Just looking through the entries on our Quicken accounts brings back so much stuff. All the things we got for Hannah starting kindergarten; her soccer pictures and school pictures; birthday presents for her friends; a couple of doctor visit copays... then seeing all the stuff immediately after the accident, stretching on into when we moved here (July 19, 2004).
We spent the last week in East Lansing and Ann Arbor, and it was so great to see friends (Sandy, Stephanie and Denise) who knew and loved Hannah and who went through this with us. Especially because Emily is old enough now to really play with their kids; a lot of them not only were the parents of Hannah's friends but had younger children in Emily's general age range.
It made me miss her even more, though.
We also met with product liability lawyers today. Can't discuss it but I did see a picture of our car, post-crash. That was very, very hard. I couldn't look at it; I had to cover it up and move on to something else.
More later.
8.16.2005
8.13.2005
Playing ketchup
Well, so the in-laws left on Monday morning. I was absolutely WHIPPED for the rest of the day. Gretchen came over and helped me tidy up a bit while I vented and bitched nonstop. She is a friend to end all friends... I am SO lucky.
Monday night one of my dearest friends (Denise) was passing through town with her husband and kids, on the way to D.C., so of course I had them stay too. Denise was the first friend I made when we moved back to Michigan in 2000. Her son Brandon was essentially Hannah's little brother -- we met when Hannah was just two, and Brandon 3 months old. He was just shy of four years old when Hannah died, and it hit him very, very hard.
Her daughter Elaina is very close in age to Emily -- we were pregnant together for a while -- and the two of them had a blast. Brandon was great too -- I think on some level it comforts him to be around Emily, because she is a lot like Hannah and he is old enough that he probably has a few memories of Hannah.
Denise is one of the most cherished friends I have. Apart from her trying to turn my kids Canadian (getting them hooked on Mr. Dressup, buying ketchup chips) she was like a mother to them -- still is, except we don't get to see her as often.
So we had a blast Monday night and Tuesday morning, but then Tuesday afternoon we came up to beautiful East Lansing, Michigan, so we could be with my family when my sister had her surgery (to repair the aneurysm).
PROFOUND relief
Anyway, she had the surgery today (well, yesterday -- Friday, August 12). I am not a medical person and know nothing about the procedure they did, but apparently they went in through an artery in her leg, and inserted both a stent (or is it stint?) AND some kind of coil so that it essentially blocked off the segment of vessel that had the aneurysm, and the coil supposedly helps hold the blockers in place. We were all scared shitless, because the surgery is a bit risky, but if she didn't have it, this aneurysm bursting would probably kill her instantly, due to its size. But for now she is out of danger. She has had such a complete shit-fest of a summer. I really hope this is it for her and she can finally get her life back.
I think I was more frightened than I realized -- I just felt drained today after I knew she had come out of the surgery successfully. The idea of losing her was so unthinkable that I really didn't even pay much attention to what was going on -- I simply didn't face it - but the tension was there somehow, because when it was relieved today I felt like a wet rag.
What a long, strange trip it's been
So it's been a long couple of weeks. I haven't had my space to myself, or been in my own space, for close to two weeks. Emily's routine is all fucked up, although she's had a great time with my mom -- I think now that she's out of diapers and more independent, my mom enjoys taking her out places -- they spent eight hours playing at the lake yesterday. But the constant attention and indulgence from the grandparents is taking its toll -- she's gotten quite defiant and occasionally rude (in a testing kind of way) and we are definitely going to have to detox a bit from that when we get home, so that she's back to normal by the time school starts (YAAAY!!!).
In other news...
Well, it looks like we have a settlement deal inked with both insurance companies involved in our accident. Emily will be nicely fixed -- not fabulously wealthy, but college will be covered and she can get a hell of a head start on retirement. I get some too, but could not care less.
Then we have to make a decision about pursuing a product-liability suit with the car manufacturer. I really don't want to do it. Jon would like to do it but I know if I was dead-set against it, categorically refused to do it, he would respect my feelings about it. It's too complicated. I wish I could hash out more about it in here, but I really can't. This is the downside of a blog.
A few other tidbits: I seem to be gaining back a little weight (haven't exercised, and am eating some crap due to stress, boredom, and my mother's culinary incompetence); my roots are grown out about an inch and the rest of my hair is beginning to look like Ted Nugent's; and I am sick and fucking tired of summer.
Monday night one of my dearest friends (Denise) was passing through town with her husband and kids, on the way to D.C., so of course I had them stay too. Denise was the first friend I made when we moved back to Michigan in 2000. Her son Brandon was essentially Hannah's little brother -- we met when Hannah was just two, and Brandon 3 months old. He was just shy of four years old when Hannah died, and it hit him very, very hard.
Her daughter Elaina is very close in age to Emily -- we were pregnant together for a while -- and the two of them had a blast. Brandon was great too -- I think on some level it comforts him to be around Emily, because she is a lot like Hannah and he is old enough that he probably has a few memories of Hannah.
Denise is one of the most cherished friends I have. Apart from her trying to turn my kids Canadian (getting them hooked on Mr. Dressup, buying ketchup chips) she was like a mother to them -- still is, except we don't get to see her as often.
So we had a blast Monday night and Tuesday morning, but then Tuesday afternoon we came up to beautiful East Lansing, Michigan, so we could be with my family when my sister had her surgery (to repair the aneurysm).
PROFOUND relief
Anyway, she had the surgery today (well, yesterday -- Friday, August 12). I am not a medical person and know nothing about the procedure they did, but apparently they went in through an artery in her leg, and inserted both a stent (or is it stint?) AND some kind of coil so that it essentially blocked off the segment of vessel that had the aneurysm, and the coil supposedly helps hold the blockers in place. We were all scared shitless, because the surgery is a bit risky, but if she didn't have it, this aneurysm bursting would probably kill her instantly, due to its size. But for now she is out of danger. She has had such a complete shit-fest of a summer. I really hope this is it for her and she can finally get her life back.
I think I was more frightened than I realized -- I just felt drained today after I knew she had come out of the surgery successfully. The idea of losing her was so unthinkable that I really didn't even pay much attention to what was going on -- I simply didn't face it - but the tension was there somehow, because when it was relieved today I felt like a wet rag.
What a long, strange trip it's been
So it's been a long couple of weeks. I haven't had my space to myself, or been in my own space, for close to two weeks. Emily's routine is all fucked up, although she's had a great time with my mom -- I think now that she's out of diapers and more independent, my mom enjoys taking her out places -- they spent eight hours playing at the lake yesterday. But the constant attention and indulgence from the grandparents is taking its toll -- she's gotten quite defiant and occasionally rude (in a testing kind of way) and we are definitely going to have to detox a bit from that when we get home, so that she's back to normal by the time school starts (YAAAY!!!).
In other news...
Well, it looks like we have a settlement deal inked with both insurance companies involved in our accident. Emily will be nicely fixed -- not fabulously wealthy, but college will be covered and she can get a hell of a head start on retirement. I get some too, but could not care less.
Then we have to make a decision about pursuing a product-liability suit with the car manufacturer. I really don't want to do it. Jon would like to do it but I know if I was dead-set against it, categorically refused to do it, he would respect my feelings about it. It's too complicated. I wish I could hash out more about it in here, but I really can't. This is the downside of a blog.
A few other tidbits: I seem to be gaining back a little weight (haven't exercised, and am eating some crap due to stress, boredom, and my mother's culinary incompetence); my roots are grown out about an inch and the rest of my hair is beginning to look like Ted Nugent's; and I am sick and fucking tired of summer.
7.26.2005
FINALLY...
we have some RAIN already. And it's supposed to be in the 70's tomorrow.
Emily is still pretty much flawless in her pottying performance. I have begun to take risks like taking her to the store or mall without a change of clothes/underwear; slightly longer car rides; etc. and she has risen to every challenge. I am so grateful it worked out this way.
I still can't believe Hannah's gone, especially with Emily getting closer and closer to that general age/stage of development.
Emily is still pretty much flawless in her pottying performance. I have begun to take risks like taking her to the store or mall without a change of clothes/underwear; slightly longer car rides; etc. and she has risen to every challenge. I am so grateful it worked out this way.
I still can't believe Hannah's gone, especially with Emily getting closer and closer to that general age/stage of development.
7.24.2005
A little less chaos
Well, since the last:
1. My dad is still the same, but hanging in there.
2. My sister has her surgery date scheduled, and while scared witless at the prospect of major risky brain surgery, at least has something to work with and is not as depressed; in fact, she's going into work the next few days to straighten some last-minute stuff out (surgery is the 11th) and sounds a lot better when I talk to her.
3. Jon seems fine; dr's appointment was uneventful. Still waiting on bloodwork but essentially certain that there is nothing to be concerned about. We are feeling much better.
4. Emily is still potty-trained. One accident, in seven days. Un-fucking-real. She has expanded her horizons and will use facilities in such exotic locales as the library, the Y, other people's homes, the mall. She's woken up dry the last four mornings, and I will probably bite the bullet and stop putting a Pull-up on at night after another three or four dry mornings.
5. Out of nowhere on Thursday (well, not exactly out of nowhere; I'd made quite a snarky call to the home-warranty company a few hours prior), the most recent electrician showed up with a partner, double-checked the fan, removed the offending burned-out switch (where you could see the burn marks from the wires arcing), made plans to come back next week and install a new switch, and got it approved so that the home-warranty company will pick up the tab.
I can't believe we're already looking at the end of summer. Between the visit, my sister's surgery (which will also encompass a two-day Lake Michigan trip for just me, Jon and Emily to finally get to have SOME fun, plus meeting with our attorney and some product-liability attorneys -- much, much too long a story), Jon having to participate in the summer commencement -- an obligation which is handed around between all the newer faculty, and which has effectively cut what little "vacation" we were going to scrape together in August in half, not to mention two weeks of preschool day camp at the Y at the end of the month, AND preschool starting (thank GOD!), that's pretty much it.
Even as I'm completely relieved by the end of the diaper stage and the approach of school starting, it's also a reminder of how time has passed -- now Emily is at the beginning of the stage that Hannah was just ending when she died. And now a little more than half of Emily's life has been spent without her big sister.
It's a little like the premise of the movie Groundhog Day, which I didn't see, but if I understand correctly, something happens in the Bill Murray character's life which causes him to live the same day over and over again.
For us, it's the same thing on a four-year time frame. Five years ago, in June of 2000, we moved to a new town (Ypsilanti) with two-year-old Hannah, bought a house, settled into the area, made friends, got two-year-old to her third birthday, potty-trained, and off to preschool; had 2nd child after Hannah's 4th birthday; Hannah finished preschool and started kindergarten; Jon lost job, disaster ensued.
So far this past year ('04-'05) has been virtually identical in terms of major events and child development as 2000-2001 was for us.
It's completely irrational, but it does make me wonder if we're on some kind of weird cosmic'karmic schedule here. Are we going to have to go through this AGAIN in 2006? I just can't. I seriously don't think I'd survive another loss.
And yet I still want Emily to have a sibling. It's one of those things where, while I dread yet another pregnancy/infancy/toddlerhood marathon, I DO want two kids. The first three years would be as hard as they have typically been for me, with the added stresses of advanced(er) age and grief, but if we don't do this, would we really regret it 10 years from now? I think it's possible.
I understand that other options are adoption and/or fostering, but I am not very interested in pursuing those. Adoption is extremely expensive, not always guaranteed (especially domestic ones, where you make an agreement with a birth mother), and in the case of adopting an older child/special needs child, I have to be brutally honest with myself and admit that I am simply not capable of handling issues that an older/special needs child would bring. I wish I were stronger, but I have to know my limits to do this right.
Fostering would be hard on all of us, I think. Especially given some of the issues that a foster child might bring, plus the impermanence of it. The thought of bringing a child in, getting attached, and then perhaps having to let them go to another home or back to (bad?) parents is simply impossible. Again, we don't have the emotional resources we need to deal with this.
Aside from considerations like whether/when I want to go back to work (beyond the occasional freelance project), and whether it is even possible (depending on if the reversal worked and if I'm not already getting too old), it seems like the least complicated option is just having our own.
The things I have to get past, before I can do this (if it's even possible at all), is that I am still sort of attached to the idea that if we have another baby, I want another girl. I always wanted girls more, but I think now a lot of it has to do with somehow hoping that we would give birth to another Hannah. Especially since Emily, although she is very much her own person, is like Hannah in so many ways, even looking a lot like her. So it seems like that's the kind of kid we produce.
To have a boy would be such a huge adjustment, at least in the beginning. I think Jon would be happy with it -- he doesn't seem to have a preference at all, and unlike many men, doesn't seem to have any kind of ego investment in having a son for all those "carrying on the name" bullshit reasons; but once we were talking about it and I said that one thing about having a boy that would be an adjustment for me is that a lot of boy stuff just bores the crap out of me -- how everything is turned into a weapon at some point (trust me on this -- every single little boy I have ever known goes through this, and it doesn't matter how he was raised -- whether or not it passes DOES depend on how he was raised); all the action-figure super-hero stuff.
My best friend from age 1 to about age 11 was a boy, and we had a blast together (and I was NOT a girly-girl, ever) but I still remember how everything we drew or pretended or played together had to have some kind of vehicle, weapon, or action figure thing involved.
Jon said that he loved playing with Hannah and Emily but he did occasionally find all the "pink stuff" boring. Hannah wasn't really very "girly" and I don't think Emily will ever be, but just like little boys all go through the gun phase, just about all the little girls I've known (including myself) had at least a temporary brush with pink/Barbie/foofy stuff. Again, whether it passes or not seems to depend more on how the parents are -- I've met far too many grown women who are all pink/Barbie/foofy, and their mothers are generally more inclined that way too, from what I can tell.
People have said many things about me, but nobody has ever described me as a girly-girl, so hopefully it'll pass quickly with Emily (again, if she ever really gets into it to begin with -- she seems less interested in it than Hannah was).
In any case, it's ridiculous to prefer a particular gender for a child just based on that. But I do know that I would prefer a girl -- especially one along the same lines as Hannah and Emily -- and I have to find a way to let go of that before we make this decision.
The other, more serious concern for us, is that considering our (at least my) advancing age, the slightly greater chance that there might be something wrong -- especially if it's something life-threatening. I am going out on a limb here admitting this, but I honestly don't know if I'm up for that. I know many, many people deal with these issues with their children, but I don't know if I can. On the other hand, I have a tendency to catastrophize. Maybe it wouldn't be such a huge deal. But I have to be a lot more sure of what I can handle and what I can't, again, before making this decision.
1. My dad is still the same, but hanging in there.
2. My sister has her surgery date scheduled, and while scared witless at the prospect of major risky brain surgery, at least has something to work with and is not as depressed; in fact, she's going into work the next few days to straighten some last-minute stuff out (surgery is the 11th) and sounds a lot better when I talk to her.
3. Jon seems fine; dr's appointment was uneventful. Still waiting on bloodwork but essentially certain that there is nothing to be concerned about. We are feeling much better.
4. Emily is still potty-trained. One accident, in seven days. Un-fucking-real. She has expanded her horizons and will use facilities in such exotic locales as the library, the Y, other people's homes, the mall. She's woken up dry the last four mornings, and I will probably bite the bullet and stop putting a Pull-up on at night after another three or four dry mornings.
5. Out of nowhere on Thursday (well, not exactly out of nowhere; I'd made quite a snarky call to the home-warranty company a few hours prior), the most recent electrician showed up with a partner, double-checked the fan, removed the offending burned-out switch (where you could see the burn marks from the wires arcing), made plans to come back next week and install a new switch, and got it approved so that the home-warranty company will pick up the tab.
I can't believe we're already looking at the end of summer. Between the visit, my sister's surgery (which will also encompass a two-day Lake Michigan trip for just me, Jon and Emily to finally get to have SOME fun, plus meeting with our attorney and some product-liability attorneys -- much, much too long a story), Jon having to participate in the summer commencement -- an obligation which is handed around between all the newer faculty, and which has effectively cut what little "vacation" we were going to scrape together in August in half, not to mention two weeks of preschool day camp at the Y at the end of the month, AND preschool starting (thank GOD!), that's pretty much it.
Even as I'm completely relieved by the end of the diaper stage and the approach of school starting, it's also a reminder of how time has passed -- now Emily is at the beginning of the stage that Hannah was just ending when she died. And now a little more than half of Emily's life has been spent without her big sister.
It's a little like the premise of the movie Groundhog Day, which I didn't see, but if I understand correctly, something happens in the Bill Murray character's life which causes him to live the same day over and over again.
For us, it's the same thing on a four-year time frame. Five years ago, in June of 2000, we moved to a new town (Ypsilanti) with two-year-old Hannah, bought a house, settled into the area, made friends, got two-year-old to her third birthday, potty-trained, and off to preschool; had 2nd child after Hannah's 4th birthday; Hannah finished preschool and started kindergarten; Jon lost job, disaster ensued.
So far this past year ('04-'05) has been virtually identical in terms of major events and child development as 2000-2001 was for us.
It's completely irrational, but it does make me wonder if we're on some kind of weird cosmic'karmic schedule here. Are we going to have to go through this AGAIN in 2006? I just can't. I seriously don't think I'd survive another loss.
And yet I still want Emily to have a sibling. It's one of those things where, while I dread yet another pregnancy/infancy/toddlerhood marathon, I DO want two kids. The first three years would be as hard as they have typically been for me, with the added stresses of advanced(er) age and grief, but if we don't do this, would we really regret it 10 years from now? I think it's possible.
I understand that other options are adoption and/or fostering, but I am not very interested in pursuing those. Adoption is extremely expensive, not always guaranteed (especially domestic ones, where you make an agreement with a birth mother), and in the case of adopting an older child/special needs child, I have to be brutally honest with myself and admit that I am simply not capable of handling issues that an older/special needs child would bring. I wish I were stronger, but I have to know my limits to do this right.
Fostering would be hard on all of us, I think. Especially given some of the issues that a foster child might bring, plus the impermanence of it. The thought of bringing a child in, getting attached, and then perhaps having to let them go to another home or back to (bad?) parents is simply impossible. Again, we don't have the emotional resources we need to deal with this.
Aside from considerations like whether/when I want to go back to work (beyond the occasional freelance project), and whether it is even possible (depending on if the reversal worked and if I'm not already getting too old), it seems like the least complicated option is just having our own.
The things I have to get past, before I can do this (if it's even possible at all), is that I am still sort of attached to the idea that if we have another baby, I want another girl. I always wanted girls more, but I think now a lot of it has to do with somehow hoping that we would give birth to another Hannah. Especially since Emily, although she is very much her own person, is like Hannah in so many ways, even looking a lot like her. So it seems like that's the kind of kid we produce.
To have a boy would be such a huge adjustment, at least in the beginning. I think Jon would be happy with it -- he doesn't seem to have a preference at all, and unlike many men, doesn't seem to have any kind of ego investment in having a son for all those "carrying on the name" bullshit reasons; but once we were talking about it and I said that one thing about having a boy that would be an adjustment for me is that a lot of boy stuff just bores the crap out of me -- how everything is turned into a weapon at some point (trust me on this -- every single little boy I have ever known goes through this, and it doesn't matter how he was raised -- whether or not it passes DOES depend on how he was raised); all the action-figure super-hero stuff.
My best friend from age 1 to about age 11 was a boy, and we had a blast together (and I was NOT a girly-girl, ever) but I still remember how everything we drew or pretended or played together had to have some kind of vehicle, weapon, or action figure thing involved.
Jon said that he loved playing with Hannah and Emily but he did occasionally find all the "pink stuff" boring. Hannah wasn't really very "girly" and I don't think Emily will ever be, but just like little boys all go through the gun phase, just about all the little girls I've known (including myself) had at least a temporary brush with pink/Barbie/foofy stuff. Again, whether it passes or not seems to depend more on how the parents are -- I've met far too many grown women who are all pink/Barbie/foofy, and their mothers are generally more inclined that way too, from what I can tell.
People have said many things about me, but nobody has ever described me as a girly-girl, so hopefully it'll pass quickly with Emily (again, if she ever really gets into it to begin with -- she seems less interested in it than Hannah was).
In any case, it's ridiculous to prefer a particular gender for a child just based on that. But I do know that I would prefer a girl -- especially one along the same lines as Hannah and Emily -- and I have to find a way to let go of that before we make this decision.
The other, more serious concern for us, is that considering our (at least my) advancing age, the slightly greater chance that there might be something wrong -- especially if it's something life-threatening. I am going out on a limb here admitting this, but I honestly don't know if I'm up for that. I know many, many people deal with these issues with their children, but I don't know if I can. On the other hand, I have a tendency to catastrophize. Maybe it wouldn't be such a huge deal. But I have to be a lot more sure of what I can handle and what I can't, again, before making this decision.
7.19.2005
What next?
1. My dad, although he's making another attempt at sobriety, appears to be in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and seems to need a lot of help managing stuff.
2. My sister, who could help with this, is at the moment indisposed, from a brain bleed she suffered in May. It resolved itself, but further investigation revealed a weak spot (aneurysm) on another vessel, a much larger one than the one which apparently burst in May. She would have had surgery to repair it in May, but was given an anti-seizure med (Dilantin, I think) although she had not had a seizure. She ended up developing a severe (potentially fatal, but it was caught in time) reaction to the drug. A syndrome called Stevens-Johnson syndrome. Scary stuff if you google it. So, she is recovering from that; meanwhile, her docs have been saying week after week that they'll have a surgery date asap. As of yesterday they still didn't have one (that was to be the day when they WOULD establish one) so I called them and raised hell, invoking not only her stress but the stress on the family from watching her go through this, the fear of losing her, and the added emotional burdens of having had a very tragic loss in our family recently, to say nothing of Zoe's (my sister) medical-leave issues with work. Apparently it got through to them, so now a date is set. My MOM even called and thanked me. Very unusual.
3. Jon noticed something on Saturday which scared the shit out of him, thinking it might be prostate cancer (his dad had a bout with it about 10 years ago, but recovered completely and more or less unscathed). So we had a hideously bad night and morning (last night and this morning) until he called the urologist he'd seen in MI, who reassured him that what he noticed was very common (we didn't know this) and very unlikely to be even slightly related to prostate issues. Since he has had no other symptoms whatsoever, and having researched this fairly exhaustively today, it seems that all will probably be well. He has an appointment tomorrow just to rule anything else out. The thought of losing him too absolutely destroyed me, not to mention his fears.
4. However, Emily has taken matters into her own hands and in a matter of 72 hours, has gone from being in diapers all the time to completely self-reliantly potty trained (except for a diaper at night, mostly because of my own paranoia and laziness -- I don't want to wake up at 3 a.m. to change sheets). It has been almost surreal. Items 1-4 in this list have been occurring more or less simultaneously, so my neurons are stretched to their limits trying to sort it all out.
5. Meanwhile, since early June, we have been waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come out and fix our attic fan, which shorted out on us in the middle of one night and probably would have caused a fire and killed us if Jon wasn't such a light sleeper. So, now we have a dead attic fan with no switch (that's what malfunctioned) which may or may not be still connected to the circuit, and so we have had to shut off that circuit, which supplies power to Emily's room and the guest room, and rig up extension cords (which are arranged as safely as we can manage, although she understands not to play with any electrical items and isn't interested anyway). I honestly do not know what to do to get someone out here. We have a home warranty so have been trying to arrange something through them -- that way we only pay a $95 deductible instead of however many hundreds (thousands?) it might otherwise cost. We had great luck this winter when our furnace motor blew -- that got taken care of within 24 hours -- so this is even more frustrating.
Now that I've bored what few readers I have (or want) into a persistent vegetative state I realize this is pretty parochial -- limited only to personal stuff, mostly a catalogue of disease symptoms, home maintenance problems, and toileting issues, but I think the subtitle of this blog ("Navel-gazing, self-pity, minutiae") is a sufficient disclaimer. There are far more outwardly-focused and witty blogs out there -- two of them are linked here, the rest can be found by randomly scrolling through other blogs using the "Next Blog" button at the top of the page. Not that I have gotten any complaints, but it is wise to cover one's ass and stick boilerplate like this in every so often.
Last night, before all the shit hit the fan medically (with Jon and Zoe), I went to the neighborhood Garden Club party. It was fairly nice -- the woman who lives across the street from me, who I know from a mothers' organization we both belong to, and who is herself reasonably interesting and cool (for Youngstown), went with me, and we sat and talked to each other most of the time, and chatted with a few others. It was the typical card-tables with centerpieces scattered through the lawn, complete with tons of foofy desserts, appetizers, a margarita ball and several bottles of wine (they came in handy). It was just the most middle-class, suburban-matron thing I think I have ever done in my life.
Of course, I know absolutely NOTHING about gardening or anything that grows except for vegetables, fruits and herbs, and that's only because I'm a foodie and love to cook. If I actually had to grow my own stuff I'd be lost. I joined it mainly to meet some of the people in the neighborhood.
This town is not what you'd call tiny; it's on the small side (80K total, something like that) but it's one of those places where people have been for generations; they all have large families, they all went to school with each other, and it seems to be beyond the understanding of many of them that there are actually people who are NOT as intimately familiar with this place as they are. I ask for directions somewhere in the neighborhood and get in response, "Well, it's the house that's 2 doors down from ________ and kitty corner from ________, no wait, they moved, that's the ________'s instead. You can't miss it." The idea that street names and numbers might be more effective and useful does not cross their minds.
Still, this particular neighborhood we live in is quite pleasant. There is almost no racial or ethnic diversity -- everybody is white and most are Italian, except for myself (white but non-Italian) and Jon (multicolored and non-Italian), but you can't have everything.
For the most part everyone has been nice, and will at least nod and wave when passing on the street (people like to walk around here at night), and will sometimes come and introduce themselves (on the pretext of talking with Emily, who loves to chat up anyone and everyone).
Have managed to get myself to the Y to work out the last four days out of five, too. I feel physically a lot better. Mentally I feel like my brain has turned into a runny milkshake, but at least I have more energy.
I'm starting to put myself to sleep, so mercifully this entry is at an end.
2. My sister, who could help with this, is at the moment indisposed, from a brain bleed she suffered in May. It resolved itself, but further investigation revealed a weak spot (aneurysm) on another vessel, a much larger one than the one which apparently burst in May. She would have had surgery to repair it in May, but was given an anti-seizure med (Dilantin, I think) although she had not had a seizure. She ended up developing a severe (potentially fatal, but it was caught in time) reaction to the drug. A syndrome called Stevens-Johnson syndrome. Scary stuff if you google it. So, she is recovering from that; meanwhile, her docs have been saying week after week that they'll have a surgery date asap. As of yesterday they still didn't have one (that was to be the day when they WOULD establish one) so I called them and raised hell, invoking not only her stress but the stress on the family from watching her go through this, the fear of losing her, and the added emotional burdens of having had a very tragic loss in our family recently, to say nothing of Zoe's (my sister) medical-leave issues with work. Apparently it got through to them, so now a date is set. My MOM even called and thanked me. Very unusual.
3. Jon noticed something on Saturday which scared the shit out of him, thinking it might be prostate cancer (his dad had a bout with it about 10 years ago, but recovered completely and more or less unscathed). So we had a hideously bad night and morning (last night and this morning) until he called the urologist he'd seen in MI, who reassured him that what he noticed was very common (we didn't know this) and very unlikely to be even slightly related to prostate issues. Since he has had no other symptoms whatsoever, and having researched this fairly exhaustively today, it seems that all will probably be well. He has an appointment tomorrow just to rule anything else out. The thought of losing him too absolutely destroyed me, not to mention his fears.
4. However, Emily has taken matters into her own hands and in a matter of 72 hours, has gone from being in diapers all the time to completely self-reliantly potty trained (except for a diaper at night, mostly because of my own paranoia and laziness -- I don't want to wake up at 3 a.m. to change sheets). It has been almost surreal. Items 1-4 in this list have been occurring more or less simultaneously, so my neurons are stretched to their limits trying to sort it all out.
5. Meanwhile, since early June, we have been waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come out and fix our attic fan, which shorted out on us in the middle of one night and probably would have caused a fire and killed us if Jon wasn't such a light sleeper. So, now we have a dead attic fan with no switch (that's what malfunctioned) which may or may not be still connected to the circuit, and so we have had to shut off that circuit, which supplies power to Emily's room and the guest room, and rig up extension cords (which are arranged as safely as we can manage, although she understands not to play with any electrical items and isn't interested anyway). I honestly do not know what to do to get someone out here. We have a home warranty so have been trying to arrange something through them -- that way we only pay a $95 deductible instead of however many hundreds (thousands?) it might otherwise cost. We had great luck this winter when our furnace motor blew -- that got taken care of within 24 hours -- so this is even more frustrating.
Now that I've bored what few readers I have (or want) into a persistent vegetative state I realize this is pretty parochial -- limited only to personal stuff, mostly a catalogue of disease symptoms, home maintenance problems, and toileting issues, but I think the subtitle of this blog ("Navel-gazing, self-pity, minutiae") is a sufficient disclaimer. There are far more outwardly-focused and witty blogs out there -- two of them are linked here, the rest can be found by randomly scrolling through other blogs using the "Next Blog" button at the top of the page. Not that I have gotten any complaints, but it is wise to cover one's ass and stick boilerplate like this in every so often.
Last night, before all the shit hit the fan medically (with Jon and Zoe), I went to the neighborhood Garden Club party. It was fairly nice -- the woman who lives across the street from me, who I know from a mothers' organization we both belong to, and who is herself reasonably interesting and cool (for Youngstown), went with me, and we sat and talked to each other most of the time, and chatted with a few others. It was the typical card-tables with centerpieces scattered through the lawn, complete with tons of foofy desserts, appetizers, a margarita ball and several bottles of wine (they came in handy). It was just the most middle-class, suburban-matron thing I think I have ever done in my life.
Of course, I know absolutely NOTHING about gardening or anything that grows except for vegetables, fruits and herbs, and that's only because I'm a foodie and love to cook. If I actually had to grow my own stuff I'd be lost. I joined it mainly to meet some of the people in the neighborhood.
This town is not what you'd call tiny; it's on the small side (80K total, something like that) but it's one of those places where people have been for generations; they all have large families, they all went to school with each other, and it seems to be beyond the understanding of many of them that there are actually people who are NOT as intimately familiar with this place as they are. I ask for directions somewhere in the neighborhood and get in response, "Well, it's the house that's 2 doors down from ________ and kitty corner from ________, no wait, they moved, that's the ________'s instead. You can't miss it." The idea that street names and numbers might be more effective and useful does not cross their minds.
Still, this particular neighborhood we live in is quite pleasant. There is almost no racial or ethnic diversity -- everybody is white and most are Italian, except for myself (white but non-Italian) and Jon (multicolored and non-Italian), but you can't have everything.
For the most part everyone has been nice, and will at least nod and wave when passing on the street (people like to walk around here at night), and will sometimes come and introduce themselves (on the pretext of talking with Emily, who loves to chat up anyone and everyone).
Have managed to get myself to the Y to work out the last four days out of five, too. I feel physically a lot better. Mentally I feel like my brain has turned into a runny milkshake, but at least I have more energy.
I'm starting to put myself to sleep, so mercifully this entry is at an end.
7.16.2005
Well I'll be dipped in shellac!
Guess what Jon found?
Apparently it was tucked into the storage rack on the inside of our basement door -- where we keep things like batteries, garbage bags, flashlights, AC adapters -- right by the garbage bags. I cannot imagine how it ended up there. As far as I know I didn't take the garbage out after I brought the wallet down after balancing the checkbook. What? The? FUCK???
Anyway, while I no longer need the old drivers license or credit cards, I am overjoyed at getting my Target and Barnes & Noble gift cards back.
I still wonder if Hannah didn't have something, somehow, to do with this. I distinctly remember looking in that very shelf -- I think all of us did, including Gretchen and Mike.
What.
The.
FUCK?
Apparently it was tucked into the storage rack on the inside of our basement door -- where we keep things like batteries, garbage bags, flashlights, AC adapters -- right by the garbage bags. I cannot imagine how it ended up there. As far as I know I didn't take the garbage out after I brought the wallet down after balancing the checkbook. What? The? FUCK???
Anyway, while I no longer need the old drivers license or credit cards, I am overjoyed at getting my Target and Barnes & Noble gift cards back.
I still wonder if Hannah didn't have something, somehow, to do with this. I distinctly remember looking in that very shelf -- I think all of us did, including Gretchen and Mike.
What.
The.
FUCK?
Self-pitying whine; skip if you have a low threshold for boredom.
Well, not really; just that I have no tolerance for frustration.
In fact, I don't even want to bother wasting bandwidth typing about this whole potty-training thing. I will just have a psychotic episode, and bore even myself.
I have gone and worked out the last two days, and plan to at least walk today. I thought perhaps it would help my mood, but whatever beneficial effect it has had emotionally has been canceled out by the abovementioned. However, I will keep it up, because at least *physically* I feel better, and it may help re-kickstart my stagnating weight loss efforts. I've gotten back, too, to keeping track of what I eat; I had gotten quite slack about it in recent weeks, so that probably will make a difference too.
Tonight we're going to leave Emily at Gretchen's house (well, this afternoon); go up to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, then out somewhere nice in the area to eat. Our anniversary is Monday (13 years), but Saturday was when we had childcare available; besides, it's too much hassle to try and go do something major on a "school" night.
Then tomorrow we're going to a party (with Emily) at Dr. W's house. His wife teaches the middle-school level English classes at the Montessori where Emily will be in preschool (IF she ever gets the hang of this potty stuff), and I'm also in her book club (which reminds me, I hope she's returned the book by now...)
Anyway, that's about it. Monday Zoe will finally find out when she has the surgery -- my sister has an aneurysm in a brain vessel and will be having it repaired/closed off, so as to avoid her dropping dead from a brain bleed. I have a hard time even talking about it; the possibility of losing her is just unimaginable. The surgery is quite risky too, so that just adds to the fun.
I feel like there's a lot of catch-up I have to do in this blog. I thought perhaps it would be therapeutic in the way a journal was, but I find myself very much writing for an audience, and so I feel like I have to make sure they know what and who I'm talking about. I don't know why, because there are only four people who know it exists, and while I don't care if it is read by others, I am not planning to promote it either. I need to just get over it, write it like a journal, and if anyone has questions, they can just ask, I guess.
I think I'm just too lazy and distracted right now -- Jon and Emily are downstairs and we're trying to keep the potty momentum going and I feel like I have to keep checking. It's a lot easier to write once she's asleep.
In fact, I don't even want to bother wasting bandwidth typing about this whole potty-training thing. I will just have a psychotic episode, and bore even myself.
I have gone and worked out the last two days, and plan to at least walk today. I thought perhaps it would help my mood, but whatever beneficial effect it has had emotionally has been canceled out by the abovementioned. However, I will keep it up, because at least *physically* I feel better, and it may help re-kickstart my stagnating weight loss efforts. I've gotten back, too, to keeping track of what I eat; I had gotten quite slack about it in recent weeks, so that probably will make a difference too.
Tonight we're going to leave Emily at Gretchen's house (well, this afternoon); go up to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, then out somewhere nice in the area to eat. Our anniversary is Monday (13 years), but Saturday was when we had childcare available; besides, it's too much hassle to try and go do something major on a "school" night.
Then tomorrow we're going to a party (with Emily) at Dr. W's house. His wife teaches the middle-school level English classes at the Montessori where Emily will be in preschool (IF she ever gets the hang of this potty stuff), and I'm also in her book club (which reminds me, I hope she's returned the book by now...)
Anyway, that's about it. Monday Zoe will finally find out when she has the surgery -- my sister has an aneurysm in a brain vessel and will be having it repaired/closed off, so as to avoid her dropping dead from a brain bleed. I have a hard time even talking about it; the possibility of losing her is just unimaginable. The surgery is quite risky too, so that just adds to the fun.
I feel like there's a lot of catch-up I have to do in this blog. I thought perhaps it would be therapeutic in the way a journal was, but I find myself very much writing for an audience, and so I feel like I have to make sure they know what and who I'm talking about. I don't know why, because there are only four people who know it exists, and while I don't care if it is read by others, I am not planning to promote it either. I need to just get over it, write it like a journal, and if anyone has questions, they can just ask, I guess.
I think I'm just too lazy and distracted right now -- Jon and Emily are downstairs and we're trying to keep the potty momentum going and I feel like I have to keep checking. It's a lot easier to write once she's asleep.
7.14.2005
Random crap
Let's see. I met with yet another rabbi this morning -- I'll be re-designing their bulletin. God help me, because it consists of coming up with a new design, creating the template for said design in Publisher, then handing it over to their secretary and seeing just how fast she can destroy the visual integrity of the thing. Still, it's a way to make contacts and show off my skills, if I ever do want to be a productive wage-earner again.
Watched Steel Magnolias tonight on TV. Not the best idea I've ever had. I remember when I first saw it. THE last thing I ever expected was to know EXACTLY what and how the Sally Field character was feeling after the funeral. I absolutely love the movie just as a movie -- completely aside from the subject, I just like the acting and interaction between the main characters -- but it's just too much.
I'm thinking that I need to find a way to put up a page of photos of weird signs around this area. There are some absolutely insane business names and street signs here. One of these days when Jon can watch Emily, I'm going to take the digital camera and finally get shots of all the weird ones. I'd describe a few, but then it would spoil the actual page.
I need some sleep, so that's about it for now. Stay tuned.
Watched Steel Magnolias tonight on TV. Not the best idea I've ever had. I remember when I first saw it. THE last thing I ever expected was to know EXACTLY what and how the Sally Field character was feeling after the funeral. I absolutely love the movie just as a movie -- completely aside from the subject, I just like the acting and interaction between the main characters -- but it's just too much.
I'm thinking that I need to find a way to put up a page of photos of weird signs around this area. There are some absolutely insane business names and street signs here. One of these days when Jon can watch Emily, I'm going to take the digital camera and finally get shots of all the weird ones. I'd describe a few, but then it would spoil the actual page.
I need some sleep, so that's about it for now. Stay tuned.
7.12.2005
There's an old saw...
...about how helping people less fortunate than yourself will help you feel better, or at least help you forget your troubles for a bit.
This seems to be true. I helped Mrs. Rabbi pack intermittently yesterday, and had her and her son over for dinner last night. After seeing the trainwreck that is their packing job -- they have literally waited until something like 48 hours before the movers arrive to start, mainly because Reb Useless did NOTHING up until he left the other day. Unbelievable. All he would have had to do is start a month or so ago, put in one or two solid hours a day (he was unemployed, and home with their son while she worked), and the place would have been packed up and echoing by now. Now, of course, he's at their new town, in a hotel (since their apt. is not furnished yet), and doing things like going to the movies, or out to dinner with new colleagues.
Anyway, after dinner I plied her with wine so she'd start talking, and we sat outside while the kids ran around and played, along with another neighbor and her brood. I'm starting to realize that the disorganization and chaos is both of them, not just him. In part I think hers stems from profound burnout and fatigue.
In any case, I would not trade places with her for one trillion dollars in cash.
Meanwhile, I've gotten my credit cards squared away, gotten a replacement drivers' license, even made sure my library card was cancelled (I'll just go get a new one later), and went to Target and bought the UGLIEST bright neon pink wallet. Nothing else in my entire house is that color, except for a few Barbie-esque toys of Hannah's which still don't come quite near the neon brightness of it. This way it will be much harder to lose, ignore or forget. I am convinced my other wallet is in the house somewhere, but I have not seen any sign of it, and probably won't unless we move or something and it turns out to have been under the TV cabinet or something. I sure hope it's here -- I did also have a $40 Target gift card and a $10 Barnes & Noble one, and I had big plans for them.
Tonight Gretchen and I went out and had dinner and walked around the bookstore a bit. It was nice to get out.
I'm kind of in a weird food/cooking holding pattern -- not only am I still working on weight loss, and not only is the weather unbearably hot, but I recently got a physical and my cholesterol is ridiculously high (at least in my opinion, factoring in age and eating habits) -- 241 total, and I know the good one is also low and the bad one is high and so are the triglycerides. Jon had a physical too and even his cholesterol is up, although lower than mine (his is 211). This is the guy who snacks on things like apples and whole-wheat bread, and who hates cream cheese, butter, cottage cheese, cream, sour cream, etc. with a passion. Meanwhile, I've got a freezer full of various meats that I've stocked up on. I absolutely do not want to throw them out, but I don't want to do any further damage to myself. Jon says we should just chip away at it -- once a week or less for the red meats, and once they're gone, just stop buying them unless it's a holiday meal. I also have a lot of chicken, and we could do a lot of good grilling, I suppose. Then once we've depleted our carnivore stash, we'll go mostly veg except for holidays/company meals/occasional restaurants.
I have done a lot of reading, though, and I've seen one study after another cited which links stress with heart disease/elevated cholesterol, and god knows we've had most of the major life stresses within the last two years alone -- job loss, death of a child, job change, two moves -- plus my dad seems to be in the beginning, but definitive, stages of Alzheimer's, my sister is having brain surgery sometime in the next two weeks -- more about that later -- I'm going nuts being home all day with Emily, etc.
But I can't let this continue. 40 is more or less the midpoint of my life, give or take a decade or so, and I just don't want to let things get progressively worse -- I have a feeling I'm going to need more strength and health in the next ten years or so than I ever have even up until now, with aging parents + growing child + grief all put together.
I really was looking forward to this time as being the time when I could start to have a bit of my own life back, once the kids were not babies/toddlers any more. I wasn't delusional enough to imagine that I'd have anything like REAL free time until I was at least in my mid-50's, but the constant-care-and-supervision era was supposed to be abating a bit, enough to give me time to start pursuing my work again (graphic design) and start doing other fun things, like taking some art classes again, exercising more, spending more time ALONE with Jon. I hadn't factored in aging parents (not sure how I overlooked that one, since I watched my mom go through exactly this scenario 30 years ago, except for the dead child) or profound grieving.
ONE of these days I just want to be able to say to Jon, "Hey, let's go to Europe next month", and only have to concern ourselves with packing, cat-sitting, and passports. I also want this to happen sometime before my 80's, so I can be relatively unencumbered by incontinence products, medications, and ugly support shoes.
Rats.
Well, apparently the anti-depressant effect of helping others wears off after about 24 hours.
It's awfully late, but I think next time I'll address my sister's upcoming surgery (hey, this is already starting to read like an old person's blog...). There is a real chance that we might lose her, and I simply can't wrap my head around that. Really, it's been more than enough, thank you.
This seems to be true. I helped Mrs. Rabbi pack intermittently yesterday, and had her and her son over for dinner last night. After seeing the trainwreck that is their packing job -- they have literally waited until something like 48 hours before the movers arrive to start, mainly because Reb Useless did NOTHING up until he left the other day. Unbelievable. All he would have had to do is start a month or so ago, put in one or two solid hours a day (he was unemployed, and home with their son while she worked), and the place would have been packed up and echoing by now. Now, of course, he's at their new town, in a hotel (since their apt. is not furnished yet), and doing things like going to the movies, or out to dinner with new colleagues.
Anyway, after dinner I plied her with wine so she'd start talking, and we sat outside while the kids ran around and played, along with another neighbor and her brood. I'm starting to realize that the disorganization and chaos is both of them, not just him. In part I think hers stems from profound burnout and fatigue.
In any case, I would not trade places with her for one trillion dollars in cash.
Meanwhile, I've gotten my credit cards squared away, gotten a replacement drivers' license, even made sure my library card was cancelled (I'll just go get a new one later), and went to Target and bought the UGLIEST bright neon pink wallet. Nothing else in my entire house is that color, except for a few Barbie-esque toys of Hannah's which still don't come quite near the neon brightness of it. This way it will be much harder to lose, ignore or forget. I am convinced my other wallet is in the house somewhere, but I have not seen any sign of it, and probably won't unless we move or something and it turns out to have been under the TV cabinet or something. I sure hope it's here -- I did also have a $40 Target gift card and a $10 Barnes & Noble one, and I had big plans for them.
Tonight Gretchen and I went out and had dinner and walked around the bookstore a bit. It was nice to get out.
I'm kind of in a weird food/cooking holding pattern -- not only am I still working on weight loss, and not only is the weather unbearably hot, but I recently got a physical and my cholesterol is ridiculously high (at least in my opinion, factoring in age and eating habits) -- 241 total, and I know the good one is also low and the bad one is high and so are the triglycerides. Jon had a physical too and even his cholesterol is up, although lower than mine (his is 211). This is the guy who snacks on things like apples and whole-wheat bread, and who hates cream cheese, butter, cottage cheese, cream, sour cream, etc. with a passion. Meanwhile, I've got a freezer full of various meats that I've stocked up on. I absolutely do not want to throw them out, but I don't want to do any further damage to myself. Jon says we should just chip away at it -- once a week or less for the red meats, and once they're gone, just stop buying them unless it's a holiday meal. I also have a lot of chicken, and we could do a lot of good grilling, I suppose. Then once we've depleted our carnivore stash, we'll go mostly veg except for holidays/company meals/occasional restaurants.
I have done a lot of reading, though, and I've seen one study after another cited which links stress with heart disease/elevated cholesterol, and god knows we've had most of the major life stresses within the last two years alone -- job loss, death of a child, job change, two moves -- plus my dad seems to be in the beginning, but definitive, stages of Alzheimer's, my sister is having brain surgery sometime in the next two weeks -- more about that later -- I'm going nuts being home all day with Emily, etc.
But I can't let this continue. 40 is more or less the midpoint of my life, give or take a decade or so, and I just don't want to let things get progressively worse -- I have a feeling I'm going to need more strength and health in the next ten years or so than I ever have even up until now, with aging parents + growing child + grief all put together.
I really was looking forward to this time as being the time when I could start to have a bit of my own life back, once the kids were not babies/toddlers any more. I wasn't delusional enough to imagine that I'd have anything like REAL free time until I was at least in my mid-50's, but the constant-care-and-supervision era was supposed to be abating a bit, enough to give me time to start pursuing my work again (graphic design) and start doing other fun things, like taking some art classes again, exercising more, spending more time ALONE with Jon. I hadn't factored in aging parents (not sure how I overlooked that one, since I watched my mom go through exactly this scenario 30 years ago, except for the dead child) or profound grieving.
ONE of these days I just want to be able to say to Jon, "Hey, let's go to Europe next month", and only have to concern ourselves with packing, cat-sitting, and passports. I also want this to happen sometime before my 80's, so I can be relatively unencumbered by incontinence products, medications, and ugly support shoes.
Rats.
Well, apparently the anti-depressant effect of helping others wears off after about 24 hours.
It's awfully late, but I think next time I'll address my sister's upcoming surgery (hey, this is already starting to read like an old person's blog...). There is a real chance that we might lose her, and I simply can't wrap my head around that. Really, it's been more than enough, thank you.
7.10.2005
Curb Your Enthusiasm
If you're not familiar with it, it's an absolutely hilarious series created by and starring Larry David, who helped create Seinfeld.
Anyway, my day today was a classic Curb episode.
It began when I decided that I needed some time to myself, so I was going to kill two birds with one stone -- drive up to Cleveland to make a Trader Joe's run, get stuff we needed, do some browsing at some of the blingier stores up there, and come back all refreshed.
Only problem was, I couldn't find my wallet immediately. So I looked for it.
And looked for it.
And looked for it. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the basement. In every single drawer in every single dresser in our house. In the refrigerator. In the freezer. Under all the furniture. Behind the refrigerator. In every single bag I have carried for the last year. In all our shoes. In all the toy baskets. In all the bathrooms, kitchen cupboards, in the washer, the dryer. In the garbage -- I'm talking taking the full bag out of the garbage can, emptying it onto a tarp, and sorting through the garbage BY HAND. My friend Gretchen and her husband and son came over and her husband and Jon did the garbage search.
It is GONE. Just. Fucking. GONE.
So the kids were running around outside in the back yard. I said if they wanted to, they could go on Z's slide (the hyperactive son of the bipolar rabbi with the beleaguered wife). Now, there has been a straggly and weedy locust sapling taking root under the slide and playset in their yard. Jon decided that it would be a friendly gesture if he cut it out of there, since it was starting to obscure the ladder and slide, and making the yard look really dingy (well, dingier). Since Reb Bipolar left last week, and Rebbitzin Beleaguered is here on her own with Hyperactive Son while trying to remove five years of just plain clutter and dirt from their house in time for the movers to arrive this coming Wednesday, and since she has had no help whatsoever from the Bipolar one or her son, Destructo, and they have had no bites on the house, we were trying to be helpful.
Well. Turns out that was Z's TREE. His very own tree (straggly stray sapling) that he was growing and nurturing under the slide. So we traumatized him irreparably. So now I feel obligated to go over there tomorrow morning and help her continue with the cleaning/packing/decluttering. I might as well, anyway, because I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING WALLET, WHICH MEANS I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CREDIT CARD, CASH, DRIVERS' LICENSE or anything else that makes life worth living.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.
We took Gretchen and her dh and son out to dinner, then went to the park and played until after sundown, so as to avoid our neighbors. Gretchen has literally saved my life -- I honestly do not know how I would survive without her. If I have to be in this town, at least I was given one of the best friends I've ever had as some kind of cosmic compensation.
I also felt nearly suicidal while we were searching for the wallet because without it, I really can't go do anything and I need to get away SO BADLY.
On a more positive note, I talked by phone with Kevin M. (see earlier post somewhere where I mention him). He sounds just like his old self, except sober, and still has the same sense of humor. I am so glad I was able to reconnect with him. Having old friends come back into my life has been one good thing that seems to be stemming partly from this horrific tragedy we've experienced.
I know this will sound weird, but I am starting to wonder if Hannah didn't have something to do with the wallet disappearing.
Several things that were missing before she died, that were important to her, turned up at different times after she was gone. And I've had some things go temporarily missing here that just as mysteriously would turn back up, in a different place than I had remembered leaving them.
Gretchen thought maybe it was a possibility that if I had had my wallet and gone on my planned outing, something bad may have happened. On the other hand, as I pointed out to her, if I had been able to do that, we wouldn't have chopped down the hyperative child's tree (weed) and possibly sowed the seed for a future Unabomber or Sasser-virus creator.
I suck, I know. I shouldn't use his particular condition as a way to make some kind of snarky remark. But fuck it, for right now -- I am just so fucking frustrated, upset, and fucked up, that I'm just going to do it, and be damned.
Anyway, my day today was a classic Curb episode.
It began when I decided that I needed some time to myself, so I was going to kill two birds with one stone -- drive up to Cleveland to make a Trader Joe's run, get stuff we needed, do some browsing at some of the blingier stores up there, and come back all refreshed.
Only problem was, I couldn't find my wallet immediately. So I looked for it.
And looked for it.
And looked for it. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the basement. In every single drawer in every single dresser in our house. In the refrigerator. In the freezer. Under all the furniture. Behind the refrigerator. In every single bag I have carried for the last year. In all our shoes. In all the toy baskets. In all the bathrooms, kitchen cupboards, in the washer, the dryer. In the garbage -- I'm talking taking the full bag out of the garbage can, emptying it onto a tarp, and sorting through the garbage BY HAND. My friend Gretchen and her husband and son came over and her husband and Jon did the garbage search.
It is GONE. Just. Fucking. GONE.
So the kids were running around outside in the back yard. I said if they wanted to, they could go on Z's slide (the hyperactive son of the bipolar rabbi with the beleaguered wife). Now, there has been a straggly and weedy locust sapling taking root under the slide and playset in their yard. Jon decided that it would be a friendly gesture if he cut it out of there, since it was starting to obscure the ladder and slide, and making the yard look really dingy (well, dingier). Since Reb Bipolar left last week, and Rebbitzin Beleaguered is here on her own with Hyperactive Son while trying to remove five years of just plain clutter and dirt from their house in time for the movers to arrive this coming Wednesday, and since she has had no help whatsoever from the Bipolar one or her son, Destructo, and they have had no bites on the house, we were trying to be helpful.
Well. Turns out that was Z's TREE. His very own tree (straggly stray sapling) that he was growing and nurturing under the slide. So we traumatized him irreparably. So now I feel obligated to go over there tomorrow morning and help her continue with the cleaning/packing/decluttering. I might as well, anyway, because I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING WALLET, WHICH MEANS I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CREDIT CARD, CASH, DRIVERS' LICENSE or anything else that makes life worth living.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.
We took Gretchen and her dh and son out to dinner, then went to the park and played until after sundown, so as to avoid our neighbors. Gretchen has literally saved my life -- I honestly do not know how I would survive without her. If I have to be in this town, at least I was given one of the best friends I've ever had as some kind of cosmic compensation.
I also felt nearly suicidal while we were searching for the wallet because without it, I really can't go do anything and I need to get away SO BADLY.
On a more positive note, I talked by phone with Kevin M. (see earlier post somewhere where I mention him). He sounds just like his old self, except sober, and still has the same sense of humor. I am so glad I was able to reconnect with him. Having old friends come back into my life has been one good thing that seems to be stemming partly from this horrific tragedy we've experienced.
I know this will sound weird, but I am starting to wonder if Hannah didn't have something to do with the wallet disappearing.
Several things that were missing before she died, that were important to her, turned up at different times after she was gone. And I've had some things go temporarily missing here that just as mysteriously would turn back up, in a different place than I had remembered leaving them.
Gretchen thought maybe it was a possibility that if I had had my wallet and gone on my planned outing, something bad may have happened. On the other hand, as I pointed out to her, if I had been able to do that, we wouldn't have chopped down the hyperative child's tree (weed) and possibly sowed the seed for a future Unabomber or Sasser-virus creator.
I suck, I know. I shouldn't use his particular condition as a way to make some kind of snarky remark. But fuck it, for right now -- I am just so fucking frustrated, upset, and fucked up, that I'm just going to do it, and be damned.
7.08.2005
Child of mine
I just can't wrap my mind around the whole London thing. It is such a shock, and I do not have anything intelligent, perceptive or informed to add to the discussion. All I can say is that I hope some way is found to stop this kind of thing from ever happening again (yeah, that's realistic) and that the victims and their families know that the world is holding them in their hearts.
So about this child of mine...
Three is a damned hard age. At least, it's a hard age for me to parent. I do remember with Hannah that this was the long, hot summer-before-preschool. She got on every. last. nerve, and I'm pretty sure I got on most of hers too. Plus there was the whole potty-training thing to get through, and it's looming large on our event horizon now, and I am panicked.
For some reason she is driving me TOTALLY FUCKING INSANE. I'm not sure how much of it is that there is so much tension (mostly internal) when my mother is around that it takes every bit of energy to cope with that and anything else is just too much, and how much of it is just that this is a really, really tough age.
She has developed several annoying new tricks lately. She will ask me the same question over and over and over again, whether I answer her or not, especially if the answer wasn't what she wanted to hear. We remind me of some Simpsons episodes where Bart is doing this to Homer and Homer is just "No." "No." "No." to each repeated request. I just never expected my parenting to remind me of that particular show, but then again I didn't think my daughter would turn into Bart Simpson at the age of 3.
She's getting defiant; not so much in an aggressive way as a "testing" way -- doing stuff she KNOWS DAMN FUCKING WELL is wrong/illegal; going deaf when I talk to her; talking back, etc. I know this is normal, but my tolerance for any kind of frustration has been profoundly low for the last 19 months or so.
She's also getting very bossy and absolutely hates it when anyone is having a conversation that doesn't involve her directly and as the focus and subject, particularly in the car. She will order us to stop talking because she's trying to talk, etc.
When this is coupled with riding in the car with my mom, who tends to go into absolutely infinitesimal detail and side comments and run-on sentences about what she's talking about [I know *my* style is NOTHING like hers, NOTHING. Shut the fuck up and stop laughing out there. I can hear you. Stop that right now or I'll reach through the screen and poke you in the eye really hard.] and Emily yammering away equally hard from the back seat, it's migraine-inducing.
Also when my mom is here, I feel like I have to run interference between her and Jon (even when they're behaving perfectly well), and when Jon's not home, I feel like I have to tread very carefully all the time.
She absolutely will not, under any circumstances, ever give a direct answer to any kind of question regarding her preferences or wishes; she seems to be almost put out by the fact that Emily will automatically go to ME if she wants something or has a problem, etc. and so when I'm around she won't initiate interaction with Emily. What a fucking immature thing to do.
Actually, it's getting better now that Emily is older and is starting to know her a lot better, but it was like Mom just couldn't bear to not be the "preferred" one. Her need for validation, attention, and admiration is more bottomless than the most egotistical preschooler I've ever met. So having what amounts to two egotistical preschoolers on my hands all day is quite difficult.
At least tomorrow night Jon and I get to go out for dinner by ourselves. Between this grant proposal, his post-proposal-deadline collapse (he was so tired, and the fatigue and grief caught up with him all at once, so he was kind of sluggish and quiet for a couple of days), my mom's visit, and Emily's extremely annoying behavior, I am about to have a psychotic episode. The problem also is that I want time with Jon, but I also want time just to myself, and there isn't enough for both usually, so I have to choose. Either way, I feel like I'm getting ripped off somehow.
I think the thing to do is hire a sitter one afternoon next week, and go see a movie by myself, with perhaps a brief bookstore visit afterwards. That is usually equivalent to 2 Wellbutrins and a therapy visit.
So about this child of mine...
Three is a damned hard age. At least, it's a hard age for me to parent. I do remember with Hannah that this was the long, hot summer-before-preschool. She got on every. last. nerve, and I'm pretty sure I got on most of hers too. Plus there was the whole potty-training thing to get through, and it's looming large on our event horizon now, and I am panicked.
For some reason she is driving me TOTALLY FUCKING INSANE. I'm not sure how much of it is that there is so much tension (mostly internal) when my mother is around that it takes every bit of energy to cope with that and anything else is just too much, and how much of it is just that this is a really, really tough age.
She has developed several annoying new tricks lately. She will ask me the same question over and over and over again, whether I answer her or not, especially if the answer wasn't what she wanted to hear. We remind me of some Simpsons episodes where Bart is doing this to Homer and Homer is just "No." "No." "No." to each repeated request. I just never expected my parenting to remind me of that particular show, but then again I didn't think my daughter would turn into Bart Simpson at the age of 3.
She's getting defiant; not so much in an aggressive way as a "testing" way -- doing stuff she KNOWS DAMN FUCKING WELL is wrong/illegal; going deaf when I talk to her; talking back, etc. I know this is normal, but my tolerance for any kind of frustration has been profoundly low for the last 19 months or so.
She's also getting very bossy and absolutely hates it when anyone is having a conversation that doesn't involve her directly and as the focus and subject, particularly in the car. She will order us to stop talking because she's trying to talk, etc.
When this is coupled with riding in the car with my mom, who tends to go into absolutely infinitesimal detail and side comments and run-on sentences about what she's talking about [I know *my* style is NOTHING like hers, NOTHING. Shut the fuck up and stop laughing out there. I can hear you. Stop that right now or I'll reach through the screen and poke you in the eye really hard.] and Emily yammering away equally hard from the back seat, it's migraine-inducing.
Also when my mom is here, I feel like I have to run interference between her and Jon (even when they're behaving perfectly well), and when Jon's not home, I feel like I have to tread very carefully all the time.
She absolutely will not, under any circumstances, ever give a direct answer to any kind of question regarding her preferences or wishes; she seems to be almost put out by the fact that Emily will automatically go to ME if she wants something or has a problem, etc. and so when I'm around she won't initiate interaction with Emily. What a fucking immature thing to do.
Actually, it's getting better now that Emily is older and is starting to know her a lot better, but it was like Mom just couldn't bear to not be the "preferred" one. Her need for validation, attention, and admiration is more bottomless than the most egotistical preschooler I've ever met. So having what amounts to two egotistical preschoolers on my hands all day is quite difficult.
At least tomorrow night Jon and I get to go out for dinner by ourselves. Between this grant proposal, his post-proposal-deadline collapse (he was so tired, and the fatigue and grief caught up with him all at once, so he was kind of sluggish and quiet for a couple of days), my mom's visit, and Emily's extremely annoying behavior, I am about to have a psychotic episode. The problem also is that I want time with Jon, but I also want time just to myself, and there isn't enough for both usually, so I have to choose. Either way, I feel like I'm getting ripped off somehow.
I think the thing to do is hire a sitter one afternoon next week, and go see a movie by myself, with perhaps a brief bookstore visit afterwards. That is usually equivalent to 2 Wellbutrins and a therapy visit.
7.05.2005
Shitfaced and fancy free...
We went to a goodbye party for our neighbors (the bipolar rabbi, his beleaguered wife, and their hyperactive son) and had a BLAST.
The hosts were great -- he is a physics prof at YSU and he and Jon have several colleagues in common and were chatting away like old friends before 5 minutes had passed.
His wife is an extremely WASP-y looking Grosse Pointe native, but appearances can be deceiving -- she was actually a pretty normal, down-to-earth human being. Go figure.
Emily, also, ran off with two girls (4yo and probably 7yo) at the party before we'd been there five minutes. Usually she velcros herself to my leg for the first half-hour or so. The only downside was she learned about GameBoy and all that other video game crap, but we still aren't ever, ever ever going to buy it.
I had a few glasses of wine and one beer, and lots of great conversations with intelligent people. My god, what a change that was from the usual gatherings we attend. It was *almost* like being back in Michigan.
It feels kind of nice to be a little drunk, too. I can quite see how easy it would be to knock back a few every night. I don't feel wasted; just happy, somewhat energetic, and full of myself. Obviously I can't do this all the time, but occasionally it seems to be good for the soul. I don't want this to become a habit, and in any case, it's one thing to do it at a party and quite another to just do it at home -- it wouldn't be nearly as fun that way.
The hosts were great -- he is a physics prof at YSU and he and Jon have several colleagues in common and were chatting away like old friends before 5 minutes had passed.
His wife is an extremely WASP-y looking Grosse Pointe native, but appearances can be deceiving -- she was actually a pretty normal, down-to-earth human being. Go figure.
Emily, also, ran off with two girls (4yo and probably 7yo) at the party before we'd been there five minutes. Usually she velcros herself to my leg for the first half-hour or so. The only downside was she learned about GameBoy and all that other video game crap, but we still aren't ever, ever ever going to buy it.
I had a few glasses of wine and one beer, and lots of great conversations with intelligent people. My god, what a change that was from the usual gatherings we attend. It was *almost* like being back in Michigan.
It feels kind of nice to be a little drunk, too. I can quite see how easy it would be to knock back a few every night. I don't feel wasted; just happy, somewhat energetic, and full of myself. Obviously I can't do this all the time, but occasionally it seems to be good for the soul. I don't want this to become a habit, and in any case, it's one thing to do it at a party and quite another to just do it at home -- it wouldn't be nearly as fun that way.
Anonymity
...is the curse of the internet. The two comments on my last post are weird -- "You are more like me than I ever knew", suggests that the poster knows me. Yikes.
Edited to add: Never mind, I'm battling early Alzheimer's or something. I checked the comments more closely and figured out who it was -- someone who really DOES know me. Freakout over.
Anyway, for a change, it's raining here. I really would be happy in a place like Seattle, where it rains all the time. I like a nice sunny day now and then; who doesn't? But most of the time, if it's sunny out, I have this feeling that I should be out there DOING something in it. Then once I get out there, it's too hot and I have to slather myself with sunscreen since I don't tan -- I burn and then freckle. Very attractive. Then if I'm driving somewhere the car gets like an oven after it's been parked in the sun. Waah waah waah, I know.
But right now is the closest to nirvana I can get during the day -- the house is fairly clean (as long as you don't look at the bathrooms too closely), it's raining just the right amount and suitably dark, Emily is napping, and I have some time to do whatever I want. It's too bad the computer is up in the smallest room of the house. One of these days we're going to have to go broadband, and get a nice laptop so I can do this while sitting through another episode of Dora or in the kitchen or something.
I am still having a rough-er time with Hannah's actual death. I know that sounds weird -- it happened over 18 months ago, after all. But what I mean is that on some level I do know that she died, but I don't think that I've really accepted that fact deep down in my soul somewhere. I try to think of it and my mind sort of skitters away from the whole thing.
As far as I know she died almost instantly, but of course, the operative word there is "almost". I'm guessing that between the impact of the truck hitting the back of our car and my slamming backwards and our heads colliding (which had to have knocked her out, if it didn't actually kill her), probably less than a second elapsed. My seat back collapsed onto her chest and crushed her heart, but from what I understand she would have been unconscious at that point anyway. I just wish I had some way to know beyond a doubt that she never knew anything or felt any pain.
The other thing that haunts me is that the EMT's got there very quickly (they used to hang out in a shopping center fairly close to the site), and so Emily and I were whisked off to the hospital almost immediately. From what Jon says, they did try to revive Hannah, but apparently she was dead when they got there. The thing that bothers me the most is that since she was dead, and there was no urgent need to remove her from the scene, that there had to have been some time where her body was still in the car seat in the crushed car, while they sorted things out. I do know they took her to the morgue at St. Joe's, while we were taken to U of M. I just wonder how long she was out there, before being taken out of the car and to the morgue. The thought of her being left in the car like that, even though there were people there who were trying to take care of the situation, is unbearable.
I think some of why this is coming up for me is because Emily is starting to ask and understand more about it, and also because in some way, if I know every single detail, have accounted for every single second and know all the details of Hannah's death and transportation to the morgue and so on, then somehow I have control over it. Like I've protected her somehow by at least knowing where she was at all times.
I just still can't believe she died. I don't know how in the world I can accept that or acknowledge it, because there HAS to be some way to undo this. And yet, the thing that hurts even more, is that if she somehow came back to us now, it would be a major readjustment -- and she'd be different. Two years older, taller, in a different stage of her life. And now she's missed things like our move, and Emily getting bigger and learning to talk and do things and heading off to preschool. The passage of time is taking Hannah farther away from us, and I hate that. I remember as spring came after the accident, that was horrifying, because that was incontrovertible proof that time WAS going on but Hannah wasn't. As long as it stayed winter and we stayed where we were, somehow maybe time could freeze and we could go back and undo this.
This is getting into scary territory emotionally. I honestly don't know if I can function and process this at the same time. It's far easier to subdue it and get caught up in everything else. I think that's why I've resisted journaling so far and instead hang out on Sybermoms or other boards or reading incessantly or talking with friends. And yet I wish people would talk to me about her, or let me talk, and not get uncomfortable.
It's hard to talk to Jon about it because then we both get sad, and it's very frightening to have BOTH of us in a bad place -- that makes me panic.
There isn't much else I can say, right now.
Edited to add: Never mind, I'm battling early Alzheimer's or something. I checked the comments more closely and figured out who it was -- someone who really DOES know me. Freakout over.
Anyway, for a change, it's raining here. I really would be happy in a place like Seattle, where it rains all the time. I like a nice sunny day now and then; who doesn't? But most of the time, if it's sunny out, I have this feeling that I should be out there DOING something in it. Then once I get out there, it's too hot and I have to slather myself with sunscreen since I don't tan -- I burn and then freckle. Very attractive. Then if I'm driving somewhere the car gets like an oven after it's been parked in the sun. Waah waah waah, I know.
But right now is the closest to nirvana I can get during the day -- the house is fairly clean (as long as you don't look at the bathrooms too closely), it's raining just the right amount and suitably dark, Emily is napping, and I have some time to do whatever I want. It's too bad the computer is up in the smallest room of the house. One of these days we're going to have to go broadband, and get a nice laptop so I can do this while sitting through another episode of Dora or in the kitchen or something.
I am still having a rough-er time with Hannah's actual death. I know that sounds weird -- it happened over 18 months ago, after all. But what I mean is that on some level I do know that she died, but I don't think that I've really accepted that fact deep down in my soul somewhere. I try to think of it and my mind sort of skitters away from the whole thing.
As far as I know she died almost instantly, but of course, the operative word there is "almost". I'm guessing that between the impact of the truck hitting the back of our car and my slamming backwards and our heads colliding (which had to have knocked her out, if it didn't actually kill her), probably less than a second elapsed. My seat back collapsed onto her chest and crushed her heart, but from what I understand she would have been unconscious at that point anyway. I just wish I had some way to know beyond a doubt that she never knew anything or felt any pain.
The other thing that haunts me is that the EMT's got there very quickly (they used to hang out in a shopping center fairly close to the site), and so Emily and I were whisked off to the hospital almost immediately. From what Jon says, they did try to revive Hannah, but apparently she was dead when they got there. The thing that bothers me the most is that since she was dead, and there was no urgent need to remove her from the scene, that there had to have been some time where her body was still in the car seat in the crushed car, while they sorted things out. I do know they took her to the morgue at St. Joe's, while we were taken to U of M. I just wonder how long she was out there, before being taken out of the car and to the morgue. The thought of her being left in the car like that, even though there were people there who were trying to take care of the situation, is unbearable.
I think some of why this is coming up for me is because Emily is starting to ask and understand more about it, and also because in some way, if I know every single detail, have accounted for every single second and know all the details of Hannah's death and transportation to the morgue and so on, then somehow I have control over it. Like I've protected her somehow by at least knowing where she was at all times.
I just still can't believe she died. I don't know how in the world I can accept that or acknowledge it, because there HAS to be some way to undo this. And yet, the thing that hurts even more, is that if she somehow came back to us now, it would be a major readjustment -- and she'd be different. Two years older, taller, in a different stage of her life. And now she's missed things like our move, and Emily getting bigger and learning to talk and do things and heading off to preschool. The passage of time is taking Hannah farther away from us, and I hate that. I remember as spring came after the accident, that was horrifying, because that was incontrovertible proof that time WAS going on but Hannah wasn't. As long as it stayed winter and we stayed where we were, somehow maybe time could freeze and we could go back and undo this.
This is getting into scary territory emotionally. I honestly don't know if I can function and process this at the same time. It's far easier to subdue it and get caught up in everything else. I think that's why I've resisted journaling so far and instead hang out on Sybermoms or other boards or reading incessantly or talking with friends. And yet I wish people would talk to me about her, or let me talk, and not get uncomfortable.
It's hard to talk to Jon about it because then we both get sad, and it's very frightening to have BOTH of us in a bad place -- that makes me panic.
There isn't much else I can say, right now.
7.04.2005
Fireworks
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.
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.
7.03.2005
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
