As much as Youngstown sucks, and in as many and varied ways as it manages to suck, I will concede that they are unparallelled at putting on a fireworks display. We went to the local fairgrounds tonight to see them. It was truly amazing. We were parked fairly close to the launch site, but it was still an amazing show -- constant action, and some absolutely breathtaking fireworks I had never seen before. Emily was nervous beforehand and said she wanted to go home, I think because she was afraid it would just be loud noises, but from the first burst of light and sparks, she was hooked. She kept telling us to say "Bam!" (I refused, I'm not Emeril-fucking-Lagasse) and clapping every time she saw one.
I was thinking about my friend Dave G. from way back when I worked at the bank (a bizarre chapter in my life; don't hold your breath waiting to read about it here). He was a truly fine individual. A great friend, now that I look back on it. I know he's married too -- I think we've met his wife, but can't remember for sure -- and last I knew he worked for Ernst & Young, which is probably called something else now anyway.
I'm rambling.
7.04.2005
7.03.2005
Indian food...
is good for what ails me, usually.
This weekend has been a bit difficult, and Emily has gotten on my nerves a lot, and even Jon is bugging me for some reason. I'm glad he's done with the grant proposal and available to be with us now, but it's almost like I got used to having more time and space, although I didn't appreciate it at the time. I think if we get a chance to get out by ourselves and spend some time together we will probably be fine.
Nothing sounded good today, in terms of doing family stuff, and he finally suggested we just drive over to Pittsburgh to this one Indian restaurant we found last fall. So we did that, stuffed ourselves silly (at least Jon and I did; Emily ate rice and naan bread), then took her to the "playground mall" -- what Emily calls the nice mall near Pittsburgh that has an indoor playground (and decent stores and people who look like they are somewhat educated and civilized and come in a variety of colors and ethnicities, unlike this place). We got back and will go see some fireworks tonight.
I think part of my problem this weekend is that it reminds me a lot of Hannah. One of the best pictures of her, where she's dancing in that flowered dress, was taken on 4th of July 2003, at Lili's house (the girls were putting on a "dance show") and after that we went out to Willow Metropark and saw fireworks. That whole night was so much fun, and it's one of the last few times we had a holiday together as a family.
Emily has been asking about her more and more, and sort of putting together the bits and pieces of information that she has understood up until now. Today in the car she was asking about whether Hannah cried when the car bumped into us and she got the boo-boos, so we had to try somehow to explain that she probably died almost instantly and never knew what happened and never got a chance to cry, but that she also didn't feel stuff hurting.
I cannot believe how hard this is. It's almost like for the first time I have had to acknowledge that she actually DIED, which sounds strange, but I think I've been shielding myself from that. I know my knee-jerk reaction when I hear about someone else losing a child is, "I can't imagine what they're going through", which is ludicrous because I know all too well, but on some level I don't want to and so I disassociate myself from it.
I'm starting to realize that I am far more affected by this, more upset, depressed, confused, traumatized, etc. than I have acknowledged to myself. I *feel* normal, but I think the truth is I no longer know what "normal" is, or that it's changed for me.
7.02.2005
It's amazing
what getting some extra sleep will do for you. I have been going on about 4 hours/night recently, and finally broke the streak by getting to sleep in this a.m. I feel downright human -- how bizarre.
Hoping today to plant a tree that my "other" parenting board sent me for Hannah's birthday. It's finally a humane temperature outside, and Jon doesn't have to work at all today, so it might actually happen. I think I'm also overdue for a movie by myself/bookstore outing, maybe tomorrow if not today.
Hoping today to plant a tree that my "other" parenting board sent me for Hannah's birthday. It's finally a humane temperature outside, and Jon doesn't have to work at all today, so it might actually happen. I think I'm also overdue for a movie by myself/bookstore outing, maybe tomorrow if not today.
7.01.2005
Weird stuff
Voices from the past
So, out of the blue I got an e-mail from this Classmates site I signed up on, saying that Kevin M. has sent me an e-mail.
He and I were close friends for several years in my early 20's, through another mutual friend (Gregg S.). We drifted apart after he joined the Navy and I (finally) started college and Getting My Shit Together.
It's funny, because I haven't exactly missed him, but on the other hand I was very happy to hear from him. The e-mail was dated just about a month ago (I think I've mostly bypassed all my other Classmates.com shit, so I probably missed his e-mail when he first sent it), and oddly enough, about a month ago I suddenly started thinking about the Fugs (we used to listen to their albums -- those vinyl discs with grooves that go around and around with a needle that transfers the sound to the speakers, for you youngsters) and started poking around on amazon and e-bay and so on to see what I could come up with.
One big thing we had in common was drinking together, a lot. He says he's been sober for 15 years (which is about how long it's been since I've seen him, and I well remember when he first started AA). At the very beginning of his sobriety, he made a point of telling me that it was my fault that he was an alcoholic to begin with -- especially since I am a little older than he is, so when I turned 21 and could buy, naturally I did. Later he backed off of that, but by then we had mostly lost touch.
A lot of people have come back into my life over the last two years who I had written off as long gone. For the most part I've embraced them (figuratively) and been glad to have them back, but on the other hand it's interesting when I do re-acquaint myself with them to see how much they've changed, and how much I have as well. Kind of like a measuring stick.
Another thing...
It seems that we might end up settling with the insurance company of the guy who hit us (well, his insurance AND his employer's, since he was technically on the job when the accident occurred). It is a decent amount; it means that Emily's college (at least room & board/books/tuition, no extras) is paid for, and that we might be able to make good progress on our retirement savings.
At the same time, though, I hate that this is even happening. Like there was some kind of price or value assigned to each of us -- Hannah, Emily, and myself -- and our attorney and the insurance companies have merely been haggling over it all this time. I like our attorney, personally, and he has gone far beyond the call of duty on our behalf, but it still just feels WRONG.
Then we have to decide whether to pursue the liability/product claim against the car's manufacturer. I really don't want to do this, but what killed Hannah was not just the guy hitting us, but the product failure inherent in our vehicle. For now I can't be more specific than this, until we actually decide whether we will pursue it or not. Not that hordes of people are going to read this thing, but I want to follow the rules.
It just seems so bloodless and impersonal. I suppose that there is no way any kind of value could really be assigned to this, and in any case nothing will bring her back, and that's the only thing that I want.
And finally...
Jon has finished his grant proposal, so after catching up on sleep tonight and tomorrow morning, he will be back in the land of the living. It will be nice not to have him walking around like a zombie. I know it's taken a toll on him, but on the whole he seems a lot happier here in his current job (professor at Youngstown State University, for those of you who don't know) than he was in any of his other positions. This, even though he said the last thing he ever wanted to do was teach -- he sent in the CV and application for this job about two days before Hannah's death, mostly as a "what the hell, it's not like they'll actually CALL me" kind of thing. Go figure.
Anyway, he seems to like teaching more than he thought he would, and does love that he can do the research HE wants to do, instead of whatever the company is trying to profit from. There are a lot of good people in his department -- I like them too, have enjoyed socializing and getting to know them, and one of their teenage daughters is now a very reliable and satisfactory babysitter, so once in a while we even get to have a civilized meal or see a movie.
I think we're both suffering a lot, though, with the grief (which hits him intermittently depending on how busy he is). Also our daughter Emily takes almost all of our energy. She just turned three, and is lovely, intelligent and high-spirited, but EXTREMELY demanding of our attention. She is an extrovert and seems to need almost constant interaction. Hannah was the same way.
We aren't able to get away together for an overnight, at least we haven't tried to yet, because Emily still nurses to sleep (which I am really ready to put a stop to) and is a little clingier than Hannah was. Not sure if that's an inherent personality difference, or if some of it is lingering effects from the trauma she experienced. It's hard for me to assess just how much of an effect overall that it has on her, because she can't articulate it (although she talks about Hannah a lot and asks more and more questions), and because I am in such rough shape that it's hard for me to see clearly anyway.
My god, this must be incredibly boring to read. However, it's quite therapeutic to type, so either bear with me or go find a more interesting blog (see links at right).
There are a lot of other things I need to address and examine and mull over, but I need to go easy on the bandwidth for now, I imagine. Besides, not sure yet who will be seeing this and how comfortable I need to become first.
So, out of the blue I got an e-mail from this Classmates site I signed up on, saying that Kevin M. has sent me an e-mail.
He and I were close friends for several years in my early 20's, through another mutual friend (Gregg S.). We drifted apart after he joined the Navy and I (finally) started college and Getting My Shit Together.
It's funny, because I haven't exactly missed him, but on the other hand I was very happy to hear from him. The e-mail was dated just about a month ago (I think I've mostly bypassed all my other Classmates.com shit, so I probably missed his e-mail when he first sent it), and oddly enough, about a month ago I suddenly started thinking about the Fugs (we used to listen to their albums -- those vinyl discs with grooves that go around and around with a needle that transfers the sound to the speakers, for you youngsters) and started poking around on amazon and e-bay and so on to see what I could come up with.
One big thing we had in common was drinking together, a lot. He says he's been sober for 15 years (which is about how long it's been since I've seen him, and I well remember when he first started AA). At the very beginning of his sobriety, he made a point of telling me that it was my fault that he was an alcoholic to begin with -- especially since I am a little older than he is, so when I turned 21 and could buy, naturally I did. Later he backed off of that, but by then we had mostly lost touch.
A lot of people have come back into my life over the last two years who I had written off as long gone. For the most part I've embraced them (figuratively) and been glad to have them back, but on the other hand it's interesting when I do re-acquaint myself with them to see how much they've changed, and how much I have as well. Kind of like a measuring stick.
Another thing...
It seems that we might end up settling with the insurance company of the guy who hit us (well, his insurance AND his employer's, since he was technically on the job when the accident occurred). It is a decent amount; it means that Emily's college (at least room & board/books/tuition, no extras) is paid for, and that we might be able to make good progress on our retirement savings.
At the same time, though, I hate that this is even happening. Like there was some kind of price or value assigned to each of us -- Hannah, Emily, and myself -- and our attorney and the insurance companies have merely been haggling over it all this time. I like our attorney, personally, and he has gone far beyond the call of duty on our behalf, but it still just feels WRONG.
Then we have to decide whether to pursue the liability/product claim against the car's manufacturer. I really don't want to do this, but what killed Hannah was not just the guy hitting us, but the product failure inherent in our vehicle. For now I can't be more specific than this, until we actually decide whether we will pursue it or not. Not that hordes of people are going to read this thing, but I want to follow the rules.
It just seems so bloodless and impersonal. I suppose that there is no way any kind of value could really be assigned to this, and in any case nothing will bring her back, and that's the only thing that I want.
And finally...
Jon has finished his grant proposal, so after catching up on sleep tonight and tomorrow morning, he will be back in the land of the living. It will be nice not to have him walking around like a zombie. I know it's taken a toll on him, but on the whole he seems a lot happier here in his current job (professor at Youngstown State University, for those of you who don't know) than he was in any of his other positions. This, even though he said the last thing he ever wanted to do was teach -- he sent in the CV and application for this job about two days before Hannah's death, mostly as a "what the hell, it's not like they'll actually CALL me" kind of thing. Go figure.
Anyway, he seems to like teaching more than he thought he would, and does love that he can do the research HE wants to do, instead of whatever the company is trying to profit from. There are a lot of good people in his department -- I like them too, have enjoyed socializing and getting to know them, and one of their teenage daughters is now a very reliable and satisfactory babysitter, so once in a while we even get to have a civilized meal or see a movie.
I think we're both suffering a lot, though, with the grief (which hits him intermittently depending on how busy he is). Also our daughter Emily takes almost all of our energy. She just turned three, and is lovely, intelligent and high-spirited, but EXTREMELY demanding of our attention. She is an extrovert and seems to need almost constant interaction. Hannah was the same way.
We aren't able to get away together for an overnight, at least we haven't tried to yet, because Emily still nurses to sleep (which I am really ready to put a stop to) and is a little clingier than Hannah was. Not sure if that's an inherent personality difference, or if some of it is lingering effects from the trauma she experienced. It's hard for me to assess just how much of an effect overall that it has on her, because she can't articulate it (although she talks about Hannah a lot and asks more and more questions), and because I am in such rough shape that it's hard for me to see clearly anyway.
My god, this must be incredibly boring to read. However, it's quite therapeutic to type, so either bear with me or go find a more interesting blog (see links at right).
There are a lot of other things I need to address and examine and mull over, but I need to go easy on the bandwidth for now, I imagine. Besides, not sure yet who will be seeing this and how comfortable I need to become first.
Sporadic
Yeah, as I was saying, obviously this would force me to do some journaling, which I badly need to do, yadda yadda. So here it is nearly July. I imagine it would be more effective and helpful if I did this more often than every three months.
The thing is, though, most blogs are about interesting books, incisive and witty commentary on current affairs, someone's very fascinating personal life. Mine isn't really about a damn thing -- unfortunately, unlike the show Seinfeld, my blog about nothing isn't funny or lucrative. However, keep in mind that I have actually viewed very few blogs, except for those of close friends, or a very few blogs that are funny/interesting enough to have become more generally known and linked to, so perhaps I'm overestimating the standards.
All that I have to talk about is myself, my loss, how I'm adjusting to this armpit of a town we've moved to... I am not working, I spend my days with a three-year-old, and I read utter and absolute crap most of the time, except what my good friend Sandy (who can be read at http://imponderabilia.blogspot.com/) is kind enough to pass along.
On that subject, she recently brought me two of Laurie Notaro's books (We Thought You Would Be Prettier and I Love Everybody (And Other Atrocious Lies) ). They were absolutely gut-bustingly hilarious -- especially I Love Everybody. I read most of it in bed one night and my husband was constantly being shaken awake as I guffawed and writhed and tried to smother my laughter and snorts in the pillow. My friend Gretchen, who does everything to its logical extreme, read them too and immediately ran out and bought her other two books, so now I have read them all. Thanks, Sandy -- I needed that.
Other than that, I recently turned 40, my younger daughter is now 3, and preschool beckons enticingly from across the vast empty gulf of summer, in whose forbidding depths lurk the twin demons of potty-training and weaning. I am dreading it. You'd think with everything I'd been through, particularly Hannah's death, that I'd merely chuckle at the pure terror of what lies ahead in the next two months, but for some reason it seems to have rendered me less able to cope with ordinary parenting stresses.
We are also trying to decide whether or not we want to have another child, assuming dh's vasectomy reversal was actually successful (we haven't bothered to check yet) and I am starting to realize that I really don't want to have another baby; what I want is to have my older daughter back, and that is not possible. However, a lot of why I think I don't want another child is simply that I hate the first three years, mostly (especially because I tend to spawn colicky non-sleeping round-the-clock-nursing newborns and very high-need, albeit engaging and lovely, babies and toddlers). Once the preschool year starts, I enjoy it so much more.
I was really having such a wonderful time with my older daughter right before she was killed. She was at a great age -- five; she was doing well in school, really growing into a wonderful person. I was so looking forward to her future.
My younger daughter is incredible too, but she is not my older daughter, and I think I've had a hard time adjusting to that fact and getting to a point where I can appreciate Emily for what and who she is, in her own right. There are so many similarities, and they look so much alike, but their personalities are fundamentally different. Hannah was a diplomatic and skilled negotiator; she wanted to work with people and get along and find solutions. Emily is charming and friendly but absolutely not negotiable; she either agrees with your agenda or she doesn't, and God help you if she doesn't. Not that she flings herself about or screams (at least most of the time she doesn't), but she's a formidable adversary. In point of fact, she's just like me, and it's harder than hell to try and live with the three-year-old version of myself.
I have a hard time too because I really don't have anyone I can talk to at length about Hannah's death. I mean, I can talk to dh, but he is grieving too, so he needs his share of support and sometimes I can't give it when I just want to feel MY grief. I can talk to my therapist, and he is truly wonderful, but it's only for an hour every week or so, and after all, he is getting paid. I can talk to a few of the people at our Compassionate Friends group, but mostof the circumstances of their children's deaths are very different (a lot of substance abuse/gun violence/suicides/horrible diseases, mostly older teens/young adults) and a lot of them seem to talk in aphorisms, which doesn't help. I can talk in a very limited way to close friends, those who knew and loved Hannah too, but I sense that there is only so much I can open up before they become uncomfortable and sad too.
With newer friends and those who never knew her personally, I really can't talk at all. I do refer to her off and on, especially since Emily is getting closer to the age Hannah was at her death, and I'm going through all the same hassles with Emily that I did with Hannah. But nobody ever picks up on it or asks me questions about her or even how I'm doing; or they just say something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry" or "I can't imagine how you do this, you're so strong" and then are practically foaming at the mouth to change the subject and move on. It's very isolating.
Youngstown, too, is just not a great place. Especially having just come from Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti, and having lived in Atlanta for some years before that. It's a wasteland. We are making some friends, and in particular my friend Gretchen has literally saved my sanity and my life since I've moved here, but for the most part there is nothing much to do, nowhere good to eat, nothing that interesting to see (exceptions include the Butler Museum of American Art, and Mill Creek Park), nobody that intelligent or interesting to talk to. It's hell I tell you, just plain hell.
The thing is, though, most blogs are about interesting books, incisive and witty commentary on current affairs, someone's very fascinating personal life. Mine isn't really about a damn thing -- unfortunately, unlike the show Seinfeld, my blog about nothing isn't funny or lucrative. However, keep in mind that I have actually viewed very few blogs, except for those of close friends, or a very few blogs that are funny/interesting enough to have become more generally known and linked to, so perhaps I'm overestimating the standards.
All that I have to talk about is myself, my loss, how I'm adjusting to this armpit of a town we've moved to... I am not working, I spend my days with a three-year-old, and I read utter and absolute crap most of the time, except what my good friend Sandy (who can be read at http://imponderabilia.blogspot.com/) is kind enough to pass along.
On that subject, she recently brought me two of Laurie Notaro's books (We Thought You Would Be Prettier and I Love Everybody (And Other Atrocious Lies) ). They were absolutely gut-bustingly hilarious -- especially I Love Everybody. I read most of it in bed one night and my husband was constantly being shaken awake as I guffawed and writhed and tried to smother my laughter and snorts in the pillow. My friend Gretchen, who does everything to its logical extreme, read them too and immediately ran out and bought her other two books, so now I have read them all. Thanks, Sandy -- I needed that.
Other than that, I recently turned 40, my younger daughter is now 3, and preschool beckons enticingly from across the vast empty gulf of summer, in whose forbidding depths lurk the twin demons of potty-training and weaning. I am dreading it. You'd think with everything I'd been through, particularly Hannah's death, that I'd merely chuckle at the pure terror of what lies ahead in the next two months, but for some reason it seems to have rendered me less able to cope with ordinary parenting stresses.
We are also trying to decide whether or not we want to have another child, assuming dh's vasectomy reversal was actually successful (we haven't bothered to check yet) and I am starting to realize that I really don't want to have another baby; what I want is to have my older daughter back, and that is not possible. However, a lot of why I think I don't want another child is simply that I hate the first three years, mostly (especially because I tend to spawn colicky non-sleeping round-the-clock-nursing newborns and very high-need, albeit engaging and lovely, babies and toddlers). Once the preschool year starts, I enjoy it so much more.
I was really having such a wonderful time with my older daughter right before she was killed. She was at a great age -- five; she was doing well in school, really growing into a wonderful person. I was so looking forward to her future.
My younger daughter is incredible too, but she is not my older daughter, and I think I've had a hard time adjusting to that fact and getting to a point where I can appreciate Emily for what and who she is, in her own right. There are so many similarities, and they look so much alike, but their personalities are fundamentally different. Hannah was a diplomatic and skilled negotiator; she wanted to work with people and get along and find solutions. Emily is charming and friendly but absolutely not negotiable; she either agrees with your agenda or she doesn't, and God help you if she doesn't. Not that she flings herself about or screams (at least most of the time she doesn't), but she's a formidable adversary. In point of fact, she's just like me, and it's harder than hell to try and live with the three-year-old version of myself.
I have a hard time too because I really don't have anyone I can talk to at length about Hannah's death. I mean, I can talk to dh, but he is grieving too, so he needs his share of support and sometimes I can't give it when I just want to feel MY grief. I can talk to my therapist, and he is truly wonderful, but it's only for an hour every week or so, and after all, he is getting paid. I can talk to a few of the people at our Compassionate Friends group, but mostof the circumstances of their children's deaths are very different (a lot of substance abuse/gun violence/suicides/horrible diseases, mostly older teens/young adults) and a lot of them seem to talk in aphorisms, which doesn't help. I can talk in a very limited way to close friends, those who knew and loved Hannah too, but I sense that there is only so much I can open up before they become uncomfortable and sad too.
With newer friends and those who never knew her personally, I really can't talk at all. I do refer to her off and on, especially since Emily is getting closer to the age Hannah was at her death, and I'm going through all the same hassles with Emily that I did with Hannah. But nobody ever picks up on it or asks me questions about her or even how I'm doing; or they just say something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry" or "I can't imagine how you do this, you're so strong" and then are practically foaming at the mouth to change the subject and move on. It's very isolating.
Youngstown, too, is just not a great place. Especially having just come from Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti, and having lived in Atlanta for some years before that. It's a wasteland. We are making some friends, and in particular my friend Gretchen has literally saved my sanity and my life since I've moved here, but for the most part there is nothing much to do, nowhere good to eat, nothing that interesting to see (exceptions include the Butler Museum of American Art, and Mill Creek Park), nobody that intelligent or interesting to talk to. It's hell I tell you, just plain hell.
4.07.2005
...not much of anything, for now
Sue me. It's my first post, and I had to go ahead and register and get a damn blog just to leave a comment on someone else's. Not sure where this is going to go. What I do think is that this will finally be a place where my internet/messaging/reading other people's stories addictions merge nicely with my need to finally do some true journaling, which I have been needing to do for close to twenty-five years (since the last time I regularly kept a journal). Right now that need is at crisis level due to losing my daughter, moving to a place I genuinely loathe (although we did get to buy an absolutely gorgeous house), and lots of other stresses.
There you have it.
There you have it.
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