site (i.e. her “photo store”) sometime after the event. proceeds from any print sales will be directed to something sarah really loved: PICTURES-OF-THE-YEAR-International.

that’s the scoop. stay tuned for updates. and go hug somebody you love ~ that’s what it’s all about.

hold that hug.

Go Hug your friends and family, go Tigers, beat the corn, and on a side note, screw ku.

An ‘argument’ filled day at work yesterday.  Not really arguing, at least I don’t think so, but collective displeasure with the creative process in tweaking our advertising plan.  The end result is good, just seems like there should be a better way of accomplishing it, we all agree.

I try to not to talk about work except to co-workers.  It’s generally boring, while at the same time very similar to your work, I imagine.  The exception is days like yesterday, where you simply need an outsider to listen for a minute or two, but naturally not just any outsider will do.  Another part of the deal.

So a friend calls today to let me know she dreamed of Sarah last night.  Like Sarah, she generally has very vivid dreams, remembers them in much detail.  Different last night, though, was clearly a ‘visit’, not a dream.

Sarah was wearing her hair short, which was unusual.  And they were living the rock star life on a tour bus, which was unusual.  Then told her that we should all go to Six Flags.  For four days, which would also be unusual.  Basic premise being so everyone could get to know each other better.  Nothing says bonding like Six Flags, I guess.  But in four days I could surely manage to vent my work ventings some.  Screamin’ Eagle, here we come.

The kids just went to sleep.  After being on a pretty good roll of “big kid bedtime”, where they go to bed by themselves, lured by the promise of being able to watch as much of the movie as they want to, the last few days are back to the need someone to lay with them stage.  I didn’t really mind it last night, but tonight I was ready for some space and my own thoughts.

Ridiculous enough that I didn’t want to lay with the kids while they went to sleep, even moreso since they spent the four previous nights in Malden with my folks.  During that time, I did every version of every thing that I could think of to fill the empty hole in the house and my chest and stomach.  Whether it was going out with friends, doing randomness to fill the time, or doing absolutely nothing, most of the thoughts were (naturally) of the things that were missing, including the kids.  Then exactly one night later, and I’m ready for my space.

Like most everything else, it’s a silly example of a rapidly changing state of being emotionally jacked up in wildly swinging ways.  No matter what I try to do, or think I want to do, I end up feeling not right.  I should either be happier or sadder, more involved or less involved, get on with stuff or how dare I even consider it.  I have a hard time hanging around friends and family, coming up with anything to say even, but then really want to spend more time with friends and family.  I end up regretting whatever I decide I might want to do, questioning myself like a teenager.

It’s all easier when the kids are around, because the decisions boil down to what’s going to work best for them.  Or that’s my cop out at least.

Things are going better than this reads.  Definitely a ‘get it out of my system’ post.  Going to the Nebraska game this weekend.  That means I’m booked for 11 of the 12 (13 of the 14) Tiger games.  Odds I really miss the 14th game are becoming slimmer.

When we first bought our house, Sarah bought (or someone gave us (editor’s note:  was purchased in Paris for us)) a gargoyle that has been placed in our (old) kitchen window ever since.  Looking back out toward the cemetery, naturally, to ward away evil spirits as all gargoyles are assigned.  Saturday night after the football game I walked out to Sarah’s grave and sat for a bit.  As it got dark I glanced over to our house, to see that gargoyle looking back at me.

It was the first time I’d been out there near dark and with that kitchen light on, I guess, but it was clear as day and was clearly wrong.  So, gargoyle is now standing guard in the front flower bed, hopefully it will ward off moles and Jehovah’s Witnessers.

We had Adelaide’s 6th Birthday party on Sunday, with a great time had by all.  When Sarah & I went to New Orleans for the first visit, I Googled restaurants and came upon “Cafe Adelaide and the Swizzle Stick Bar” which was evidently nice and near our hotel, so made reservations there.  On the second trip, as I’ve mentioned before, our friends Melissa & Jason took care of reservations there for the whole family, including the tab.  The staff was aware of the circumstances and the naming coincidence, so we were treated like Adelaide owned the place.  Sarah jokingly called it her “last supper”, which of course makes me cringe and cry in memory.

At that lunch, it was decided that Adelaide’s birthday party would be themed Cafe Adelaide too.  Again being aware of the circumstances, the staff of the real restaurant in New Orleans sent two boxes full of stuff to us to use — ribbon, placemats, swizzle sticks, bread bags, matches, and considerably more.  Grandmothers and Grand Neighbors took that and ran, coming up with more and more, combining and creating to build the party from there.

Our Cafe Adelaide

Adelaide and three of her friends then went to a fancy lunch at the Country Club on Sunday.  Hats, diamond rings and earrings, scarves, candy-filled match books, and more awaited them.  Afterwards, they joined a mass of people in our backyard for a party (which was mostly a 2-hour bounce house session).  I think it’s safe to say that every kid there had a great time, none more than Adelaide & JT.  Enormous thanks to the grandmothers and grand neighbors for pulling that off.

Gift Bags

I have posted some photos of the day, with more sure to come, but am struggling editing down to post here.  I’m used to our kids and old friends being used to becking.com and the general assumption that stuff will end up there.  However, with the onset of kindergarten and kindergarten friends and parents, and most people’s, um, paranoia about such things, I’m trying to not post other kids’ photos.

AEB

Finally, rain and rainbows keep coming up.  While the only thing definitive is that it’s a coincidence that’s becoming meaningful to me, there are reports of very large and vivid rainbows being seen on the most notable dates of late:  on July 7, on the day of Sarah’s party, on Adelaide’s first day of kindergarten, and yesterday after Adelaide’s birthday party, a ginormous rainbow appeared to the east, looking over the cemetery.

Cafe Adelaide Invite/Placemat (created by the neighbors)

Cafe Adelaide Invite/Placemat (created by the folks in New Orleans)

My phone junked up on me Saturday during the football game.  It still works, if you call the phone, e-mail, and text messaging being unavailable working.

So, if you’ve sent me text messages or left me voice mails over the past few days, I haven’t read nor listened to them.  I think I’m back to working now, although I’ve temporarily regressed phones.

Just posting this in case you’re wondering if I’m ignoring you.

The three of us went to dinner tonight at the country club.  Was very good, mostly empty, just sat and talked and ate while watching it rain outside.

Adelaide says “You should retire so you could come out here and go golfing.”  Yes, I should.  But how would we pay for the country club, if I didn’t work?  “You’d still get money.  Or we could put out an envelope or something, and you’d get half, I’d get half, and Jack would get half.”  Election Season math.  “Plus, you’d get to spend more time with us!”.  Awwwww.

At home then, turned on some music so she could dance and put on a show.   That lasted for about 30 minutes, until it was bedtime.  I then played two Dixie Chicks songs, Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) and Lullaby.  I started listening to a lot of Dixie Chicks before we went to New Orleans, still seem to come up a ton when my iPod is on random, and they commonly remind me of Sarah.  Played those two songs for a moment of quiet time, before we go to bed.  Near the end of the second one, Jack, who has been hugging me for most of the two songs, looks up and says “I miss mommy.”  Awwww again.

Awwww ruined as Adelaide gets mad because I won’t play a Hannah Montana song next, bed time fight is on (but short).

I hear there are supposed to be stages of grief… Sadness, Denial, Anger, Whatnot.

Bunk, I say.  Stages would imply that it transitions from one to another, maybe not easily, but clearly over time.  In practice, it seems each of those alleged stages is front and center constantly.  Not a stage, but a sticker that is worn with all the others.

I still think Sarah should walk in any time.  I know she’s not going to, but she should.  After the football games, she should come walking across the bridge, tired from the game and carrying all her junk, so I can talk to her about what the day was like and we can each be the (relatively) sober people hanging around the tailgate for each other.

She should be walking Adelaide to school each morning, taking part in the mom happy hour on the playground each afternoon, and hustling to dance class on Tuesday nights.  She should be the one planning Adelaide’s 6th birthday party and working to get JT toilet trained.

She should have been at Boone Hospital on Tuesday, holding her new neice.  She should be taking photos of the new five-member family.  And buying her, or more likely making her, a cute onesy or something.  She should be the one doing that so much that I can’t even bring myself to try to go buy Lydia something instead.

So that’s all sadness, denial, and anger right there.  In most things, I am able to rationalize my way to what’s “right”.  Even if in disagreement, we’d always been typically able to at least understand why decisions were made, or what that person might have been thinking at the time.

Without delving into a huge religious discussion, there’s been nothing clearer to me ever than the fact that absolutely nothing about this is “right”.  Two months out, it’s still completely unfair and absolutely not right.  Not just to the kids or to me, but to everyone else that reads my random spewings.

Congratulations to Mike & Sarah on the arrival of Lydia Rose!  She was born this afternoon, weighing 8 lbs 12 oz.  Mike says she “will need every pound to handle the daily wrestling matches with her older brothers.”  All five of the family are doing well, we hope to see them tonight.

Lydia Rose

I’d started to write earlier today, but couldn’t collect my thoughts.  Glad I get to post something on a happier topic.

Turns out that writing something and putting it online about not being able to help with your kindergarten daughter’s hair is like shooting off an estrogen-attractor flare.  It’s better than any sitcom story of guys walking around with dogs/babies to attract the ladies.  People offering to come to the house at any time, day or night, do whatever, buy this product, comb backwards with your left hand, etc.

I should have pointed out that I told Adelaide the same thing I wrote, just writing it too so she can read it in a few years.  And that I believe there’s at least a little bit of “I want to fight about something and the hair is a guaranteed winner” going on with the hair trauma.  It’s OK, I’ll mostly just need to be a little more forceful about bath night.

Normally at this time of the year, I’m almost non-stop football.  I love it and always have.  It became so much a part of our fall, however, that I’m feeling very ho hum about this year.  I knew the first few games would be rough, and I was mostly right.  Having friends and family around all weekend helped, for sure, but quiet moments still popped up and were hard.

Specifically, waking up on game day and the national anthem were the hardest parts.  I’ve got a couple of habits during the anthem, one of which it turns out is finding out where Sarah is on the field.   That and 66,000 silent, yet mostly oblivious to my issues, fans were a bad combination.

The other thing I missed was reliving the game.  I couldn’t figure out for a day or two why I didn’t remember as much about the game as I normally do.  Dawned on me today that it’s because I typically spend a few hours afterwards culling through Sarah’s pictures, which had always been a reinforcement of the action.  I didn’t miss doing that at 1 a.m., but missed the experience in general and talking to her about the sideline goings on.

I also feel bad that the kids — players and Golden Girls especially — and their parents have lost a resource for photos of themselves in action.  Sarah always made a point of shooting ‘everyone’, so that they each could document as they could.

The first home game is this weekend, where I’m sure I’ll relive those experiences plus.  All in all, I’m not living and dying with the performance on the field as I’m accustomed.  And does anyone else find themselves just trying to avoid using words like “dying”, “kill”, in every sentence they can.  Batteries suddenly just stop working, instead of being dead.  Stupid silly reminders.