DuBarry Pie

Escape to Winter

2012-01-17T07:29:00.000-08:00

I just spent a weekend in Montana with 2 of my BFF's. We rented a cabin on Seeley Lake, which was beautiful and dramatic in that wintery way. On our first morning, Brie convinced us that it was safe to ski across the lake (approximately 3 miles), and after carefully watching the snowmobiles and ice fishermen for signs of ice cracking beneath them, we decided to go for it. It's so hard to believe that people swim here in the summer!

Just a candid shot - not staged at all. We are standing on a lake, btw.

This is Brie's street. Named in her honor of course.

Love these girls and our matching coats!

I spent Friday night at Dana's house in Missoula, where I got to hang out with little Emmett. He is a TANK - he seriously would make 18-month-old Seamus look like a delicate flower. He is also hilarious and charming. He was trying to learn how to jump, and we watched him try desperately to get both feet off the floor at once (imagine a SUPER enthusiastic stomp). This was right after bath time, so he was also naked, which made it even funnier. Over and over he went across the living room and back, until he was completely out of breath and the adults were doubled over with laughter.

My favorite Emmett thing is that he likes to stick his finger in Dana and Jason's belly buttons. Several times I watched him cuddle up to Dana on the couch, and each time he gently pulled her shirt up and stuck his finger in there. If Jason sits on the other side of him, he double dips, one finger in each belly button. Apparently, while the girls were at the lake Jason spent a restless night with Emmett - he was not feeling well, and he slept all night with his finger in Jason's belly button.

So it was a great honor when I sat with Emmett on the couch showing him some Elmo songs on my iPad, and I felt a gentle tugging on my shirt. Pretty soon there was a soft warm hand on my belly, and before I knew it there was a tiny index finger boring into my belly button. SO sweet.

Unfortunately, I can't post pictures because without context, they do look slightly perverted - like a baby with a hand down my pants. I know Dana and Jason would not want that image floating around on the internet. But if you see me, ask me to show you the picture on my phone - it is quite hilarious!

Here's Dana and Emmett - he's taking a break from Belly Button diving.

Why?

2012-01-08T07:56:00.000-08:00

After a brief intermission, I'm continuing my exploration of Near Death Experiences. I'm reading a book written by Pim von Lommel, a cardiologist in the Netherlands who was inspired to study NDE's after hearing some of his patients' experiences. I'm probably violating some copyright laws here, but I want to share this account because I found it really beautiful and hopeful:

"In the distance I saw a light that I had never seen on earth. So pure, so intense, so perfect. I knew it was a being I had to go to. I don't know how this happened. I didn't have to think, I knew everything, I had no mobility problems anymore. I had no body anymore. This dead weight had gone... I passed through everything. At once, I realized: there's no time or space here. We're always in the present here. This gave me a great sense of peace. I felt it as I experienced the Light. It's the pinnacle of everything there is. Of energy, of love especially, of warmth, of beauty.

I was immersed in a feeling of total love. It was crystal clear to me why I'd had cancer. Why I had come into this world in the first place. What role each of my family members played in my life, where we all were within the grand scheme of things, and in general what life is all about. The clarity and insight I had in that state are simply indescribable. Words seem to diminish the experience - I was in a place where I understood that there's so much more than we can fathom in our three-dimensional world. I realized that this was a great gift and that I was always surrounded by loving spiritual beings of light.

The very same moment, in a split second, I gained access to a wealth of knowledge, a complete knowing and understanding. All knowledge. Universal knowledge. I understood the origins of the cosmos, how the universe works, and why people do what they do. Their positive actions, but also why they hurt one another, deliberately or not. Wars and natural disasters, everything has a purpose, a reason. It all makes sense. I understood the past, the present, and the future. I saw evolution. Everything and everyone evolves and develops together. I saw and understood - without any judgement - the connection, the coherence, the logical and sometimes major consequences of every single act. I mean at every level and down to the smallest detail... The way all kinds of mechanical, electrical, and electronic equipment, gadgets and engines work. Everything. I knew and understood al about mathematics, electronics, physics, DNA, atoms, quantum mechanics and quantum physics... I also saw where evolution is headed, what its ultimate goal is. I realized that this grand scheme not only includes me, but everything and everybody, every human being, every soul, every animal, every cell, the earth and every other planet, the universe, the cosmos, the Light. Everything is connected and everything is one. "I see!" I thought happily. "Now I get it. It's all so simple. So obvious. It all makes sense..." No, I wasn't allowed to bring back the knowledge itself. Why, I don't know.... Perhaps we're not supposed to have such universal knowledge in the here and now, in our physical form? Perhaps we're here to learn? Perhaps there's another reason?"

As someone who spends an inordinate amount of time asking "Why?" it is comforting to think that my questions may have answers.

Bushtits are Cute

2012-01-01T21:06:00.000-08:00

Today I was walking Mister and I came across a flock of the most adorable birds I have ever seen. I got home and turned to the trusty WhatBird website, and identified my feathered friend as a Bushtit. An unfortunate name, yes, but how stinkin' cute is this guy??

(I stole this photo off the internet, btw, lest anyone think that I suddenly developed some crazy photography skills)

Escape from Christmas 2011

2011-12-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

On the day after Thanksgiving, we felt about five seconds of relief for having made it through the holiday before the Christmas dread set in. Our neighbors were putting up Christmas lights, downtown was a mess of suburbanites and holiday-themed shopping bags, music everywhere, Santa everywhere, Christmas cards, emails, invitations to holiday parties, adorable Christmas pictures and anecdotes shared by our friends on Facebook and Twitter - it seemed like the world was uniting in the biggest ever Fuck You to me and Eric.

We started toying with the idea of a getaway - just for the long weekend, somewhere warm, not too far away, but the thought of planning a vacation was exhausting. So I started browsing vacation package deals on Alaska Airlines website, and came across a really good deal at an all-inclusive resort in Cabo San Lucas. This vacation is not our style at all, but the absolute ease of a weekend like this was so appealing that we decided to go for it. As I told Eric on our last night, "This is not us, but I'm not me right now."

Usually on vacation (as in real life) we expect to hit some rough patches. It can be worse on vacation because there is nothing to do but sit in it - together. Especially given the holiday and what would have been Seamus' third birthday, I fully expected to lose it at some point during the weekend. But it wasn't all that bad - in fact, I think it's fair to say that I felt less sad on Christmas than on an average day in normal life. (Surely the setting had something to do with that!)

On Christmas night, we stayed up late (for us) talking by the fire, drinking margaritas, and this may sound strange, but I feel like we got to know each other a little better. It is exhilarating when you have been with your partner for 10 years and you are still able to peel back another layer.

Anyway, here are some pictures. We only left the resort for about an hour - we ventured into town but it was just too hectic so we ditched our dinner plans and headed back to the resort, where everything was free and easy.

The view from our room.

Beautiful Christmas sunset. (Happy Birthday Seamus!)

Fireside margarita.

The beach was beautiful, but the ocean was too dangerous for swimming. I have to admit that I never understood the whole pool concept when you can lie on the beach and swim in the ocean. After lying by the pool for two whole days, I kind of get it now.

Now, if you invited us to a party or sent us a Christmas card or put up Christmas lights in our neighborhood please do not feel bad! When I take a long view, I am comforted by the fact that the world keeps right on spinning despite the bad place we were in this year. We had some brief moments of warmth and happiness that tell us that someday we'll be able to rejoin the celebration. But for now, I'm just glad it's over.

My reflections on atheism, Facebook, grief and karaoke

2011-12-20T08:36:00.001-08:00

“The only position that leaves me with no cognitivedissonance is atheism. It is not a creed. Death is certain, replacing both the siren-songof Paradise and the dread of Hell. Life on this earth, with all its mystery andbeauty and pain, is then to be lived far more intensely: we stumble and get up,we are sad, confident, insecure, feel loneliness and joy and love. There isnothing more; but I want nothing more.”

-Christopher Hitchens, RIP

Matt andYavonne came to Portland on Saturday – a night that (somewhat predictably)ended at the karaoke bar 3 blocks away from our new house, the four of us slowdancing with our arms wrapped around each other to an old, fat, possiblydevelopmentally-disabled man’s rendition of “I Can’t Help Falling in Love withYou” while drag queens and people in Santa outfits looked on (as if WE were thefreaks!)

The lasttime I sang karaoke was our wedding night. I have this awesome memory of beingin a dive bar in Red Lodge, standing on a stage in my wedding dress, singingAnnie’s Song (John Denver): “You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest”while Eric was next to me with his own microphone, softly whispering “Fill me.Fill me” over and over again in accompaniment. (Creepiest. Duet. Ever.)

Maybe itwas being with old friends; maybe it was the alcohol, or some combination ofthe two, but for a few hours on Saturday night I felt like the same person Iwas on my wedding night, as if the baggage of the last year wastemporarily lifted.

Later that evening, or more accurately very early the next morning, I went home and shared a photo of myself "going for it" (as my friend Martha would say) on Facebook (see below), because that's always a good idea at 1am. The next morning, not so much, but there is no taking it back now.

*****

When I was big and pregnant with Seamus, I was at work when an ex-employee came in with her toddler to visit. One of my coworkers told me that the woman's husband had died in a car accident when she was pregnant. The little ankle-biter by her side had never met his dad. I remember my heart seizing in grief for her - especially being pregnant, I just could not imagine anything worse. What I didn't think about at the time was how her tragedy had branded her. The horror of her situation made it hard for me not to stare and wonder how she got out of bed in the morning, let alone put on a cute outfit, smiled, and talked with old friends. The knowledge of what had happened to her family eclipsed everything else I might observe or learn about her.

I bring this up because I know that Eric and I have been similarly branded. This is not necessarily a bad thing - our community is incredibly caring and protective. We have an inner circle of friends like Matt and Yavonne, around whom we can be however we are in any moment. Over the course of Saturday afternoon and evening, we talked a lot about Seamus, the difficulties of this time of year, and some of the hurdles we have had to overcome lately. Yavonne is a NICU nurse and she's got some sad stories of her own. Matt is a city planner in Kent, Washington, and his stories are the saddest of all. (Just kidding, Matt) Of course, lighter topics were woven in - for instance, what are "armpit boobs" and did our waitress have them? The running joke of the night was John Kerry's wimpy "thumbs up" from the 2008 presidential campaign, which cost him the election in our estimation.

Outside our inner circle, things get a little more complicated. I know that when people see us, our tragedy is the first thing that comes to mind, whether it's our neighbors, coworkers or peripheral acquaintances. Sometimes, this feels wonderfully warm and safe. Recently, I ran into a friend of a friend who I like very much but don't know very well. I hadn't seen her since before the accident, and she gave me a hug that instantly melted all awkwardness. A year ago, that interaction would have unnerved me, so I was proud of myself for being able to receive her compassion without my "flight" instinct kicking in. Other times, I see people I know and either I or they turn and walk the other way. Sometimes there's an awkward conversation, and sometimes it's just easy.

It's amazing that even a year later, all of this still feels like uncharted territory for us. I think about that photo of me on Facebook and how jarring it must be to some people - there is the grieving mother, at a karaoke bar singing the shit out of some John Mellencamp song. How is that possible? Just like I couldn't believe the woman in our office was walking around talking to people after having lost her husband, it just doesn't compute. It doesn't seem like we should ever be able to smile or enjoy anything ever again. I wonder if people think that I am in denial, grieving incorrectly, lacking dignity, or maybe that I have developed a drinking problem. Or maybe all of the above.

We were talking about this awkwardness with our counselor lastnight, and she pointed out that having a good time can be a reallyprofound expression of grief. Our culture has a hard time with this concept, but it's so obvious now that I think about it. I amalways marveling at the way every emotion is more intense; every relationshiphas more depth, and so of course it follows that events that are celebratory orjoyful would be even more so. And what better way to honor your loved one thenby surrendering to the celebration, even if it's in a cheesy karaoke bar? (Seamuswas probably the only person in the world who liked my singing, after all.)

I never stop being amazed at how complex this process is. Weare raised to believe that grief = sad, but I can’t even begin to convey themillion ways my life is richer and, yes, better because of this experience. It’salso immeasurably worse – the depth of my sadness is debilitating at times. It’sall of these things at once, and there is simply no way to untangle it. At theend of the day, on my good days anyway, I try to soak it in – all of it, and itmakes me appreciate the magnificence of life.

I think that's why the quote from Christopher Hitchens resonated with me so much. I have spent a lot of time reading things by and about him over the last week since he died, and even though I amless and less an atheist these days, I cannot help but admire the way hisframework seems to leave room for the grieving mother at the karaoke bar.

(Edited to add: someone just asked me about Christopher Hitchens - I forget what a nerd I am. Here is a nice tribute page with links to a lot of his articles in Vanity Fair. His last three articles about fighting cancer are captivating. His take-down of Mother Theresa on Slate was delicious, as was his writing about the Catholic Church abuse scandal. His book God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything is one of my favorites. Now you have some light Christmas vacation reading. You're welcome.)

And now, some pictures of grief-stricken people:

Eric and Matt, singing the Golden Girls theme song, "Thank you for being a friend."

"Because I got to have faith a faith a faith a" (Yavonnea - stage name - in the style of George Michael)

John Kerry thumbs up

The infamous Facebook photo - that's called going for it.

Hygiene Advice

2011-12-11T15:00:00.001-08:00

So the first thing you need to know is that I went out to dinner with Dana and Brooke last night. It was really fun. I got home at about 9:30 and went straight to bed without washing my face. This information will come into play later.

The other thing you should know, for the purpose of understanding the story I'm about to tell, is that love songs sometimes make me think about Seamus and cry. I know this probably sounds kind of creepy, but I challenge you to listen to your favorite love song and put it in the context of the love you have for your child. I'm telling you, it applies. (If your favorite love song is "I'll Make Love to You by Boyz 2 Men or "Crash" by Dave Matthews, please perform this experiment with your second favorite love song.)

Anyway, for the past year I have listened almost exclusively to rap and and hip hop. But I'm getting better - last year at this time, anything with a melody would destroy me. Slowly, I'm finding my way back to my old favorites. This morning, I went for a long run and skipped over Kanye and Jay-Z on my ipod, in favor of Weezer.

So I'm about a mile into my run, and this song came on, which caused me to leak a few tears - but not so much that I had to stop running:

The song is called "Hold Me" and it goes, in part:

I was closer to you back then/I was happier/I was/You are fading further from me/Why don't you come home to me?

See? That's really really sad when you think about my situation.

So I have this song blasting in my ears, tears are clouding my vision, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere I am engulfed in a sea of running Santa Clauses. My course had intersected with the Holiday Half Marathon. This at a time when literally every decision I make is designed to avoid all things holiday. I was passed by a guy wearing white tights and red sequined leotard bottoms. Every single runner had a Santa hat on. The volunteers and spectators all had jingle bells. There were carolers. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry harder, so I just put my head down and kept going.

Finally, the song ended, my vision started to clear, and the infectious energy that is part and parcel of every road race started to get to me. "People are cheering for me!" "Gatorade? Don't mind if I do." "Sweet, there's an outhouse in the street!" (I did not feel the need to avail myself of the facilities, but it's always a comforting sight when you are out on a long run.)

Eventually, my course and the race course parted, and I went back to my own solitary route. But as I looped around to head back home on the Willamette Boulevard bluff, my route intersected with the race course again. This time I was running the opposite direction of the racers, so the million Santas were all coming toward me.

"Hey, you're going the wrong way." Ha ha. I was fully smiling now, cheering for the racers, those crazy fuckers. (Who signs up for a half marathon in December?). I was thanking the volunteers, giving the thumbs up sign to the police officers on traffic duty. Now the song on my ipod was "We Are All On Drugs" - much less of a tear jerker:

About a mile later, I parted ways with the half marathoners once again, and looped through some of the quieter streets in my neighborhood. I smiled and waved to a dad who was throwing a football with his 5-ish year old son. I was proud that I felt genuine affection for them, as opposed to jealous rage, which is more often the case. Progress. "It's going to be a good day," I thought.

Finally, I arrived home, did some stretching on my porch, and headed inside, where I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

To call them raccoon eyes would be an understatement. My eye makeup from the night before was smeared all around my eyes and halfway down my cheeks. I looked like a sporty version of Night of the Living Dead.

I always thought that my mom was trying to teach good hygiene when she told me to wash my face before going to bed. She never warned me about the Sunday-running/love-songs-that-make-you-think-of-your-dead-child/million-Santas-running-a-half-marathon effect of not washing your face.

At least I looked in the mirror before heading to the grocery store!

Rabble-rousing Update

2011-12-08T15:04:00.001-08:00

I have had great meetings with both my State Representative and my StateSenator in recent weeks. The purpose of my meetings was to gauge their interestin creating and/or supporting legislation enacting a Make Whole Doctrine inOregon. (For more background on this issue, click here.)

The good news is that my Representative, Tina Kotek, is willing to take upthe issue, create a workgroup which I will be a member of, and draft a bill tobe introduced in the 2013 legislative session. (There is a short session in2012, but we all agreed that it would be smart to wait until the full session,just to have time for research and organizing.) My Senator, Chip Shields iswilling to champion the bill in the Senate. Both have long histories of votingagainst insurance industry interests and in favor of consumer protections, so I’mconfident we are in good hands. I cannot believehow easy that part was.

Unfortunately, there is also not-so-good news. Shortly after my meeting with Senator Shields,I got a phone call from the Executive Director of the Oregon Trial Lawyers Association.She had read the email I sent to Senator Shields, and she was really excited tohave someone willing to put a human face on this issue. She also told me that herorganization has been trying to advocate for a Make Whole Doctrine for manyyears, and despite the fact that Oregon typically has a Democratic-controlledlegislature, their efforts have not gained traction because the insuranceindustry wields heavy influence on both sides of the aisle. In short, this isgoing to be an uphill battle.

That said, I am one thousand percent convinced that the public would be withme on this, so really we just need to figure out a way to reach people. Icannot imagine any Oregonian being OK with the fact that our auto insurance policiesare actually insuring someone else’s health insurer, as opposed to themselvesor accident victims. So I think it will be a matter of creating an effectivemedia strategy, organizing like-minded advocacy groups, and meetingindividually with lawmakers to get them to consider their position from theperspective of an accident victim/grieving parent. If that doesn’t change theirminds, then I will politely thank them for their time and then find out wherethey live. As I have told my friends many times, there is a reason someonethought of putting poop in a bag and lighting it on fire.

In other news, Eric and I are just trying to put one foot in front of theother this holiday season. It has been brutal; we are both very depressed; itseems there is no end in sight, but we both know that this level of miserycannot be sustained for long. The holidays have to end eventually. As always,our friends, family, counselors and reruns of 30 Rock are the only thingkeeping us from jumping off a bridge right now. We love all of you, even Alec Baldwin.

(and no – we are not seriously contemplating jumping off a bridge. I’venoticed that people get very concerned when I make jokes like that, so here isyour disclaimer)

Thanksgiving

2011-11-26T16:16:00.001-08:00

I've been seriously down in the dumps lately, trying to figure out a way to survive the next few months of in-your-face holiday cheer without hurting myself or some poor cashier who chooses the wrong moment to wish me a happy holiday. So it came as a surprise that I actually enjoyed Thanksgiving this year. I met some friends for coffee in the morning (the same friends I had spent happy hour with the evening before - a rare treat to see everyone two days in a row!), and when I was driving home I was genuinely surprised by the good mood I found myself in, and the way I was looking forward to having a house full of family, good food, football and adult beverages.

My friend Tamara started the "Red Cup" tradition on Thanksgiving morning - what a great way to start the day! Here we are posing with our red cups.

Later, we celebrated the holiday in true Tokarski style:

A huge, delicious meal, followed by a singalong which no doubt had our neighbors regretting the day we moved into their quiet neighborhood.

Who needs a karaoke machine when you can call up lyrics on your ipad?

Even the beards joined the fun! (Yes that's a hole in the wall behind Patty. Don't ask.)

Dancing was unavoidable. Sweet moves, you guys.

Also inevitable was the busting out of the beer bottle saxophone. Linda has been practicing all year for this.

Finally, as grand finale, I give you the sobering rendition of amazing grace, performed on voice bagpipes by Katie and Barry:

Turn up the Volume

2011-11-23T12:15:00.001-08:00

A few nights ago, my girlfriends and I had a mini-marathon of text messaging. It was late, but being the only one on the west coast I thought that I should stay up until the easterners went to bed. Plus, I was laughing hysterically (we were texting pictures of ourselves dancing). After awhile, I noticed that Dana wasn't responding, and a few minutes after that I received the following video in a text message from her:

I imagine her husband found her, having passed out mid-text, and decided to let me know why she wasn't responding. It reminded me of a night last February, when I had flown to Missoula to see Dana and Brie. I had forgotten my Ambien, which I desperately needed at that time, and it was a small crisis. Dana loaded me up on Tylenol PM and red wine, then crawled into bed and stayed with me until I fell asleep. It seems like such a small thing, but it is one of the sweetest memories I have from that time.

Now that I have this video, I can play it on a loop anytime I have trouble sleeping. I can have my BFF lure me to sleep with the sweet sound of her snores any night of the week! (Sorry, Eric)

Anniversary Week

2011-11-19T06:42:00.001-08:00

I was going to post about our weekend in San Francisco butfirst I want to say thank you to everyone who commented on the post below, aswell as to those who emailed, texted, sent cards, and spent time with us overthe last week. We have been feeling the love!

I expected the anniversary to be tough – I thought abest-case scenario was for the day(s) to come and go and be just like any otherhard day. What I did NOT expect, was forthe anniversary to be good - and it was, in many ways. The peoplein our lives are just so incredible, and the anniversary was just anotheropportunity to be reminded of that.

While I was somewhat surprised to hear from people we don't know, I donot think you are creepy or weird at all! It was actually quite heartwarming to read those comments. True, in the beginning I was freakedout when the Oregonian published a link to our blog – I had never intended itto be read by anyone outside of our family and friends, and at the time I did nothave the capacity to think through what that meant – were we at risk? Wouldpeople say hurtful things about us or Seamus? Could the media use our photos? Overtime, the purpose of the blog has evolved and I have come to understand that strangers who read are motivated by love and concern. The comments really reminded us that our entire community was affected byour tragedy and lots of people are grieving alongside us.

As for those of you who do know us, we loved reading yourmemories of Seamus. It reminded me of something my Uncle said at Seamus’memorial service – he talked about touching the forgotten corners of ourhearts. I had forgotten about how Seamus' sweet raspberry noises became more high pitched when he was tired, the PJ party at Rae's, and Seamus teaching my dad how to put shapes in the right holes in Colorado. I love hearing some of Seamus' greatest hits from other people's perspectives - his personality and spirit really came through in those comments, and I am sure that we will come back to this post over and over again when we need a little shot in the arm.

We had a great time in San Francisco! We stayed in a hotelnear Union Square, did a lot of shopping and walking around, went to CityLights Bookstore and a bar called Visuvio in the North Beach neighborhood (This is Jack Kerouac's old stomping ground), where above the door it says "We are itching to get away from Portland, Oregon," which we thought was pretty appropriate. We had greatfood and people watching, and we got to hang out with Ben in the evenings,which was so much fun.

This may be a highlight of the trip - notice the woman at the bar behind Ben. People were literally lining up to pose for pictures with her butt crack as she made out with some dude. It always amazes me that people are not able to feel that.

We came, we shopped, we conquered.

Ben took us to his workplace - the SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory at Stanford, which we needed all kinds of security clearance for. My understanding is that Ben shoots electrons around all day, something about X-Rays, enormous computers with lots of numbers and formulas, and as a result amazing scientific discoveries are made in everything from biology to engineering, physics and medicine!

If you don't wrap it in tin foil, the electrons will get stuck, you see.

We also got to hang out with Waiwai, Ben's adorable 3 year old daughter. We introduced her to ravioli and the fart app on our ipad, so it was a pretty good day for her too.

Just as the relief set in that we had survived the anniversary, we realized that we were about to get punched in the face again by the holidays. So I guess we're back to bracing ourselves. Luckily, my sisters Linda and Annie just got into town, along with Linda's husband Patty, so we have some company to help us through Thanksgiving. Hopefully the Jets will win a game at some point during the holidays - that would also help.

Thank you and a Favor

2011-11-07T07:59:00.000-08:00

Well, anniversary week is here. We had a hard time deciding which day to dread the most - Seamus officially died on November 9, but the accident happened on November 8, which was a Monday. I kind of feel like the anniversary is today because it's Monday, but I only planned for Tuesday and Wednesday to be awful. I guess the best we can do is just buckle down and brace ourselves for a doozy of a week.

We've enlisted our army for support - we have lots of plans with family and friends this week, lunches, dinners, counseling, massage, yoga, and we'll be lighting our Seamus candle in the evenings. (My friend Megan gave us a candle holder with a picture of the moon on it - thank you again, Megan!) My girls from 619 West Harrison have made sure we are stocked up in treats, warm socks, whoopie cushions, and profane pictures of jack-o-lanterns. On Thursday, we're flying to San Fransisco for the weekend. We're going to hang out in the city for a few days and then head over to Palo Alto to see Ben and his daughter.

I want to thank everyone who reads this blog - it has been such huge source of release and comfort to me and Eric both over the last year. I have often told people that I would never read a blog like this - it's too sad! But we have close to 2,000 page views each month, which goes to show you that there are a lot of people out there who are stronger than I am. Thank you for reading and thank you for caring about us.

If you are looking for ways to help, I have one request. I'd like to leave this post up for week or so and invite people to share memories and thoughts about Seamus in the comments. Share your stories (even if we've heard them before) and words of encouragement. I think this would be a great source of comfort to me and Eric as well as to our family who is reading. Many people have only gotten to know Seamus through the blog - all are welcome.

(Tech Support note for the old people: to leave a comment, click on "comments" at the bottom of this post, and write your comment in the box on the next page. If you don't want to or don't know how to sign in, choose "anonymous" and then click "Publish Your Comment." If my mom can figure it out - you can too :)

Maybe

2011-11-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself searching out the Metaphysics section at Powell’sbookstore. I pulled my hat down low over my eyes, and stepped over the middleaged women who were parked in the Channelingsection, which was right in between Reincarnationand Astrology. "I can't believe it has come to this," I thought.

This moment was inevitable because on some level, I remain unwilling to accept the truth that Seamus no longer exists. I knew that in mydesperate search for answers, I would eventually bottom out and resort to junk science onthe “afterlife” as a way to soothe myself. I would read some things that would fill mewith hope, and then eventually I’d make my way over to Google, which would gutme by presenting scientific explanations for the otherworldly experiences I hadread about. Then I’d feel stupid and ashamed on top of realizing, yet again,that Seamus is gone. Just gone.

As exhausting and demoralizing as this loop can be, I find that in order tofeel better I need to keep searching - I need to be able to say “maybe” once inawhile to keep from going insane. At the end of most days, I’m still an atheist-leaning agnostic, but thecumulative effect of all of my searching has kept that door from closing completely. The tiny glimpses of hope are really worth it.

Anyway, back to Powell’s. This is the embarrassing part. I was looking for a book on NearDeath Experiences (NDE’s). My interest in this topic began in the early daysafter the accident, when I was talking to one of Seamus’ surgeons on the phone.I had been trying to get a sense of what exactly happened to Seamus – what hisexperience of the accident (and dying) had been. Toward the end of theconversation, the doctor told me about some research on near death experiences– that across cultures and ages, there are reports of people who have died andbeen revived or nearly died, who leave their body and watch the frantic sceneunfolding below them, confused as to why everyone is so upset. “But I’m OK,”they want to tell their loved ones.

It seemed odd at the time - our conversation was definitely one of the lowest points in this journey. It was where I learned that there had been two impacts for Seamus in the accident - the first with the car and the second with the telephone pole. No one was sure which impact had caused the head trauma, which raised the terrifying prospect that there were 10-15 seconds where Seamus was aware of what was going on. (I am still wrestling with that one.) The doctor was telling me about the science of brain trauma, what research suggested about children who experience it, and then suddenly he's talking about out of body experiences? Had this come from anyone else, I would have filed it under "crazy." Because it came from a doctor, I filed it under "probably crazy, but worth investigating."

In the Metaphysics aisle, the Near Death Experiences subsection contained a lot of really stupid looking books. My cheeks were literally burning with embarrassment. I selected a book thathad the word “science” in the title and was written by an M.D., and quickly gotout of there. I met up with Eric, who looked at me funny because I wasclutching the small paperback to my chest. “I’m embarrassed to show you whatI’m getting.” He said “Me too.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Hee hee.

His was a 400 page book called “Five Centuries of FamousShips.” I pretended to nod off while reading the title. “Oh that’s nothing,” Isaid, and showed him my book:

To my great relief, Eric said, “I might like to read that,too.”

That night, while Eric was cooking dinner, I poured myself abig glass of wine and started reading. The tears were flowing at such a rate that I had to keep drinking wineso as to not get dehydrated. I allowed myself to indulge in some of my deepestfantasies about being reunited with Seamus. There are many, many stories ofpeople seeing their deceased loved ones during NDE’s. The experiences are overwhelmingly positive and hopeful. The topic has been explored in leading medical journals, and from what I've read so far (including googled sources), science is pretty much at a loss to explain this phenomenon. No one can explain how a person without consciousness can have a lucid experience, which is usually retold in vivid detail. It's really fascinating.

It made me recall an episode of Radiolab that I heard a few months ago. Apparently, subjecting a pilot to extreme gravitational force can cause an out-of-body experience. The pilot's consciousness literally becomes detached from the body. They interviewed a neurologist, whose explanation was that the brain was "just confused" because it had lost the body - not very satisfying explanation for how a person's vision can observe oneself from behind, or above, or from outside the cockpit of an airplane one is flying.

Is it possible that a person's consciousness can survive bodily death? For the first time ever, I'm entertaining the idea. It is likely that I will come crashing down at any second, but I'm going to ride this hope for as long as I can. I got a little shot in the arm last weekend when I read a eulogy for Steve Jobs given by his sister. Her description of Jobs' last conscious moments, and his last words in particular, gave me chills.

"Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.

Steve’s final words were:

OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW."

For me, right now, all of these things keep me saying “maybe.”

True Story

2011-10-31T13:37:00.000-07:00

I knew that jury duty on Halloween had the potential to be interesting. The woman who called my name was dressed in green felt from head to toe. She was wearing a red pail around her waist and a giant pink flower on her head.

I got up to the courtroom and learned that the jury I was chosen for would be hearing a civil suit brought against a driver by a father whose daughter was killed in a crosswalk exactly two years ago today. I am not kidding.

Potential jurors were asked to introduce themselves and answer a series of questions, after which the judge inquired as to whether we had any concerns about serving on this jury - the trial would likely last a few weeks. I had to tell a crowded courtroom that my son was killed in a similar accident less than a year ago and I did not think I was able to handle serving on this particular jury. I was dismissed.

On the way out of the courtroom, I made eye contact with the father. I wish I could have said "good luck" but my heart was pounding so hard I was worried about passing out. I hope he finds some peace in the outcome of his trial. It made me very thankful for the relatively small amount of time we spent in a courtroom.

Here is a link to a news story about the accident, in case you think I'm making this up.

Follow-up on Evil Insurance

2011-10-27T16:52:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote to my state legislative representatives to see about thepossibility of enacting a “make whole” doctrine in Oregon. Both of them gotback to me right away, and I've got meetings scheduled with my state senatorand my state representative in the coming weeks. I'm heartened by theirresponsiveness, but trying to keep my optimism in check due to the realities ofinsurance companies being evil and powerful.

I also wanted to circle back on this issue so that I can explain why we werespared the worst of what our system can do to people. Basically it boils downto having a really good attorney and a really sad story. We were introduced toour attorney by a friend of ours whose family endured a similar tragedy tenyears ago. He not only offered to take our case (amazing considering that mostof his cases have millions of dollars at stake), but he wanted to work forfree.

Somehow, he was able to negotiate the amount of money we owed to our healthand auto insurance companies, as well as our medical bills that were notcovered by insurance, from around $200,000 to just over $15,000. I am prettysure that the media interest in our story was a factor that had our insurers runningscared. As a result, Eric and I were able to collect most of the bodily injurysettlements from the driver's auto insurance policy. We’re not set for life byany stretch of the imagination, but we do have a small measure of financialsecurity that we didn’t have before the accident and that has provided some consolation.

More importantly, had Seamus lived, these settlements would have provided a bridgeto figure out how our family would rebuild around his limitations. We wouldhave been able to work part time for awhile, maybe add a wheelchair ramp to ourhome, pay for his therapy and whatever else he would have needed. There are somany worst-case scenarios that could have played out, and we are always mindfulof this and forever grateful to our attorney and our friends who introduced us.

A few months after our accident, there was a collision just south of Salem.A young mother died in the accident, and her son was injured. I don't rememberthe exact facts of the story, but I remember that they had Hispanic soundinglast names, and the car they were driving was an older model. They interviewedthe husband/father, who spoke with a thick accent. One could reasonably assumethey were immigrants without much in the way of resources or connections. Iwanted to reach out to the family to warn them about the vultures that wereabout to descend on them, but my own emotions were still so raw that I knew Iwould definitely come off as a crazy lady. And besides that, what could I do other than warn them? I could not protect them. That was when it occurred to methat there may be a different way for me to help.

I don’t have any delusions of Erin Brockovich-esque grandeur. (My boobs aretoo small anyway). Frankly, I need to be careful about how much energy I investin this because of how fragile my emotional state is lately. The smallestrejection could reduce me to a puddle of tears. But I can write letters and Ican have meetings. If my efforts gain traction I may talk to the media. If not,I’ll retreat into my black hole of depression and be secretly relieved that Idon’t have to expend any more effort. We’ll see what happens.

I’m compelled to do something because of the fact that we have benefitedenormously from things that that should not matter in a tragic situation –being white, educated, middle class. This helped us deal with the police, ithelped us in the hospital and it helped us through the insurance stuff too. Iremember talking to the hospital social worker, who said that the reason ourcase affected so many of the doctors was because they looked at us and sawthemselves. Some of my most vivid hospital memories are of doctors going topieces as it became clear that Seamus was not going to make it – the words didn’tregister but seeing a surgeon break down sobbing told me that this was reallyreally bad.

As grateful as I am for the compassion we were shown on all fronts, it raisesuncomfortable questions about how this situation would have played out had thecircumstances been different. Auto accidents happen every day that do not involveadorable children in expensive strollers – these stories do not typically make itinto the newspapers. Lives and livelihoods are destroyed in an instant and theprotections we think we have in place are meaningless.

So, that’s where I’m at right now with EvilInsurance. Writing letters, having meetings, trying not to cry in front ofimportant people – it’s pretty much all I can handle. The movie version willfeature a puffy-faced Julia Roberts in fleece and clogs drinking tea and cryingin front of a computer screen. In the background, Daniel Day Lewis will becooking up some tater tots to cheer up Julia Roberts, a cat will be puking on anew rug and a small black pug will be furiously licking his private parts. Powerfulstuff.

Last year at this time...

2011-10-16T10:49:00.000-07:00

As we approach the one year anniversary, it's hard not to think about what we were doing last year at this time. Seamus and I had just discovered swimming, and on Saturdays we had been making the rounds of the local community center pools. I don't know if Portland is unique or if I just grew up deprived of the indoor pool experience, but the pools here are awesome - especially for kids. There are water slides, wading pools with toys and these long windy channels that have a current - perfect for me since I suck at swimming.

There was no slide that was too big or too scary for Seamus. I remember the first one we went down together, I had him in my lap and I was truly fearful that his head would go under water at the end and scare him. We plunged into the pool - I held on tight to him. I was somewhat stunned - my head had gone under; I had water up my nose, but when I came up and saw his face, he had the biggest smile I had ever seen. He could barely contain himself when we got out of the pool, and before I could object he was headed right back up the stairs to go down the slide again.

There were also mini toddler slides, which he could more or less climb up and go down himself, not that I didn't hover. It was fascinating to watch the beginning of social skills emerge. At first, he didn't understand waiting his turn, and when he got to the bottom of the slide he would just sit in the water, or else turn around and try to climb up the slide instead of getting out of the way for the next kid. If the kid in front of him was going too slow, his instinct was to muscle past them. There was a delicate dance with other parents as I was trying to teach Seamus not to be a bully and other parents were teaching their kids to stand up for themselves. We were all learning.

While we were swimming, Eric was home working on our kitchen remodel, trying to get everything done by Thanksgiving, when all of my siblings and their significant others would be with us. I had even rented a karaoke machine for the occasion. I just loved the idea of Seamus being with us for what would have surely been a memorable evening. He would have loved Thanksgiving dinner, seeing his aunts and uncles, eating pie, staying up late. I'm not sure how he would have felt about us singing Billy Joel songs into the wee hours, but that is something he would have to get used to one way or another.

What makes me the saddest is thinking about this little happy family who is going about their days with no idea of what is about to happen to them. That one year later these parents would be without their son and their lives would be unrecognizable in so many ways. Thinking about where we were one year ago was excruciating even in the early days after the accident, but now that the leaves are turning, the rain is back, and Halloween decorations are appearing, it is downright torture.

That said, I know that getting through this milestone will be a huge relief. Finally, I will be able to look back to one year ago and say that I am doing better now than I was then. But it also means that our days with Seamus will be farther and farther away, and part of me wants to hang onto that sadness because it is where my connection to him feels the strongest. I worry about the five, ten, twenty year anniversaries and beyond, and how far away he will feel from us at those points.

I am comforted by the fact that I can still recall exactly what it felt like to hold him, run my hand through his curls, wrestle him in and out of his car seat, put on his socks and shoes. I remember his enthusiastic kisses and hugs that had a running start. I always thought of memories as being pictures in your minds eye, but when it comes to Seamus my best memories are more physical in nature - almost as if they are stored in my cells. His face and the sound of his voice sometimes fades, but the memories of what he felt like and how he smelled are as vivid as ever. I'm hoping they stay that way, and in the years to come I will still be able to close my eyes and feel him with me.

More on Uncle Steve

2011-10-12T14:06:00.000-07:00

I found this taped to my Uncle Steve's bathroom mirror:

My Uncle was brilliant and thoughtful and humble - atrue spiritual leader who struggled mightily with doubt, fear and anger abouthis illness and mortality. Toward the end, we bonded over this fact as Iconfided in him some of my own spiritual journey since losing Seamus. Heinsisted that we are more alike than we are different, especially as westruggled with some of the “big questions.” He was always more interested inasking questions than providing answers. Last weekend, we heard from so manypeople whose lives had been changed by the wisdom and guidance he providedthem. There was a recurring narrative: people would come to Steve with theirproblems, and he would encourage them to look within themselves for solutions.The only instruction he would provide was “Make a good decision.” I love that.

It’s hard to reconcile all of this with mydeep-seeded loathing of the Catholic Church. The leadership of thisorganization is corrupt, patriarchal, bigoted, misogynistic, and too entrenched in old waysof thinking to be even remotely relevant. Every time the abuse scandal grows, Ihave to fight my urge to run to the nearest mass and scream at every single personwho walks through the door “What the fuck is the matter with you????”

Last year, church leaders in Texas excommunicated ahospital administrator who was also a nun. She had approved a first trimesterabortion that saved the life of a mother of four children. Meanwhile, childrapists don’t even lose their jobs, let alone get excommunicated. I guess that’swhat happens when you refuse women and parents the right to hold leadershippositions in your organization. What a bunch of ignorant miserable irrelevant shitheads.Yes that’s right – I just called the Pope a shithead. And I’ll do it again.

OK, I’ll simmer down. After all, this is a post about my Uncle – a gentlespirit if there ever was one. (He was also a reader of this blog, so he might notbe too surprised at my rant.) The service was divided into two pieces: Thursdayevening there was a vigil, which was led by a priest but was mostly comprisedof family, friends and parishioners sharing stories and thoughts about “Uncle FatherSteve,” as my sister Linda refers to him. The next day was the funeral mass,wherein approximately 25 priests (including the Bishop, who is probably a shithead, but I can't say for sure) led about 1000 people throughthe ritual of the mass – sit stand kneel chant kneel stand sit stand kneel …and on and on for about 2 hours. During the eulogy, Father Houlihan talkedabout my Uncle’s distaste for the ultra-conservative direction the Church hasbeen headed since Shithead Pope Ratzinger was appointed. Typically, there’s nocheering allowed in church, but we were tempted.

Later, there were receptions, hugs, tears, wonderful moments of reconnectingwith old friends and getting to know some of the amazing and kind people myUncle worked with at his parish. I learned a lot about my dad, and what it waslike to live in the shadow of his older brother Steve, who was preternaturally kind,generous, brilliant and humble from the moment of his birth. There were alsosome downright creepy moments.

One woman told me that Seamus had come to her in a dream and revealed thatthe purpose of his death was to have someone in heaven to welcome Uncle Stevewhen he got there. Really? Couldn’t my grandpa, Uncle Joe or Uncle Tom havehandled that job? They needed a 2 year old? If that’s the way God operates,then fuck God. Seriously.

During the procession, the family was walking into the church behind myUncle’s casket when one of the gaggle of priests grabbed my arm and asked “Are you themother of the baby who got run over?” I could not reply, I just looked at himwith my mouth hanging open while he expressed his condolences. I shudder to thinkof him leading a congregation.

One old lady grabbed both of my hands, looked into my eyes and crieduncontrollably. This always makes me feel like I have to be the consoler – it’sjust not right. I could have done without that.

Anyway, I’m going to keep this poem close to me to reassure myself that my Uncle’swisdom and grace were well-used during his time on this earth. After all, whatother career option does a person with his gifts have? He needed to be in aposition to make the most difference, and he did.

As soon as I got back, I made sure to reread this column by Nicholas Kristoff to further remind myself thatthe Church isn't all about patriarchy, heirarchy and tired rituals. Certainly, my Uncle was part of what Kristoff calls "The Other CatholicChurch:"

"Ordinary lepers, prostitutes and slum-dwellers may never see acardinal, but they daily encounter a truly noble Catholic Church in the form ofpriests, nuns and lay workers toiling to make a difference."

That was my Uncle - definitely not a shithead.

Uncle Steve

2011-10-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

Many of you will remember my Uncle Steve, who presided at Seamus' memorial service last November. He was admitted to the hospital Sunday night with what they suspect was an infection that perforated his intestines. He was too weak for surgery, and so we had to let him go. He passed away peacefully this morning surrounded by family and friends. Even though he had been sick for some time, this came as quite a shock as we were all hopeful that his treatment would buy him another couple of years at least.

I'll have more to say about this amazing man in the days to come, but for now please keep our family (especially my dad) in your thoughts and prayers. It's going to be a rough couple of days.

Return of Black Bastard*

2011-10-03T07:56:00.000-07:00

After staying with my brother in Astoria for most of the last two years, Mister has returned to us in all of his snorting, stinking, annoying pug glory. Stephen recently moved to Portland to attend graduate school (yay!), but he went and got a place to live that doesn't allow dogs (boo!), so Eric and I are stuck with Black Bastard.*

In truth, we have been pleasantly surprised by how much Mister has calmed down since he last lived with us. It was at least 48 hours before I experienced that old familiar murderous rage toward him. Stephen and I were trying to watch the Jets game yesterday, and we had both forgotten how Mister completely loses his shit when there is football on. He goes crazy barking and whining whenever he senses the slightest bit of tension in the room. Thankfully, Eric figured out the perfect solution, which was to chase him upstairs with a big empty cardboard box, then set the box at the bottom of the stairs. We didn't hear a peep from him until the end of the game when we removed the big scary box and he came slinking downstairs, tail between his legs.

*Lest anyone think our nickname for Mister is somehow racist, I should point out that Black Bastard is a derogatory term for members of the Northern Ireland police force and their sympathizers. As a person of Irish heritage who opposes British rule in Northern Ireland, I use the term without apology.

Happy Birthday Aunt Eileen!

2011-09-26T06:29:00.000-07:00

My fabulous Aunt Eileen is turning 60 today! My mom and aunts threw her a surprise party last weekend in New York, and unfortunately neither I nor my siblings were able to make the trip. (I heard she was VERY surprised.) To make up for this, I decided to borrow an idea from my friend Weather and make a blog tribute post to celebrate this milestone. We love you Aunt Eileen! Hope you have a great day!

Eric and I put on matching outfits for the occasion.

Annie, Linda and Patty busted out the party hats!

Stephen sent birthday wishes from Guatemala.

Katie and her furry friends are knocking back some wine to celebrate.

Apparently, my mom used to call Aunt Eileen "Eyeballs" when they were kids, so she used her tremendous artistic skills (it runs in the family) to make a poster...with eyeballs.

These are my handsome cousins John and Tommy, joining in the fun from New York.

And my gorgeous cousin Caitlin, also from New York.

My soccer star cousin Molly from Kansas City (She's at the Women's National Team game vs. Canada)

I have no idea who this is.

After the party, everyone drove to Boston to participate in the Jimmy Fund Walk - a 13 mile walk that raises money for cancer research. They were walking in honor of my Aunt Colleen, who passed away in 2004. I forget the exact total, but my mom told me they raised more than $3,000 between them! Pictured above are Colleen's daughters Kerry, Erin and Caitlin, birthday girl Aunt Eileen and Aunt Bonnie.

Love these hats!

Happy Birthday Aunt Eileen!

Sad Family

2011-09-25T07:52:00.000-07:00

We got back from Montana yesterday morning. It was an intense couple of days - we buried our uncle Tom, went to visit my grandmother who is deep in Alzheimer's, and spent time with our Uncle Steve who had just returned from Texas, where he is receiving radiation treatment for his own cancer. I was approached by many of my Uncles' friends and church parishoners who wanted to let me know that they had been grieving for us and Seamus as well. I truly appreciate the kind thoughts and prayers being extended my way, but these encounters left me completely drained of energy and emotion.

There is one comment that has stuck in my craw, and to be honest I don't even remember who said it. I know it was not meant to upset me; it was just one of those clumsy things that comes out of people's mouths when they are uncomfortable. Someone said to me, "You are such a sad family."

I wish I would have showed her these pictures I took on my Blackberry on Wednesday night after we flew into Bozeman. True, we shed a fair amount of tears these past few days, but we also shared a lot of laughs, as you can see. We are a great big sad, happy family.

RIP Uncle Tom

2011-09-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

My Uncle Tom passed away last Saturday after a 2-year battle with leukemia. I did not know him well, but I am looking forward to flying to Montana tomorrow to be with my family and learn more about him through the stories that will be shared by my dad, uncle and his friends in Livingston. I won't share this at the service, but one of the strongest memories I have of Uncle Tom was the way he would sit with his legs crossed and literally double wrap one leg around the other (picture his left leg crossed over his right, and his left foot tucked behind his right calf). The only other people I have seen do that are yoga teachers! My brother does a spot-on impression of Uncle Tom, who was uncomfortable around children but did his best to chat with us at family get-togethers when we were growing up. (My brother's impressions are almost always endearments - he probably has one for each of us.) I'm sure Uncle Tom must have felt like a tornado was ripping through the house whenever the Tokarski children showed up.

My dad was with Uncle Tom at the end, and he shared the following via email with the rest of the family after he died. (I have his permission to publish it here):

==================

When he last had consciousness, that is, when I know that he was in touch with us, his face was angelic, his eyes wide, like a child's. Leukemia had devastated him, racked his body, making his lean frame even more so. For over a year he had suffered a deluge of chemotherapy and infections, iv's and countless hours in that hospital bed. He slipped away yesterday.

People say he "fought" courageously. I guess we have to frame these things like battles, but when cancer attacks, we don't fight it. We endure it, and only hope we can survive iras unrelenting attack. It's not courage at all. It is just a desire to be alive. What choice is there? He wanted life. When it became clear that the disease would not let him go, he resigned, retreated inside himself. I talked to him, prayed. His was a deeply religious existence, so I honored him with readings from his tattered bible. (That is a shopworn expression, but in his case, that is indeed the case.)

Two months ago we were of the opinion that he had indeed survived the leukemia, and that he was in remission. Then it hit him again. It had never retreated, and his new cells were not good cells. A new type of chemo was in order, and when that failed, he had two choices: Accept, or fight just a bit longer. He accepted.

It was just the two of us - Fr. Steve had been with him throughout, but was on a trip he could not get out of, and so we stayed in phone touch. Since Dad and Joe and Seamus are gone, and Mom is deep in Alzheimer's and out of touch, I like to think they are all together now. It is comforting for me to think that way.

Our newly departed brother? An excellent man, an innocent man, a truly good man, kind, thoughtful, caring and true to his faith. We say things like that when people die, of course, but we all know that in his case the words are true. He really was all of these things.

He was in business, and the business world is much colder and harsher than he could manage. I repeatedly told him that he needed to seal his deals with contracts so that he would not be last in line if they went belly-up, or so he could at least have a piece of paper to pursue them with. "We don't always get paid," he said. End of conversation. He would not trouble himself about such matters. He acted in good faith, and did not lose sleep over those who did not.

Thomas George Tokarski was a truly kind man, not phony, not showy, not interested in any kind of special attention.

We will miss you Tom, and say hi to Dad and Joe and Seamus and all the others. Today I choose to believe you are still with us and that you are all together.

Super Eight

2011-09-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

Eric and I just returned from a week in British Columbia, where we went to celebrate our eighth wedding anniversary. Most "celebrations" still feel really wrong, but not this one. Our eighth year of marriage included the best two months of our lives, followed by the most horrible ten months imaginable. I think we are starting to realize that we made it through the worst with our relationship intact. So we allowed ourselves some celebration; we talked a lot about Seamus (remembering feels better every day) and continued to marvel at our marriage's capacity to absorb this shock.

After a fun night out on the town in Vancouver Saturday night, we spent three days on the Sunshine Coast. We had two full days of kayaking, great food, many hours of quality sleep, and lots of time relaxing on the deck overlooking the marina. It was so peaceful and so relaxing to be on the water - we're seriously considering buying ourselves a couple of kayaks.

It was the first time we rented separate boats - in the past we have always ridden tandem. I did not realize what hard work it was to paddle and steer those things! Eric did not realize how easy it was to paddle and steer without a clumsy and uncoordinated passenger. (This also explains why Eric is about a mile ahead of me in the photo above.)

We saw lots of harbor seals, which was pretty thrilling for us landlubber nature nerds. They are adorable and very curious little creatures.

For the second half of the week we headed inland to a town called Pemberton. We stayed at this awesome little bed and breakfast, which more accurately could have been called a "bed and breakfast and dinner." At night the owners lease the common area to a couple of local chefs who prepare these amazing meals, complete with wine pairings and deserts. Everything is local, seasonal, fresh, organic, etc. and it's prepared right in front of your eyes in the farmhouse kitchen for only a handful of people. It was one of those meals that you hope will never end - the perfect end to a day of grueling back country hiking.

Anxiously awaiting breakfast in the dining room of the B&B, which overlooks a vineyard, meadow and majestic Mount Currie.

This was the view from Upper Joffre Lake, which is fed by Joffre glacier and required many kilometers and several metres climb over glacial boulder fields to get to. Not sure exactly how far or how high we hiked, but we were both feeling our age and contemplating trekking poles by the end of the day.

We seriously tried this self-portrait about 20 times and this was the best we could do. I was wearing lipstick and everything! Oh well, maybe the next time I put on lipstick and dangly earrings (like in 5 years) we can try again without chopping off the top of Eric's head.

Second day of hiking in Whistler. We cheated and rode the gondola up 7000 feet, thinking we would have an easier day. Turns out there are more mountains on top of the mountain. Despite our screaming knees, it was worth every ache and pain. As you can see,the views were stunning.

Taking in the panoramic mountain views.

Alpine meadows - so beautiful!

This Tom Robbins quote, which was read at our wedding, seems even more appropriate today. To find such beautiful sentiment expressed in a bulleted list is especially satisfying to me:

"The bottom line is that

people are never perfect, but love can be,
that is the one and only way that the mediocre and vile can be transformed, and
doing that makes it that.

We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love."

(For more pictures, click here.)

Road Food

2011-09-07T11:46:00.001-07:00

Eric went to the grocery store this morning to get some lunch for our drive from Gibsons to Pemberton today. He came back with a large chunk of Brie, some bread and cranberries. I've never thought of brie as the kind of food you eat "on the go," but after enjoying this delicious snack I think his idea could put McDonald's out of business!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Oh, Canada

2011-09-05T07:08:00.001-07:00

Eric and I are spending out anniversary week in beautiful British Columbia. This is the scene we woke up to in Gibsons on the Sunshine Coast this morning. We're headed out to do some kayaking today - hoping to see some wildlife!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

When the Dam Breaks

2011-09-03T11:47:00.000-07:00

For thepast couple of months, I’ve been doing a lot of work on my stress, anxiety andsleep issues. I’m seeing a naturopath, and she’s helped me make some changes inmy diet and exercise habits that have helped me feel much much betterphysically. I’ve also been busy with the house and lots of deadlines at work,and so I made a semi-conscious decision to back away from my grief forawhile – to focus on feeling better.

Inotice, in retrospect, that a couple of concurrent themes emerged during mybreak. One was that I started to feel like my spiritual journey was settling – logicwas winning, and I was starting to suspect that I will come out of this anatheist after all. The other thing I noticed is that shutting out bad feelingsdidn’t mean that good ones would necessarily surface. It’s kind of anall-or-nothing deal.

Ofcourse, not tending to our emotions doesn’t make them go away. Sometimes thedam just breaks, and there’s not much we can do to stop it. For me, it happenedlast Sunday while I was out for a run with my friend Brooke. Two miles in and Ijust broke down sobbing – it was like all of the pent up emotions from my griefhiatus came flowing out all at once.

But itwasn’t just the horrible feelings that came rushing out. It was this incrediblypowerful mixture of emotion - both good and bad. As hard as it was to letgo, (I fought the sob until it was halfway up my throat and closing my airway) therewas an immediate, overwhelming feeling of gratitude that Brooke was there for mewhen I lost it. She wrapped her sweaty arms around my sweaty shoulders, andwalked with me as I cried and released all of my frustration andsadness. It was a beautiful, poignant moment ina friendship that I treasure.

I slogged my waythrough a million tears over the course of about three days, and I eventuallynoticed that I was feeling better, even hopeful. I was so appreciative of Eric, my friends, our counselors, and all of the other supports that have helped us through this experience. After months of dreamless sleep, I finally dreamt about Seamus again.

The lesson for me, is that rough patches suck, but they also foster growth, and hope and all kinds of good things. As we approach the 10 month anniversary of Seamus' death, the pain is just as potent, but so is the gratitude and love.

Evil Insurance (Part 6): Subrogation

2011-08-30T14:18:00.000-07:00

Try to bear with me thoughthe complicated beginning of this post, because the end contains the thing thatis, for me, the biggest outrage and the most important lesson in all of thisinsurance crap.

Auto insurance is regulatedat the state level, so laws vary depending on where you live. That said, moststates have laws similar to what I’m about to describe. Oregon law mandates that all drivers carryauto insurance that includes the following:

Personal Injury Protection (PIP) covers medical expenses and loss of earnings for all parties involved in an accident. In Oregon, the minimum coverage amount is $15,000 per person.
Bodily Injury covers medical expenses, lost wages, and pain and suffering you cause in an automobile accident. In Oregon, the minimum coverage amount is $25,000 per person and $50,000 per accident.

Ijust want you to think about those minimum levels in the context of an elderlydriver plowing through a crowded crosswalk, or any serious accident for thatmatter. Insurance companies would have you believe that the minimum levels areset so low because they want to keep premium costs down for their customers. Butthe uptick for them is that they never have to fully compensate victims forcatastrophic losses.

Naively, I assumed that thingswould break down like so:

Seamus and Eric’s healthinsurance would cover the bulk of the medical expenses, which ended up beingaround $180,000. Our out-of-pocket medical expenses would be covered by thedriver’s PIP. Eric and Seamus’ estate(that’s me and Eric) both would receive Bodily Injury settlements as “pain andsuffering” compensation – this would be our starting over money.

Here’s how it works inreality:

Our auto insurance PIP paid for the first$30,000 of Eric and Seamus’ care. After the PIP was exhausted, our healthinsurance did indeed kick in. A few weeks after the accident, though, we receiveda scary letter in the mail letting us know that we had a lien against us formedical care provided to Seamus. We soon learned that our auto insurance andour health insurance were legally entitled to reimbursement for their accident-related expenses out ofour Bodily Injury settlement. It’s a nasty little thing called subrogation.

As Oregon law sees it, the health insurer is avictim in the accident just like we were. So much so that they deservecompensation for their losses before the actual person who was hit by the car.When a large settlement is at stake, here is the order of priority for who getspaid:

The victim’s lawyer typically is entitled to 30-40 percent of the settlement (and even though our attorney worked for free, I don’t begrudge them their fees at all because you just can’t navigate this system without them.)

Our auto insurance gets reimbursed the $30,000 they paid out for medical care for Seamus and Eric.

Our health insurance company would have to be paid back for the $150,000 or so they spent on Seamus’ hospital stay.

We get whatever is left over. (Remember the minimum coverage amounts – for most people there is nothing left over)

Had our situation playedout differently, Eric or Seamus may have ended up with long-term care needs. Inthat scenario, our “starting over” money would have been set aside for ongoingcare and maybe to retrofit our home to accommodate their new physicallimitations. But we could have been left with nothing but a stack of bills. Thehorror of what could have been still causes the bile to rise in my throat.

A handful of states have lawsin place to protect consumers against unfair subrogation practices. Colorado, for instance,recently enacted their version of the “Make Whole Doctrine,” which says thathealth insurers are not entitled to collect money out of these settlementsuntil the victim is “made whole.” It doesn’t mean that the insurers are notentitled to recover their losses, it just means that the order of priorityabove gets shifted so that the actual injured party moves up to #2 on the list.

I’ve been wondering if sucha law is possible in Oregon.My anger is coalescing around this issue and someday I’ll be ready to takeaction. I’m not sure what that will look like yet – maybe I’ll just write a fewletters, try to get my state legislator to take up the issue. Maybe I’ll try tofind some allies in the bicycling lobby here in Portland. Maybe I’ll (gulp) go to the localmedia. I’m still percolating, and I would love to hear from anyone who hasideas, experience or connections.

Lastly, I want to remind everyone that ourcase ended favorably, and I’ll describe the how’s and why’s in a future post

Evil Insurance (Part 5): Out-of-Pocket Maximum

2011-08-28T08:01:00.000-07:00

Once the bills started rolling in, I took a closer look at my health insurance policy and was very relieved when I saw that my plan had $2,000 out-of-pocket maximum ($4,000 for non-network providers.) I assumed that meant that no matter what the final tally was, we would owe no more than $4,000 for Seamus' care.

As we soon learned, the out-of-pocket maximum can be pretty meaningless. Once the insurer receives the bills, their reviewers go over each procedure and each drug with a fine tooth comb and determine whether or not it was "medically necessary." If it was not medically necessary in their determination, then it does not apply to your out-of-pocket maximum and they can bill you for the full amount.

I guess this is the insurers' way of empowering consumers.

Evil Insurance (Part 4): Pre-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

2011-08-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

At some point in the aftermath of the accident Iremembered that I had a short term disability insurance policy. I had beendiagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and so I called to see if thatwas a qualifying medical event, and was very relieved to learn that it was.

When the paperwork arrived in the mail, I wascompletely overwhelmed. The first few times I sat down to get started, I justgave up. There were about 10 pages of forms for me to fill out (single spaced,about 9pt font), as well as forms for my healthcare provider and my employer. Therewere a million questions about my medical history, and I had to make my wagesand hours worked in the past year fit into some convoluted formula they hadcome up with to determine my benefits. I had two tiny lines to explain thereason for my disability.

After several weeks of back and forth with myhealthcare provider and employer regarding their portions of the paperwork, Iwas relieved to finally put the thick packet of completed forms in the mail. Afew weeks later, I got a call from a claims specialist. He explained that hewould have to interview me in order to gather some more information. By thistime, I had actually returned to work part time, and was trying to get them tocover some of the 2.5 months I had been out. We had a tense conversationwherein he asked me about the accident, my symptoms, and whether or not my jobcould have been altered so that I could have returned to work earlier. OK, thisis uncomfortable but it’s part of the protocol, I thought. No problem.

I asked him how long it would take to process myclaim, and was told that they are required to give me an answer within 30 days,but it rarely takes that long. So I marked the day on my calendar, hung up andtried to forget about the icky feeling the phone call had left me with.

A few weeks later I got a call from anotherinsurance company person, a psychiatrist, who again questioned me about theaccident and my symptoms. This conversation was slightly more excruciating thanthe first one - I felt like I was really being scrutinized. At one point I evenasked her why the facts of my situation couldn’t be all the information they need.

The 30 day “deadline” came and went, and so I calledmy claims specialist, who told me that they needed to do some furtherinvestigations, but it would probably only take a few days. I imagined aprivate eye following me around to make sure I was really traumatized. Afternot hearing back for another week, I called again and learned that my claimhad been suspended. I was told that they needed to make sure that my POSTtraumatic stress disorder wasn’t a PRE-existing condition. I politely informedhim that there is no such fucking thing as pre-traumatic stress disorder, andhung up the phone.

Another few days went by, and I got a call from yetanother psychiatrist. More questions about the accident and my symptoms, andwhy I did not return to work any sooner than I did. She also quizzed me aboutmy past mental health status, asking if I had ever been treated for depressionor anxiety. I had not, but really – would that have disqualified me?

Finally, a few weeks after my final psychiatrictelephone evaluation, my claim was approved. A few takeaways from thisexperience:

While many policies will coverdisability due to mental health conditions, the whole system is designed todeal with someone who has an acute medical event – such as a surgery. Forpeople who are disabled due to mental health condition, trying to understandthe forms and the process can actually cause the condition to worsen.
I believe that the paperwork isunnecessarily complicated and purposefully so – as a deterrent to policyholders who are considering filing a claim. I write federal grants, so I knowabout bullshit paperwork and forms. This was way over the top, and I can’timagine someone without my unique skillset trying to navigate this process.
The idea that a third party reviewer cantalk with me on the phone for 20 minutes and possibly overrule the diagnosis ofmy counselor, whose office I sit in every week for an hour, is especiallyfucked up.
I understand there is fraud, but if youare going to cover mental health conditions then I think you have to accept theoccasional system abuser as a cost of doing business, rather than subjectingeveryone to the humiliation of these “interviews.”
Don’t rely on short-term disability toprovide income during the period when you are actually disabled, because theydo take their time in processing and investigating these claims. I didn’treceive any insurance until I had been back at work more than a month.

My disabilityinsurance could have lasted for up to two years, so I can see why theysubjected my claim to such scrutiny. When all was said and done, my accrued vacation,sick and bereavement time covered about six weeks of my time out of work. Theother six weeks, plus a month of part time work, was covered by my disabilityinsurance. I have some small satisfaction knowing that the costs involved ininvestigating my claim probably amounted to more than they paid me directly.

Evil Insurance (Part 3): Employer-Based Health Insurance

2011-08-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

When you have employer-based health insurance and you or oneof the loved ones enrolled in your plan becomes seriously ill or injured, youquickly realize that tying health insurance to your employment is a prettycrappy idea.

Back in November, when we were sitting with Seamus in thehospital and contemplating the enormously difficult recovery that he would faceif he woke up, I remember thinking two thoughts: “How could I possibly go backto work if my son is severely handicapped?” The other thought I had was “I HAVEto keep my job because that is where Seamus gets his health insurance.”

It was obvious that Eric or I would have to quit working –at least for awhile – in order to manage what would surely be around-the-clockcare for Seamus. We’d lose half our income, and we’d be paying hundreds ofdollars per month to cover health insurance premiums for Seamus and/or thenon-working parent. I think we could have made this work, until you take intoaccount the medical bills. With that factored in, we were probably going tolose our house and be buried in debt for the rest of our lives.

The USdoes have some meager safety nets in place, but they do very little to mitigatethe fucked-up nature of our system. The Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA) givesemployees 12 weeks of protected unpaid time off with health insurance benefitsintact. But there are many exceptions, and neither Eric nor I qualified forFMLA. His employer is exempt because the company has fewer than 25 employees,and I did not qualify because I had been at my job fewer than 12 months.

It was terrifying to think that once we ran out of whateverleave time we had accumulated, our employers were not required to hold our jobsfor us. I am not arguing that employers should have to float employees duringtough times – only that employers should not be in the business of healthinsurance to begin with, because when we lose or leave our jobs, we also loseour health insurance. The devastation is unimaginable to me even now, and yetit’s happening all around us every day.

Another safety net program that might have helped us isCOBRA, which gives employees the right to purchase health insurance throughtheir employer’s plan for up to 18 months after the end of employment, but wewould be responsible for the full price of the premium – which was around$1,200 per month for me and Seamus.

I suppose we could have tried to buy health insurance on theindividual market, but with a list of pre-existing conditions a mile long now,we would almost certainly be denied coverage. Obama’s health reform bill made itillegal for health insurers to deny coverage based on a pre-existing condition– but that rule does not kick in until 2014. (As an aside, the new health carereform law does very little to regulate the costs or benefits of the planscompanies are required to sell to people like us, so even if the law was ineffect immediately, we’d be paying out the ear for horrible benefits.)

A final-final resort would be to try to qualify forMedicaid, which is government-run health insurance for poor and disabledpeople. The maximum income levels are so low, we make too much (even on oneincome) to qualify. There is typically a waiting period, during which medicalbills would be piling up, and they also make you spend down your assets beforeenrolling, so again, we’d lose our house and savings and be buried in debt upto our ears.

It was obvious to me before and it’s even more obvious to menow that the only humane way to insure people is through the government. If wehad been living in Canada,we would have had SO much more flexibility in re-shaping our lives toaccommodate the needs of our son. I know I’m dealing in hypotheticals here, butthere are people who are living this nightmare right now, and our familiesdeserve better.

Even talking about it is pissing into the wind – things arenot likely to change in my lifetime. Research shows that people who have healthinsurance through their employers are the most happy with their coverage andthe most resistant to systemic change. I guess I would just like to challengethat notion by asking people to consider how secure they really are should theyexperience a catastrophic medical event.

If you’re interested in the how we got here, Wendell Potter’sbook Deadly Spin has a nice chapter on the history of our health insurance system.He’s a former PR executive at CIGNA who exposed the underbelly of the insurancebeast. The book will fill you with homicidal rage. You should totally read it.

My Story is Not Finished

2011-08-19T15:31:00.000-07:00

I’m re-reading a favorite book of mine – The Red Tent by Anita Diamant. It’s the story of the Biblical family of Jacob, told from theperspective of his youngest daughter, Dinah. This morning I came across a passage that Ithought was really beautiful.

In this part of the story, Dinah runs into an acquaintance from herchildhood. Both women have suffered tremendously since they last saw each other, so much that the strange coincidence of meeting again causes them to wonder aloud if they are alive or dead. The women confide in each other, sharing their stories of loss and sadness. For the first time, Dinah is able to tell someone about the horrific tragedy she has lived through, and the old woman responds:

When at last I was quiet, she said, “You are not dead.” Hervoice betrayed a little sorrow. “You are not like me. Your grief shines fromyour heart. The flame of love is strong. Your story is not finished.”

I recognized myself in the woman's depiction of Dinah, and it made me feelhopeful.

Evil Insurance (Part 2): Mean Doctor and Stupid Auto Insurance

2011-08-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

A few weeks after the accident, Eric had some lingeringinjuries that he decided to get checked out. I called his primary carephysician’s office to schedule an appointment, and I was immediatelytransferred to the business office, where a not-so-nice lady told me that Eric’sdoctor would not be able to see him. I was shocked and confused. The woman explainedthat the practice did not deal with “third party liability,” which basicallymeans that they were not willing to bill the driver’s insurance. Voiceshaking, I offered to pay out of pocket and file the claim myself. Again, I wastold no. Now I was crying. I said, “He just lost his son and you are telling methat he has to find a new doctor?” Yup.

I knew that Eric would be really stressed out at the thought of establishing a relationship with a new provider. For my part, the thought of having to call around to other doctors,explain our situation and hope that their policies could accommodate us, mademe want to crawl in a hole and die. It had never occurred to me that acaregiver would approach our situation with anything other than compassion.

Luckily, the first place I called – a family medicine practice ata large hospital - was able to see Eric with no problem. I’m guessing that thelarger institutions are better able to handle situations like ours, although it’sstill unclear to me what about our situation caused Eric’s doctor to dump him.

Oddly, we still had to file a claim with our auto insurance for Eric and Seamus’care, even though they were not in a car at the time of the accident. Our rateshave since increased by more than 35 percent. In the spirit of choosing mybattles, I have not even looked into why that is. I think it has something todo with Oregon being a no fault state.

I still puzzle over the encounter with Eric’s doctor – I canonly guess that they were worried about being pulled into a lawsuit, but howthe heck did I wind up talking to the business office before I even explainedwhy he needed an appointment? Did they flag his record somehow? The autoinsurance thing is equally puzzling, and becomes even more fucked up when I getto the part about how our insurer is legally entitled to be reimbursed by us forany expenses related to Eric and Seamus’ care. I’ll explain that in anotherpost, but first I need to find some tranquilizers.

Evil Insurance (Part 1)

2011-08-16T17:53:00.000-07:00

I remember sitting at my dining room table filling out thepaperwork to purchase life insurance for Seamus. It was January 2010 – I hadjust started a new job, and I was getting our house in order – filling outpaperwork for retirement plans, flexible spending accounts, and medicalinsurance. Adding Seamus to our life insurance plan seemed like a smart thingto do in that abstract way.

Times were tight with Eric being on furlough 2-3 days mostweeks, so I knew we would not be able to splurge on an extravagant plan. I madea practical, cold calculation, thinking, if Seamus died, we would likely be outof work for a few months. We’d want to have a nice service. But we wouldn’t belosing any ongoing income, and we would no longer have the expense ofchildcare. So I purchased a small policy, thinking we could always buy moreinsurance when things picked up for Eric.

At the time of the accident, we were well-insured – probablybetter than most. Seamus was covered under my employer’s health plan (a generous plan with a low deductible - I'm one of those blood sucking public employee union members, but I digress...);Eric was covered under his employer’s health plan, and we carried more than theminimum coverage amounts on our auto insurance. What I didn’t know is howmeaningless those protections could be for consumers. I didn’t know thatthe system is rigged to ensure that when someone gets hurt in an auto accident,all of the insurers pay each other for the various losses THEY incur, and onlyif there is money left at the end of that circle jerk (which is rare in a serious accident involving hospital stays), do theactual victims get any compensation. Of course, there is recourse in civillitigation, but when the party at fault has no assets, victims are out of luck.

As it turns out, Seamus’ life insurance was the onlysettlement that came to us without a fight. Dealing with auto insurance, disabilityinsurance, and especially health insurance has added immeasurably to our grief,anxiety and outrage over the last nine months.

In the end, things worked out for us. The combination ofamazing and generous people in our lives plus the outrageously sad nature ofour situation probably saved us from financial catastrophe. Now that the dusthas settled, I spend a lot of time thinking about people who are not sofortunate, whose stories are not as compelling, and who are getting eaten aliveby this system as I write.

The horribleness of our experience with insurers is notsomething that can be contained in one post, so I am going to make it into a profanity-laced mini-series. I would really love to channel my outrage into somethingmeaningful for other victims, so if you know anyone who is doing some kind ofconsumer advocacy or legal work in the insurance realm, please feel free toshare my posts and my contact information. That said, as much as I’m hoping toeffect change somehow, some of this (maybe most of this) will be just blowing offsteam. Because I’m still really pissed off.

And if the only good that comes from this is that mylittle handful of readers sit down and take a closer look at their own insurancepolicies, that’s good enough, too

Life in the Hood

2011-08-06T16:52:00.000-07:00

We have had such a warm welcome from our new neighbors. By mycount we have received 3 bottles of wine, chocolate, fresh raspberries,homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a bunch of really sweet cards. People walkby our house and wave at us on the porch, saying “Welcome to Overlook!” There’sa really nice mix of young families and old timers, and everyone is so dangfriendly my cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling!

Last weekend we attended the annual neighborhood blockparty, which happens to take place right in front of our house. We were excitedto meet people but nervous at the same time because we knew we would bebarraged with tough questions. Eric and I prepared beforehand – we agreed thatit was important to us that people know we are parents, so when they asked ifwe have children we will say “We had a son, but he passed away last year.” Ifpeople asked more, we would be honest. But I’m learning that hardly anyone everasks follow up questions.

I sat down at a picnic table and began making small talkwith some neighbors. It seemed like every other person had either been born inthe neighborhood or lived there 30+ years. The neighborhood’s retired mailmancame to the party, as did the family we bought our house from. It was reallyfun to meet them and their 2 teenaged sons, and they answered some questionsand told us some history about the house, which they had lived in for 20+ yearsand spent a lot of time and effort upgrading. Our next door neighbor keeps abinder with aerial photos of the neighborhood over the years (photos taken byour other neighbor) and it also contains the names and biographical tidbits of theoriginal owners of all the homes.

At one point, I was explaining to some of our neighbors thatwe had moved from a neighborhood just north of here, and someone asked me aquestion I was not prepared for: “Why did you move?” I did not have a stockanswer for that one, and in my moment of panic I told the truth. It wasexcruciating – my hands were shaking for 10 minutes afterwards, but I also feltimmense relief. I knew that by telling those six people at the table, wordwould get around and pretty soon everyone would know and we wouldn’t have totell many more people. A few of them had remembered the story being in thenews, and so I didn’t have to say too much.

A few days after the party, we got the sweetest card from thewoman we bought the house from. She said that all of the hurdles and annoyancesduring the sale were worth it because it seemed like Eric and I were meant tolive here. I have to admit, I teared up a little bit reading that.

We are just so happy and so comfortable here. It has feltlike home from the minute we got the keys. Hopefully in 20 years we will be theold timers, whooping it up in the middle of the street at the annual blockparty, welcoming the newcomers.

And So It Begins

2011-08-02T15:35:00.000-07:00

We decided to tackle the living room and dining room first. Approximately 30 seconds after receiving our keys, we tore out the carpet and we were very excited to uncover some beat up but original oak floors. We had the floors refinished last week, and now Eric is tearing out the old fireplace.

The fireplace was one of the big mysteries about the house. It's too small for a gas insert or a wood fire; there was no gas line, no chimney and no hearth. It seems like it was purely decorative, but yet it's not all that pretty. Our plan is to install a gas fireplace that vents straight out the wall (so no chimney necessary). Eric's going to get some granite from work for the hearth and surround, which he can install himself.

We love the original woodwork and the built-ins, but some of it is in pretty rough shape. We plan to restore what we can and replace what cannot be restored. Here's a "before" picture of the living room/dining room:

Living room built-ins and fireplace

Living room (picture taken from the dining room, looking toward front of the house)

Dining room (taken from living room)

Deep Thoughts with Lady Gaga

2011-07-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

I have always put Lady Gaga the “guilty pleasure”category of music, and in the “what the fuck” category of pop culture. Lastweek I heard an interview she gave on Howard Stern, during which it clickedfor me that her musical talent and her love for costumes makes her extraordinarilyright brained and kind of awesome.

At the end of the interview, Howard asked her to play asong, and in the lead up she explained that the song, called “Edge of Glory,”was written in the days following her grandfather’s death. She described areally beautiful moment with her family, including her grandmother, a marriagethat had lasted 60 years, and the final moments they all spent together.

I had already started to go to pieces hearing her tellthe story, and within 2 notes of melody I had to turn the radio off. The ideathat death could be beautiful, and that being with a loved one as they crossover can be powerful and moving in a not-horrible way, made me sick. It tappedinto a searing regret that I have been wrestling with ever since Seamus died. It’sfunny how the places we go for escape can sometimes blindside us.

That night in the hospital, my most overwhelming desirewas not for Seamus to wake up, it was for “this” to be over. I guess that’swhat prolonged panic does to a person. Even though I know on some level that Iwas in the thick of unimaginable trauma, I still hate that I was not able to bea calm and loving presence for Seamus as he experienced the very thing I and virtuallyall humans fear the most.

Over the course of the next several days, the song playedover and over on Howard’s show. I swear I got a kink in my back from lunging at the radio dial to turn it off. Finally, after afew days of this, I got in the car and turned on the radio just in time to heara caller request to hear the song again. Fuck!!!! I wanted to scream. But thenit occurred to me that something in the universe must want me to hear thissong. So I pulled over and made myself listen.(It really is worth a listen, especially if you are only familiar with the radio version of the song.)

“I’m on the edge of glory, and I’m hanging on a momentwith you,” Gaga sings. We think of death as occurring in a discrete moment, butSeamus was on that edge for hours. Or was he? The truth is that we don’t reallyknow when Seamus left us. I will never forget the doctor looking at the clockand softly declaring the time of death, 1:25. But Seamus’ condition had notchanged between 1:24 and 1:25. It was our artificial way of organizing eventsthat made him alive one moment and dead the next.

When Eric was at the accident scene, performing CPR onSeamus, he managed to get a weak gasp out of him just before the EMT’s tookover. In Eric’s mind, that was the moment Seamus died. The night in thehospital was just sorting out the mechanics, hoping for a miracle. But we didn’tknow that at the time, and I’m not sure we would have accepted it even if wecould have known.

Waking up at the Holiday Inn at 5am the morning afterSeamus died, the first thing I did was tiptoe out to the hallway, crouch downon the floor in my pajamas, and call the transplant center. In my voicemail, Iasked them to please call me when the surgery was complete. I knew Seamus wasn’tgoing to wake up, but for some reason I still needed to know when they turnedoff the machines – maybe because that would lend some structure to the chaos and confusion we were experiencing.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a really neat way to tie up thesethoughts or this post. I hate how Seamus died; I hate that I don’t know if Iwas with him when he died; If I was there when he died, I hate that I wasn’tmy best self. The song brought up some uncomfortable stuff, and I’m just tryingto breathe my way through it, and muster some solace from all of the time Ispent with Seamus when he was unfalteringly, unquestionably alive.

From the Archives

2011-07-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

This might be the least flattering photo ever taken of me, but I just love it because it captures such a great moment of silliness with Seamus. He loved to throw the couch cushions onto the floor. We tried to resist until we realized how much fun it was to wrestle around with all that padding.

Another one of my favorites - this was taken outside of Santa Cruz last September, when we went for Brooke and Josh's wedding. I love how Seamus looks like a mini-Eric.

Rudy Joins the Military

2011-07-23T09:55:00.000-07:00

Dana, Jason and Emmet stopped by this morning on their way from Missoula to Cannon Beach. Worried about a long car ride with their furiously shedding Golden Retriever, Dana took him to the groomer to have him shaved. She asked them to leave a little hair on the top of his head, so Rudy now has a mohawk, or actually more of a flat top. I hope there are no army recruiters hanging around the coast this week!

Of course little Emmet stole the show. He just turned one and is in constant motion. We'll see them again later this week - so good to visit with my BFF and her family!

No Words

2011-07-22T14:45:00.000-07:00

“My whole tendency and I believe thetendency of all men who ever tried to write or talk on ethics or religion wasto run against the boundaries of language. This running against the walls ofour cage is perfectly, absolutely hopeless.”

-Ludwig Wittgenstein

It is in vain that we say what we see; whatwe see never resides in what we say.

-Michel Foucault

The most common thing people say to us in offering theircondolences is something to the effect of “There are no words.” It’s true andit’s not true. Of course there are no words that could explain or contain thesorrow we all feel. But the sheer volume of words and the act of reaching outis immensely comforting.

Given the inadequacy of words, it’s kind of ironic that writinghas been so therapeutic for me. Still, for all the pieces I feel good enoughabout to post on the blog, I’ve written volumes that I would never sharebecause it’s obvious, at least to me, that my words come up short.

For instance, last March, we met a little toddler who provided more healing than a million years of therapy could ever bring. Icarried the glow of this experience around with me for days, and I was so anxious to write about it. Finally, I found acouple hours and I wrote 2 full pages, telling the story from beginning to end,about how Eric and I were already in tears at the restaurant when the littleboy walked in with his family. I described my efforts to ignore him, and how over the course of an hour he broke us down and how finally, as we were aboutto leave, he gave me a big, unsolicited and incredibly enthusiastic hug. Evennow, I tear up just thinking about the gratitude I feel for that encounter andthat amazing little boy.

But I go back and read my two pages (and even that lastparagraph), and I hate how corny it sounds. The words don’t do the experience anyjustice. It was mystical, spiritual – I truly feel like that little boy sensedmy toddler hug deficit and set about fixing it. See? Ugh - so corny! I know I will never ever forget little Charlie and the feeling I had when I spent that time with him, yet I feel an urgency to harness it somehow by writing about it. The more I try, the more I fail and inevitably I begin to question the feeling itself. Once again, it feels like my right brain and left brain are at war.

I just finished another amazing book, which has me continuingon this left brain/right brain vein of exploration. The Alphabet Versus the Goddess, by Leonard Schlain, explains how alphabetic literacy rewired the humanbrain, causing our linear, abstract left hemisphere to dominate our holistic,intuitive right hemisphere. The amazing advances of science, technology andcivilization brought about by this shift are obvious, but the costs of losing touchwith our right brain intelligence are also worth considering, especially in myown context of trying to understand an event that defies logic, linearity oranalysis of any kind.

A few weeks ago, I went to visit a woman who pioneered a practice calledholistic pelvic care. (Read about it here) I tried to explain the concept to my friends,and was hilariously reminded what a right brained pursuit this was when theylater asked me how my “cooter massage” went.

Anyway, the woman asked me to describe what I see when Ithink of Seamus. I told her about the picture that is always in my mind: I seehim in profile. He’s outside, wearingbright colors. The sun is in his hair, and he’s looking down at something witha playful concentration. Although he's not looking at me or engaging with me, he is aware of my presence and seems content. The picture is not a specific memory – more of acomposite. It was the first time I’d ever thought about the image consciouslyand also the first time I had ever described it. There was a silence, and shesaid to me “Michelle, that's his spirit. It’s no more complicated than that.”

When I try to describe the comfort that washed over me inthat moment – of course there are no words. I had been searching and hoping forsome grand revelation – a vision or supernatural occurrence that would erase mydoubt and allow me to believe that I could still be with him or “his spirit” somehow.But the wisdom and the simplicity in that moment reminded me that my connectionwith Seamus is not something that I need to necessarily cultivate or searchfor. It’s here; it’s not complicated, and I just need to absorb itwithout trying to capture it. Because as much as I might try, there will neverbe words.

House, finally!

2011-07-12T17:41:00.000-07:00

I didn’t mean to be such a tease about the house – we wereoriginally supposed to close on June 23 and then things ran amok for awhile butit seems like we finally own this thing!

First the stats: It’s a 4 bedroom, 2 bath, 2000sf house inthe Overlook neighborhood of North Portland.Built in 1922, it has a walk score of 83, which basically means it’s close to everything. It’sa few blocks north of Overlook Park, a few blocks south of Fire on the Mountain, a half mile from the strip on Mississippi Ave. (where we live now),and less than 3 miles to downtown Portland (20 minutes by bike or train). Theneighborhood is full of old beautiful homes, big trees and amazinggardens. As the name “Overlook” implies,the neighborhood is situated on a bluff that overlooks the river and the city.The location is pretty perfect because despite being so close to everything,it’s not a through-way, so the streets are quiet and peaceful.

We had not intended to stay in North Portland, but after some deep and difficult discussions aboutpossibly moving back into our old house, we realized that the only thingpreventing us from doing so was the intersection where Eric and Seamus werehit. We would have loved to stay in our house and finally do all of theremodeling we have dreamed about and sketched out on countless bar napkins overthe years. But you really can’t go anywhere in that part of North Portland without passing through that intersection, and we just couldn’t stomach seeing it everyday.

As painful as that discussion was, it also made us realizethat we didn’t have to leave our neighborhood to start over. The new house isin close proximity to our same old grocery stores, veterinarian, yoga studio,restaurants, acupuncturist, and all of the other pieces of our lives that havebeen so comfortable for us over the months and years we have been livinghere. Making our decision even easier wasthe fact that my office is relocating downtown this summer, so my commute willbe a breeze.

As you can imagine, this house is so much more than a houseto us. Home-buying is always emotional, because you have to envision yourfuture in that space. Back in 2005 when we bought our first house, we imaginedour children playing in the back yard, chasing the ice cream truck, ridingbikes, and all of the other adventures that the neighborhood would hold instore for our family.

This time, we are doing the same thing, but we also have tothink about our future life and family without Seamus. That is always hard, andwill probably never get easier - yet another example of the way ourpost-accident lives hold such potential for joy and suckiness all at once.

We have some summer remodeling plans, so brace yourselvesbecause DuBarry Pie is about to turn into a remodeling blog, for better or forworse! More pictures coming soon.

Biding our Time

2011-07-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

I was really hoping to post about our new house thisweekend. Unfortunately, we are still in the midst of a real estate clusterfuck.It’s nothing that will prevent us from closing, but the delays have been reallyfrustrating. I think we are getting closer though!

Although we would have much rather been moving, we did our best to keep busy as weekend boredom is not a good thing when it comes to coping with grief. OnSaturday we watched from our balcony as an estimated 30,000 (!!!) peopledescended on our street for the annual Mississippi Street Fair.

That evening, we went to see Gilbert Gottfried at acomedy club… Now, before you pass judgment, let me clarify that I became a fanof his by listening to him on Howard Stern, where he is a regular guest… Now, before you pass judgment, let meclarify that I married a guy from New Jersey and becoming a fan of Howard’s wasa stipulation of our informal prenuptial agreement. In exchange, he lets me listen toone entire Ani DiFranco album per road trip and goes duvet shopping with meonce every two years.

handsome!

Sunday, we went for a long-ass hike up a mountain.

Then wecame home and had dinner followed by a slumber party with Brie, Trace, Cora andNoah, who were passing through Portland on their vacation. The DuBarry's instantly became theirvactaion highlight and their favorite grown ups by showing them the fart app on our new ipad. Witness theinspiration and cuteness:

Tattoo Day

2011-07-03T17:41:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every daughter's life when her mom turns to her and says "I think I'd like to get a tattoo the next time I go to Portland." And so it was that yesterday I picked my mom up from the airport and we headed straight over to see Hawk at Sovereign Tattoo.

Just like with me and Eric, Hawk was able to mix some of Seamus' ashes in the ink. It's still a little puffy, but when mom's tattoo heals it will be a big S in a circle (because Seamus loved all things round), and his date of birth underneath. It's on her wrist, in case you can't tell from the picture.

Katie and Stephen also got memorial tattoos. They chose this design because at the hospital, while Eric and I were talking to the organ donation folks, they took Seamus' hand prints. I think it was a very sweet moment for them to share and we are so grateful to them because we really treasure those mementos.

Pretty Good Day

2011-06-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

This morning we got up early and hiked in the Columbia River Gorge:

Then we had lunch at Por Que No:

Then we met Katie and Barry at the Organic Brewers Festival. (3 blocks from our new house, btw - we close next week! More to come on that topic...):

If I Only Had a [right] Brain

2011-06-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago I read a book recommended by my friend Megan called “My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey,” by Jill Bolte Taylor. I thought it would be an interesting diversion, but it’s turned out to have had a really profound effect on my grieving process.

Taylor is a Harvard brain scientist who suffered a massive stroke on the left side of her brain. The stroke left her with bare minimum functionality in her brain’s left hemisphere. Without the left side of her brain, which controls logic and linear thought, she was forced to rely on her intuitive, holistic right brain. She describes her first day in the hospital as bittersweet – bitter because she had some awareness that her left brain was swimming in a pool of blood and that she may never regain the functioning necessary to speak, read, or understand time, let alone practice neuroscience. The “upshot” (if you can believe there is one) is described in this passage, which I have come back to over and over again:

“In the absence of the normal functioning of my left orientation association area, my perception of my physical boundaries was no longer limited to where my skin met air... The energy of my spirit seemed to flow like a great whale gliding through a sea of silent euphoria. Finer than the finest of pleasures we can experience as physical beings, this absence of physical boundaries was one of glorious bliss. As my consciousness dwelled in a flow of sweet tranquility, it was obvious to me that I would never be able to squeeze the enormousness of my spirit back inside this tiny cellular matrix.”

Thanks in part to this book, I have come to believe that my right brain represents the best hope I have for finding peace in the aftermath of our loss. If I have the capacity to tap into that feeling of euphoric oneness that Taylor describes, then maybe, just maybe, my own bodily existence will become less central and I can find a connection to Seamus that doesn’t feel horrible.

Unfortunately, my left brain fights me every step of the way, with its incessant need to define and explain and categorize. I have tried desperately, but I just cannot be comfortable with the concept of Seamus existing without his body. What once was Seamus is now a bag of ashes sitting in a closet. THAT makes sense to me.

My left brain wants to know - if Seamus isn’t contained in that bag of ashes, then where is he? Who is making him breakfast? Is he alone? Scared? Is he crying? You know Hitler and Jeffrey Dahlmer and lots of child molesters are also dead. Who is protecting him from the bad people? He doesn’t have molars or speak in sentences. He’s still in diapers. He’s fucking helpless! He’s also the best person I’ve ever known. Is someone appreciating that and telling him how amazing he is? Is his joy and enthusiasm being cultivated? Or is he as lost and helpless and sad without me as I am without him?

You can see why I cling to my atheism. It’s not exactly comforting, but most of the time it feels better to think of him as simply gone than to experience the spiraling out of control fear that consumes me when I entertain the alternative. I keep going back to Taylor’s book to remind myself that the linear logical way of thinking isn’t going to do me much good in this particular journey. There’s probably no breakfast in the spirit world.

Last week I had a dream I was sitting in my living room when I heard Seamus crying – it was faint and faraway. I reached for the baby monitor and found that it had been turned off. I hurried to his room, feeling horrible guilt, and found him completely under the covers, but when I lifted the blanket off his head, he wasn’t crying at all. He smiled and said “mommy!” I picked him up and his face got very serious as he laid his head on my chest and tucked his knees under him. I sat on the floor with him curled up against me – a big ball of chubby baby in my arms – how I miss that.

A few months ago, that dream would have wrecked me. But on that morning last week I woke up feeling a deep sense of peace and gratitude – almost as if the dream had been real. The feeling stayed with me for several days, and even now I can think about it and feel genuine comfort. Some scientists have suggested that our dream world originates in the right brain. And if the right brain is capable of helping us transcend our physical limitations, who is to say that my dream wasn’t real? That Seamus wasn’t reaching out that night to comfort me?

Well, I am for one. Heart opens, heart closes, heart opens, heart closes – this is how it has been for me the last few months. It’s discouraging to arrive at that blissful place and then lose my grip on it because of my need to analyze and dissect it. But the fact that my heart is opening at all is huge progress for me.

FUFD 2011

2011-06-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

Maybe it’s just me, but Father’s Day doesn’t seem like such an “in your face” holiday compared to Mother’s Day. It also helps that Eric’s not a big holiday guy, but we decided to get out of town for the weekend just in case. Our friends Matt and Yavonne invited us to spend the weekend in Seattle with them, and we had a blast. We had an amazing dinner at Serafina, and the next day we met Brooke for brunch and then we walked around the Ballard neighborhood where there was a farmers market and all kinds of fun shops and weird people.

Eric has been doing a ton of online research on barbecue grills, and he recently decided that this was “the one.” We got to see his new baby in person in Seattle when we happened to walk by a shop that sold barbecue grills. Apparently one of the specs used to compare barbecues is the number of hamburgers it can fit - this baby can fit 35 patties at once! I looked online for a hamburger to hot dog converter but I couldn't find any. I think we'll have to go back to the store with a bag full of hot dogs and see how many we can fit on the grill before we make our final decision.

Between the barbecue and the awesome time with friends, I’d call Fuck You Father’s Day 2011 a resounding success.Hopefully we'll be celebrating Fuck You Fourth of July by eating 35 hamburgers cooked on our new grill.

Wise Women (bonus edition)

2011-06-13T16:43:00.000-07:00

Weather put up a couple of sweet posts (with pics) on her blog about our girls weekend in Idaho, which we kicked off at Amnesia by drinking about 15 pitchers of beer and closing down the bar. Extra props to Weather for that - she had just endured a 6 hour flight from Atlanta, was suffering from a nasty case of shingles, and stayed up until what would have been 4am back home. She's a party animal!

You may notice that in Weather's post, she links back to my post. And this post contains links to her posts which link back to my post. Be careful not to get caught in our blogging vortex. Here are links:

Portland

Hayden Lake, ID

Reckoning

2011-06-12T06:39:00.000-07:00

Shortly after Mother’s Day, Eric and I were sitting in our counselor’s office talking about how horrible we have been feeling lately. After all this time, it seemed like we should be feeling better, not worse. We had just lived through a double whammy weekend with Mother’s Day and the six month anniversary of Seamus’ death. Small disappointments suddenly had the power to level us. Everything bad that happens carries the weight of our loss on top of it.

I get up in the morning and find that we are out of coffee…and my son is dead. So I cry.

We finally found a house that we liked only to be told that the sellers already had an offer. We had missed out by two days… also, my son is dead. Cue the waterworks.

Oh, great. It’s raining and my son is dead. Why bother getting dressed at all? Might as well stay inside all day and cry.

Our counselor gently told us that the second six months is in many ways more difficult than the first. Part of me felt relief that we are not necessarily experiencing a setback, but something normal. Part of me felt dread that this could be just the beginning of six months more suckiness.

Megan O’Rourke, who wrote a memoir about losing her mother that I am working up the courage to read, said in an interview that loss is a “human reckoning.” I think about that all the time.

As we settle in to month seven without Seamus, we are without that wonderful protective fog of shock. The reality refuses to go away, and we have to adjust to life with permanent sadness. It’s changed our relationships and our identities and the way we look at everything. We experience awe and fear on a level neither of us could have conceived before the accident. Nothing is insignificant. It’s exhausting.

We are in the process of buying a house (more on that later), and we are so excited about having a place to start over and grow new roots. We are completely in love with this house, but there is a new ache attached to this new joy when it occurs to us that Seamus will never play in that beautiful back yard, or stand on the front porch posing for pictures on his first day of school.

Everything happy is also sad. It’s everywhere and it’s forever. Reckoning is hard.

Wise Women

2011-06-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

After spending last weekend with Weather, Brie, Dana (and baby Emmett), I am struck by the depth and breadth of the knowledge of my women friends as we get older. I spent my drive home Sunday thinking about all that we have been through since we lived together in Bozeman more than 10 years ago. Losing Seamus highlighted, in a really beautiful way, our amazing capacity to take care of each other when life takes a big ole shit on one of us.

In her hilarious fashion, Weather told me about some of the conversations that went on behind the scenes as my former roommates made plans to come to Portland last November. It was an organizational feat – coordinating flights and accommodations and husbands and cars and childcare and time off work. We were laughing about how attentive they were to my every need – that I would ask for a napkin and before the word was even out of my mouth there were three napkins being gently placed in my hands, and maybe even a cup of tea or some Doritos just in case.

They shared a fear that losing Seamus would somehow change our friendship – that we wouldn’t be able to laugh anymore. We literally would have no way to communicate without the silly banter that is the lifeblood of our friendship, connecting the serious and sometimes painful topics and allowing us to laugh through tears and snot.

I remember being with these friends just a few days after Seamus died. I was sitting in Rae’s dining room, in a comfy chair in the corner, with an afghan on my lap and a bowl of Doritos and a glass of wine on the table next to me. Kirstin and Martha recounted a scene from our days living together in Bozeman - was it the pumpkin bong story or something about two hockey sticks tied together with a tube sock? I can’t recall, but I was laughing. I looked down at my hands and they were trembling fiercely as my body absorbed the shock of the last few days. That we could still laugh was astonishing. It was such relief, such comfort.

We are still the same people we were 10 years ago – we still have great “banter chemistry” (I’m going to trademark that phrase) - but our collective experiences since then have added a new dimension to our friendship. We’ve become wives and mothers; we’ve dealt with career upheavals, cross-country moves, divorce, miscarriages, infertility, and lots of other challenges big and small. To borrow a concept from Aeschylus, the pain in our lives has made us wiser. And that’s what struck me when I was driving home from Idaho – I’ve always known these women were smart, funny, strong, compassionate, and so full of love. But now when I look at them I see their wisdom, and it makes me even more proud to know them.

This is true of all of my friends, actually. One of the most gratifying things about the last several months has been my various groups of friends telling me how wonderful my other friends are. That there are new friendships now between my college friends and my Portland friends makes me so happy. Losing Seamus made me realize that I am surrounded and supported by wise women, and that is powerful consolation.

I forgot my camera, but I snapped this picture of my friends with my phone. We stayed in a cabin on Hayden Lake in Idaho - it was so beautiful! Weather got some great shots, so I'll link to her blog when she posts something. (No pressure, Wuth :) Dana promises to send me her pictures no later than 2015.

Rocky Mountain High

2011-05-31T16:57:00.000-07:00

Eric and I spent Memorial Day weekend in Colorado with my dad and Hassie. They live outside of Denver in a town called Morrison. You would not know you were close to a huge city except that you can see the skyline from their deck on a clear day. Their house is nestled in some hills and frequented by lots of wildlife. Last night we were playing Scrabble in their living room when we heard a big crash on the deck. My dad opened the door to find both of his bird feeders wrecked and bird seed all over the place. We could hear - but not see - a bear huffing and growling as he made his retreat into the woods behind the house. It took me a LONG time to fall asleep last night. Hassie promises to keep an eye out for the bear and try to get some pictures next time. My dad promises to remember to bring the bird feeders in at night.

That's what is left of one of the bird feeders. The other one was right up against the dining room window and smashed to bits.

We went for a long hike through a forest that burned in 1996. It looks pretty desolate but it was actually quite beautiful, and with no trees the bird watching was fabulous. We saw red-tailed hawks and a couple of Western Tanagers. (You don't need to bring a bird book when you hike with Hassie!)

Soaking up some warmth before heading back.

My dad's chair on his deck - not bad provided you are not being eaten by a bear!

Identity Crisis

2011-05-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

(This picture has nothing to do with this post.)

Recently I was asked by my boss to serve on a committee at the college where I work. It is an assignment that I would have been excited about a year ago, but each time I picked up the phone to call the committee chair I found myself unable to dial. The thought of meeting new people causes me unbearable anxiety these days, and I ended up asking my boss for a reprieve. This is embarrassing, and ultimately I won’t be successful at my job unless I can figure out a way around it. My boss is more than understanding, but still I feel like I have to get to the bottom of this neurosis before I find myself working in the mail room.

This anxiety is completely new to me and it is slowly eating away at my sanity. A few weeks ago my friend Dana had a party to celebrate her daughter’s first birthday. The invitation had been a casual email exchange between Dana and a few of my other good friends. Stupidly, I assumed that we were the only invitees. As I approached the party from across the park, I realized that there were other people there – maybe 10 adults and a bunch of kids – some who I had met and others who I had not. I had to fight off a minor panic attack and even considered turning around and going home.

My initial explanation was that this anxiety was a result of our story being in the news so much. The publicity surrounding the accident did create a kind of paranoia that still lingers. But I’m beginning to realize that my issues are deeper. After all, if I was so concerned about our privacy, I probably wouldn’t be blogging, right? I’ve encountered lots of people who have had to endure similar tragedies in private – I think of all my friends who have suffered miscarriages and what a lonely grief that must bring. The publicity, while upsetting at times, gave us the comfort of knowing that our entire community was grieving alongside us.

The more I ruminate, the more I think my anxiety stems from an identity crisis of sorts. I am struggling with this new image of myself – mom without a child. Not childless, but not currently parenting. I’m still like every other parent in that my child occupies about 99 percent of my thoughts. And just like every other parent, I have these beautiful memories of my son that I love to share. I want to tell you about him. If I go down that road, though, eventually I’ll have to tell you what happened.

I used to think of losing Seamus as something that happened to me, but the more time passes the more it’s becoming part of who I am, to the point where it almost feels disingenuous not to tell people when the topic of children comes up. I’ve yet to figure out a way to give people a sense of who I am without overwhelming them with the tragedy we experienced. This is why I avoid interacting with strangers, because every conversation could lead to questions that I still don’t know how to answer, beginning with “Do you have children?”

“Yes I had a son but he passed away” is probably an appropriate response. But Seamus died suddenly and violently; “passing away” implies peacefulness and resignation – it's not an accurate way to describe what happened to Seamus or to us. The response that feels right is the one that would be most upsetting to hear: “I had a son but he was killed.” It’s a reality we’ve been staring at for months but it’s quite shocking to hear for the first time, and it’s not really the kind of conversation you want to be having at a party.

Even if I went with the polite approach, the follow-up questions are equally difficult. “I’m so sorry. Can I ask…how?” I could tell people he was hit by a car but that conjures images of an unattended child darting into the street. That’s not the kind of parents we were.

I have told people that he died in a car accident. But there are so many other things I need to get out in that same breath – that it wasn’t our fault; that our car was on the other side of town when the accident happened, sitting empty in my work parking lot with the car seat securely and correctly installed; that he was actually hit by a car in a crosswalk in broad daylight; that his dad was right there and they had the walk signal and the driver of the car hit the wrong pedal and there’s no way we could have seen this coming or prevented this. If I let myself go I’m afraid my explanation would end with me tugging on the stranger's shirt saying “Please. You have to believe me.” Again, not a conversation you want to have at a party.

There is a picture of Seamus that sits on my desk at work. I proudly display it at the same time I am dreading the day someone asks "How old is your son?." The picture is important for my image. It's true that I am busying myself with these grant proposals, but I also want people to know that I gave birth to a perfect little human being who continues to be the center of my universe. That picture is a sign of my determination to figure this out – because I’m still a mom.

Ellie Wins

2011-05-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel seething anger at my cat because of a secret and crazy scenario that I have created. This scenario exists only in my head, and gives WAY too much credit to an animal who devotes zero energy to anything other than sleeping, eating and filling her litter box. In my secret and crazy scenario, Ellie is a smug sociopath with a huge ego and an overblown estimation of her own importance in our lives.

We adopted Ellie in 2003, about six months before we got married. She was an only child for 2 years, living with us in a tiny one bedroom apartment - perfect for a cat who loved nothing more than a saucer of milk and a warm lap. Then we moved into a big house, and with each subsequent addition to our household, she became more and more ornery. There was Mister, the exuberant puppy whose insatiable appetite for play and affection still has not abated, even after years of post-baby borderline neglect from us. On Mister's first night, I remember Ellie cautiously approaching the crate, then shooting us a look that said "What the HELL were you thinking? You IDIOTS!" when she realized what was in there. (She was actually right about that one).

About a year after Mister came home we adopted Jojo, a blind, deaf, senile, cat-hating, stinking, oozing, revolting mess of a pug who actually shared some sweet moments with us before he, too, was relegated to the sidelines of our consciousness, on account of the new baby. By the time Seamus came home in 2008, Ellie finally had enough of our foolishness. She took up permanent residence in our dark and cold basement, rarely venturing upstairs. At the time, I didn't think much of it - one less creature demanding lap-time and attention was fine with me. With the dawning of my secret crazy scenario, I can now see that Ellie was just biding her time in her feline version of Abbotttabad. In my secret crazy scenario, Ellie would not have to wait long before things started to go her way.

Shortly after Seamus was born, we said goodbye to Jo Jo. About a year later, Mister went to live with Stephen in Astoria - a temporary arrangement that has worked well for everyone. Then, suddenly Seamus was gone. Now we're back to living in a tiny one bedroom apartment where Ellie has full time access to our laps, and sole dominion over the kitchen floor where Eric does his chopping and dropping of various meats and cheeses several times a day.

In my secret crazy scenario, Ellie thinks that she won. After all, she is the last one standing. In my secret crazy scenario, Ellie thinks that we came to our senses and purposely retreated to a life where she was our only child, that we CHOSE her over Seamus.

Because of my secret and crazy scenario, sometimes I hope that our next pregnancy results in triplets. After they're home I would like to adopt 10-12 feral chihuahuas, and then leave the vacuum on near her food bowl. That'll show her.

Suck it, Mother's Day

2011-05-08T17:18:00.000-07:00

I want to thank everyone for the messages I've received this weekend. I was a little worried about being forgotten now that I have acquired this weird emeritus status in the motherhood club. It was really heartwarming to hear from so many of my friends and family! Despite the title of this post, and all the bad words herein, please know that the day sucked a little less because of you.

This morning I sent a picture of myself to a friend who also had good reason to dread Mother's Day, with the caption, "Fuck Today":

She sent me a picture of herself giving the middle finger to Mother's Day. Take that you stupid day! Ahhh... it felt good to laugh. Eric and I were in Hood River, and as we set out for a hike we continued this theme of sticking it to Mother's Day, and we even expanded on it. This led us to a brilliant (if I do say so myself) concept for Christmas gifts for our friends and family. We decided to make a personalized photo calendar titled "Fuck You 2011." May's picture might look something like this:

That's me, flipping the bird to the flowers, the Columbia River Gorge and the sun, much to the confusion of the other families who were out hiking this morning. July might feature Eric giving the finger to the American flag or some fireworks. Maybe on a month lacking holidays we could find a basket of kittens and take a picture of ourselves giving them the one finger salute. I think we're really on to something here!

On the way home, we said "fuck you" to an osprey, some mule deer, two grandmas looking at flowers, a dog and a baby. (None of them heard me.) I even added some dirtier, raunchier and more offensive words to this cathartic repertoire. I could have made a truck driver blush. We were regretting that this idea had not come to us sooner - how awesome would it have been to yell "FUCK YOU!" to a pod of dolphins or a sea turtle in Hawaii? It felt so good! We were laughing the whole time.

As with most of these hideous milestones, the anticipation of Mother's Day weekend was worse than the reality. On Saturday we attended a memorial service at Legacy honoring all of the child patients who passed away last year. They read all of the names and presented each family with a candle for their child. While this was horribly sad, we were reminded once again that we have not been forgotten and we are not alone. One couple who lost their son five years ago spoke movingly about their journey, and at the end there was a chance for all of the families to share. People were eloquent and spoke beautifully about their children. I somehow managed to pull myself together enough to tell everyone about Seamus' transplant recipients.

We also got to reconnect with two of the social workers who were so incredibly helpful guiding us through those awful thirty hours in the hospital. I met Lori for coffee a few months ago, but I hadn't seen Lynn since Seamus' memorial service last November. She told us again how much Seamus had affected his caregivers at Legacy. Apparently, it's unusual for doctors to attend memorial services, especially for patients whose stays are so short. She said she was amazed at the turnout for Seamus' service, which included three of his surgeons. Even the EMT's who drove Seamus' ambulance came. In the hospital, I remember desperately trying to convey to the doctors and nurses what a vibrant, healthy boy he had been before the accident. It makes me proud that they were able to have a chance to get to know Seamus through the pictures and stories shared by our family and friends at his memorial.

After the event at Legacy, Eric and I headed to Hood River to spend the night and, most importantly, eat at Celilo, one of our favorite restaurants ever. It was prom night in Hood River, so there was some prime people watching. The food was so good, the wine was flowing, and at one point I remember looking at Eric and saying, "I actually feel happy right now." It was strange to think that we had both been wracked with pain and crying just a few hours earlier.

As time passes, I am less and less surprised by the emotional chaos that still reigns in our lives. I guess it's as simple as learning to ride the waves. Rather than fight desperately to avoid a bad feeling or hang on to a good feeling, we just let the feelings come and go, knowing that we just don't have much control right now.

Over the last six months, I've written and thought a lot about about the impermanence of emotions. It's such a simple, obvious concept, but emotions are frequently overwhelming and so it's easy to lose that perspective. I've found that in addition to helping me through the horrible moments, this idea gives me the freedom to experience all feelings more fully. I don't waste my energy trying to block or fight or hang on, I just indulge. Sometimes it means sobbing violently. Other times, I laugh hysterically at Eric's fart joke or tell a hummingbird to fuck off. Life seems richer somehow.

Now that my middle finger is all warmed up from typing this novel, it seems like a good time to tell that handsome man on the street outside my window carrying his baby in a sling how I feel about Mother's Day. I know I have your blessing. I just hope I don't get kicked out of the Unit!

Firsts and Worsts

2011-05-01T08:22:00.000-07:00

From Mark Twain’s autobiography, on losing his 24-year old daughter to spinal meningitis:

“It is one of the mysteries of our nature that a man, all unprepared, can receive a thunder-stroke like that and live. There is but one reasonable explanation of it. The intellect is stunned by the shock and gropingly gathers the meaning of the words. The power to realize their full import is mercifully wanting. The mind has a dumb sense of vast loss – that is all. It will take mind and memory months, and possibly years, to gather together the details and thus learn and know the whole extent of the loss…It will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster.”

I’ve written disparagingly about our culture’s expectation that bereaved people should graduate from grief at the one-year mark. As we approach six months, however, I’ve come to understand that there is some logic behind this notion. After one year, we will have managed to get through all of the holidays, we will have lived through every season; and we will have pretty much navigated ourselves through most situations where we think, “The last time I did this Seamus was still alive.”

The big grief triggers – holidays, family gatherings, etc. are easy to predict and therefore somewhat easier to mitigate. We knew that the Christmas/birthday weekend would be awful, so we took a trip and made sure to be with friends. Mothers Day and Fathers Day are looming, and we are trying to find a suitable hole to crawl into on those weekends. Worse than the holidays, though, are the random and completely unpredictable triggers, which we have no way of protecting ourselves against.

There is a bathroom in the Seattle airport that causes me to break down crying each time I see it. I could not have known this would be a trigger until I stepped off an airplane last February with a full bladder. The last time I had been there Seamus was six months old and we were headed to Montana. I remembered practically singing and dancing in the restroom when I realized there was a stall with a changing table inside (!!) which was also big enough to fit my humongous stroller and bags. I seriously considered writing a letter to SEA-TAC administration to thank them for this glorious surprise.

After returning to work a few months ago, I went to Big Town Hero to grab a sandwich on my lunch hour, and left with this incredibly heavy sadness because the last time I was there Seamus was alive. Seamus has never been to Big Town Hero, so I don’t know where this came from or why it was so much worse than the many other firsts – it just was.

I expect that next year will be easier, if nothing else than because we will have the confidence that comes from getting through most of the firsts. But I also expect that life will bring many more unexpected triggers, and that some seconds and fourths and twentieths may be worse than the firsts. I think this is in part why Mark Twain’s comments resonated with me. The magnitude of our loss will continue to settle in over time, and will probably never fully be realized. We may not graduate from grief after one year, but by surviving the firsts we can reasonably hope to get through the worsts.

More Good

2011-04-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

Today I received an email from Rebecca at the Pacific Northwest Transplant Bank:

"I just heard back from Canada! The little girl that received Seamus’ heart is now one and a half years old. She’s teething, walking, and a 'delight to all'. The transplant center told me that she is home and well and that her family is so grateful for her gift of life."

The news about Seamus' liver transplant recipient was amazing and wonderful. The news that his heart is still beating brings comfort beyond anything we could have imagined. We are so proud of Seamus tonight.

Ellie's New Bed

2011-04-24T14:43:00.000-07:00

I bought a new garbage can for the Unit, and it came with a free cat bed! Ellie has always dreamed of luxuriating in a Styrofoam bed. We are so proud to be able to spoil our cat like this. She is SO lucky.

A Cure for What Ails You

2011-04-19T07:36:00.000-07:00

We just spent a magical week in Hawaii, on the beautiful island of Kauai. Back when the idea for the trip started taking shape a few months ago, we thought of this as a getaway - as in, get away from the horribleness of the last five months. There really is no getting away, we now understand. But there is something healing about the place - we both came back feeling better than we had in a long time.

What had been intended as the highlight of our trip -a 14-mile kayak tour along the Napali Coast - ended up being canceled due to a bad weather forecast. The coast is really rugged and dangerous, and we were told that when it comes to kayaking they don't take any chances. We ended up going on a boat tour instead, and the weather was perfect. We covered the same ground in about a quarter of the time, and got to relax and take lots of pictures instead of paddling. We stopped to snorkel and saw all kinds of crazy fish, turtles, a reef shark and a monk seal - amazing! (Click on any of the pictures to enlarge)

Those cliffs are 3000+feet high.

Spinner Dolphins!

We stayed in a cottage on a 7-acre farm near Kilauea. We had a beautiful garden outside our door, and fresh fruit, vegetables and eggs every day. We also made a lot of furry friends.

In Kauai, it is not difficult to have a beach all to yourself. If you find yourself in a crowded spot, just walk 1/2 mile and you will be the only people around. The water was amazingly calm, which made for great snorkeling. We also found a beach with great (borderline scary) waves for boogie boarding. More than once I nearly lost my suit, and I would have to lie in the surf trying desperately to readjust before the next wave hit. We must have been quite a sight.

Hiking was spectacular. We did two big hikes - one to Kilohana Vista, which involved climbing up to a peak, descending into a swamp, climbing up to another peak with views that took our breath away (what breath we had left, anyway). On the way home we stopped at Weimei Canyon, the "Grand Canyon" of the Pacific.

The second hike we did was on the Kalalau Trail. This is a treacherous 22-mile (out and back) path on the wild and rugged Napali Coast. We only hiked 4 miles, but that was enough for us to we decide that we had to come back and do the whole thing someday. (Permits are required to stay overnight, and it's definitely not a day hike!) As we hiked up the cliffs, the ocean below was like blue glass, making it easy for us to spot the humpback whales, turtles and other sea life.

Oh no!

If you can't get enough, I've posted all of our photos here.

Top Ten

2011-04-17T00:58:00.000-07:00

It's not remarkable at first glance, but this is my favorite vacation photo:

See that little splash on the horizon, toward the middle? This is what you see when you zoom in:

It's a humpback whale. We were watching this scene through binoculars for most of the morning while hiking part of the Kalalau trail. When we got back to the trailhead, the show was still going on so I decided to try to capture it with the camera. I think National Geographic will be calling me any day now!

Eric and I like to keep a loose tally of our "top ten" moments as a couple - I think we had at least five of them on this trip. More to come....

Aloha!

2011-04-14T20:39:00.000-07:00

Drinks and dinner at the St. Regis in Princeville. This is our reflection in the window. Not a bad view!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Finally, a Sentence

2011-04-07T05:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I attended the trial of the driver who hit Eric and Seamus. It was a tough day made bearable (even, at times, enjoyable) by my friends and family.

My decision to go was complicated. As many of you know, this was the second time the driver stood before a judge. The first time, we stayed away because we were afraid there would be media present. After talking to the police officer, I learned that there was no media at the first hearing and that our situation appears to have fallen off their radar.

As soon as the media aspect was removed from the equation, I started to feel a need to be there. Eric still had no desire to go, and it took us awhile to untangle our feelings since we have pretty much been together through each difficult milestone. Our counselor was really helpful in helping us understand that it’s OK to need different things out of this day.

So yesterday morning Eric went to work and I circled my wagons, calling on Katie, Stephen and some of the best girlfriends a person could ask for. All of these people took a day off in the middle of the week to be with me. Brooke and Yavonne traveled from Seattle, and Stephen came from Astoria. Colleen and Dana have young kids and busy careers – I always feel grateful when I get to spend even 10 minutes with them. Despite the difficult item on our morning agenda, it was a treat to have an entire day together.

Overall, the hearing went as well as it could have. It wasn’t as cold and procedural as I had feared. The judge was compassionate, and the driver was extremely remorseful. Here are the highlights:

He pleaded no contest
He was sentenced to 120 hours of community service and a driving safety course. His license was suspended and he was given a $12,500 fine which may be reduced pending the completion of the driving safety course and community service.
He produced paperwork showing that he voluntarily surrendered his drivers license to the DMV and said he would not drive again. In light of this, the judge asked him to use his driving safety course to educate others about the dangers of careless driving.
He apologized to our family and acknowledged that nothing he could ever say or do would make it right. He said he still doesn’t understand what happened. He said he hopes that we will have more children. The judge asked if I wanted to say anything in response and I declined.
I spoke with him in the hall afterward and told him that we understand this was an accident, and I thanked him for surrendering his license. He apologized again and his wife gave me a hug.

Afterward, my friends and family convened at The Unit for a breakfast that lasted until we decided it was time to go out for a late lunch. I met Eric at home and caught him up on the events of the day – we are both satisfied with the outcome and really glad this part is over. I went to sleep feeling relieved and mostly thankful for the amazing women (and Stephen) in my life.

Awww....

2011-04-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

Eric and I leave for Hawaii one week from tomorrow. Conveniently, we also just received our REI dividend, so we decided to buy matching water shoes for our trip. Aren't they cute together?

Something Good

2011-03-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

We recently received some heartwarming news about one of Seamus' transplant recipients. A little girl in Texas was 9 months old when she received Seamus' liver. She is doing "fabulously" in the words of the woman at the transplant center. She is now walking and is described as "a beautiful little girl."

She doesn't know it, but that child is as much a part of our healing as we were of hers.

Eric Cooks

2011-03-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

I'm told this will result in a lasagna:

Edited to add:

Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here.

2011-03-20T16:53:00.000-07:00

Poor Stephen's Spring Break plans got canceled because his cat Gorda is really sick. She was recently diagnosed with diabetes, and so Stephen has to check her blood sugar and give her insulin several times a day. He's a really good cat dad.

Linda is in Portland this week, so we decided to pile everyone in the Subaru and drive up to Astoria to visit Stephen and party like a bunch of goonies on a treasure hunt. We didn't make it to the Goonies house (there are actual people living there that apparently like privacy), but I'm just glad the golf course never got built.

"Their time! Up there!"

Katie and Ninner at the Fort. Eric and I turned in early, but I'm told these fools (plus Stephen) ended up at a karaoke bar until the wee hours.

Stephen made us a delicious pile of hashbrowns for breakfast. Mmmmmmmm!

We went for a hike on Sunday morning up to the Astoria Column and were rewarded with a nice view of the peninsula.

These photos were taken with Eric's new Android phone, which is amazing and takes great pictures. We were reminiscing about the early days of cell phones, and I remembered an embarrassing incident that occurred when I got my first camera phone. It was Christmas Eve, probably 4-5ish years ago, and I had a few (5-7) glasses of wine. THEN, I decided to take a close-up picture of my dog's butt and send it to everyone in my phone book with the message "Merry Christmas!"

Kids, don't drink and text.

The Unit

2011-03-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

Now that the house is out of our hands, we have been able to spend some time in what we affectionately refer to as "The Unit." I think because of the older, professional demographic in our building, people don't like to admit (even to themselves) that they live in an apartment. So instead of Apartment 123, for instance, everyone says "Unit 123."

It's coming together, thanks in large part to a generous chair donation by Dana and Ted. We got rid of our old couch because it would have been too big and all wrong for The Unit. We haven't bought a new one because the last time Eric and I went couch shopping we almost got a divorce. OK, that's an exaggeration, but we are consciously steering away from stressful situations and couch shopping is one.

One big purchase we did make was a new TV. We finally graduated from the 2-foot deep garage sale monstrosity that we've been watching ever since we first met. It's nice to be able to see the score when watching a football game.

The best thing about living in a modern place is main floor laundry. No more running up and down the stairs ten times every Saturday night when I'm trying to watch COPS! Also, you know you want to come over and watch yourself pee.

We haven't put up any pictures of Seamus yet. This is a constant struggle as we both feel really rotten about avoiding pictures. They just make us feel so sad - I trust that will change over time. In the meantime, we saved three of his magnetic letters (on the microwave) to spell his initials, and Eric hung Creepy Cat on the wall. Eric found Creepy Cat at a job site and hung it in Seamus' room. One of his first words was "cat," which he pronounced without the consonants, so it came out as "aaaah." We would often hear him saying "aaaah" through the baby monitor in the morning because Creepy Cat was the first thing he saw when he stood up.

In house news, we have had a couple of people apply. The first was a guy whose previous address was a prison. He had a federal tax lien and a self-reported income of $4,000 from an "ebay business." He LOVED the garage. So yeah, we passed on him. The second application came from three young women. Our agent offered them the place and now it seems like they are flaking out. So we wait for the next person, I guess.

Grandma O (the original) turns 95!

2011-03-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, my Grandma O turned 95. Born in North Dakota and raised in Eastern Montana, she lived through the great depression and was a volunteer servicewoman during World War II, where she met my Grandpa O. They raised five girls, including my mom, in and around New York City. These are the less remarkable parts of her story. My Aunt Eileen wrote Grandma O’s biography, and we were each given a copy at her birthday party, which was held at the Irish Village on Cape Cod last weekend. It’s an amazing account of an action packed life.

Through this biography, we learned that Grandma O was a trapeze artist in a circus; she had a pet coyote named Concho; she had her own registered cattle brand (MIM) by the time she was 13; she received a gun for her 16^th birthday, which she used to hunt wild game and kill rattle snakes; she rode into New York Harbor from England on the Queen Mary after the war, and attended Jackie Robinson’s first Major League Baseball game. Just six months ago, I was traveling for work in California and found myself standing across the bay from the Queen Mary. I had no idea that my grandma had been a passenger on this ship!

For a long time, the thought of going to Grandma O’s party without Seamus was unbearable. I knew that there would be moments where the sadness would overwhelm me. I was also afraid that my situation would bring everyone down and somehow take the focus off of Grandma.

There were some painful moments, for sure. There were so many toddlers at the Irish Village – they were tearing up the dance floor, waddling down the long hotel hallways, and hugging and kissing each other to the delight of everyone watching. More than once, my brother offered to have a talk with the kids and ask them to stop being so damn cute – it was killing my buzz.

But Seamus wasn’t the only person missing from the celebration. We lost my grandfather in 1995 and my Aunt Colleen in 2004. I remember watching my Uncle Michael (Colleen’s husband) dance with Grandma O at her 90^th birthday celebration as his three daughters looked on. There was not a dry eye in the room.

As I was debating whether or not to go, it occurred to me that although this is a celebration, my family has been here before and they know how to leave room for grief. We can be sad and happy at the same time; we can dance and laugh and raise our glasses to embrace the good times even as we ache for those who are no longer with us.

If written differently, Grandma O’s biography could read like a litany of loss, starting with the death of her mother when she was 10. Instead we see her courage and grit – the ability to navigate hard times and emerge with wisdom and compassion. After 95 years she’s still able to dance, laugh and soak up the love of her family while enjoying some good Irish music.

This morning I was telling my acupuncturist about my trip and she reminded me that women are born with all the eggs they will ever have over a lifetime. The egg that would eventually become me was once ably housed by my Grandma O, when she was pregnant with my mom. Same with all of my cousins. This may be venturing in to “woo woo” territory for some readers, but to me it is really comforting.

Now for the photos. In my effort to pack light, I brought my crappy point and shoot camera and was reminded just how crappy it is. I tried to edit the red eyes and so many people ended up looking like they had white light coming out of their eye sockets. Hopefully others will have some better pictures!

Dancing in funny hats to "Sweet Caroline"

I taught my cousin John how to pop his hip and smile naturally for photos. He's practically a model.

Cousins with Granma O. I think Joe thought the photographer was outside the window.

Cousins + Aunts with Grandma O.

Tokarski's (very sober of course)

A serious moment. With hats.

We've got a few missing from this photo but this was as close to getting everyone as we could manage.

Celebrating our Forefathers

2011-02-28T12:09:00.000-08:00

I was in Massachusetts last weekend to celebrate my amazing Grandma O's 95th birthday (more on that later). The celebration was held at the Irish Village on Cape Cod, so four out of my five siblings met up in Boston on Thursday for a night on the town before heading to the Cape on Friday. This night ended with a long stumble back to out hotel while belting out an off key Kenny Loggins/John Denver medley, to the delight (I'm sure) of all Bostonians within in a five block radius.

Linda and Stephen had never been to Massachusetts, so we did a little sightseeing on the way to the Cape, including Plymouth Rock. The monument itself is somewhat underwhelming, so we tried to lend a little gravitas to the photos to convey the tremendously moving experience of seeing the rock for the first time.

Plymouth Rock. zzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Katie and Stephen momentarily overcome with emotion.

Then comes the joy.

Since Annie wasn't with us, we decided to keep in constant contact with her during the drive from Boston to the Cape. We invented a game called "text bomb," wherein all four of us send Annie a text message at the same time. The ideal text bomb should ask a question or provide information with a singular theme but slightly different angles. For instance, Annie received the following:

Where are you? (from Katie)

What time will you get there? (from Stephen)

How far do you have left to drive? (from Linda)

Are you there yet? (from Michelle)

The first round brought a response from Annie: "My phone just exploded." So we kept going.

We are 10 miles outside of Boston. (from Katie)

We left Boston 15 minutes ago. (from Stephen)

Just passing Weymouth. (from Linda)

Almost to Hanover. (from Michelle

This game kept us thoroughly entertained for the drive and continues to make us laugh. We definitely crack ourselves up.

I've got more to share regarding my grandma's party, but I am battling a nasty cold today so I thought I would wait until I'm feeling better to write about that. For now, suffice to say that it was a great weekend and I'm so glad I could spend that time with my family.

White Boy

2011-02-22T06:51:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, I really wanted to get a cat. My roommates were divided on the issue, and I think one of them was allergic (?). In retrospect, it was a terrible idea. None of us had plans to be in Bozeman more than a couple of years, and none of us had real jobs or any sense of permanence in our lives. At some point during the discussion, White Boy arrived, courtesy of Martha's mom, and settled the argument with a perfect compromise.

White Boy is a fake cat who looks creepily real. It's not taxidermy but we suspect that the fur once belonged to some kind of animal - maybe a rabbit. One time we put him on the porch of our house and he got into a fight with the neighbor's cat. We came outside to find White Boy upside down and little tufts of white fur all over the porch. He looks real enough that we have fooled countless people over the years - people who reach out to pet him and react with horror when they feel the odd cardboard-like texture that is just beneath the fur.

My five former roommates and I share custody of White Boy now. He has lived all over the country - on both coasts and many points in between. He's been waterskiing in Florida, camping on Lake Michigan and he's even ridden the subway in New York City! He's inspired a children's book and gotten me and Eric in trouble for leaving him in the car on a hot day. Most recently, he was living with Dana in Missoula (Brie had him every other weekend). Dana surprised me by bringing White Boy to the airport to greet me as I got off the plane - he had fallen asleep on the floor outside the gift shop. When I returned to Portland, I stuffed him in my suitcase and snuck him through airport security. (He slept the whole flight!)

Here's a photo of White Boy making himself at home in our apartment - sleeping of course! That's Ellie on the bottom left - she's not as agreeable as White Boy when it comes to travel so she stays with us.

Yay

2011-02-20T06:09:00.000-08:00

We wrapped up at the house yesterday, and for the first time ever we are waking up in our apartment with no house-related obligations. An ad was posted on craigslist yesterday, and while we were working there a lot of enthusiastic people stopped by to check the place out. This surprised us, since the only photos in the ad were of the house exterior. Then we learned that a scammer had stolen our ad information and reposted our house for $900 rent, which is several hundred dollars less than what we are asking.

Apparently there is a craigslist scam where people post fake ads, collect security deposits and fees for properties they do not own, then disappear. Our property manager flagged the ad, and it was gone within a few hours, but now we have no idea which ad people saw before they came to look at the house yesterday.

Oh well. The place is empty, everything appears to be in working order, and it will be professionally cleaned on Monday, so we'll be able to post some interior pictures. Looking back on the last few months, I am astonished at how much we accomplished. Hopefully things will go smoothly from here on out, and we can take a nice long break from dealing with our old stupid house.

My Metaphor

2011-02-17T12:23:00.000-08:00

Try to imagine that you are in the middle of an average day and suddenly find yourself in the most painful part of childbirth (known as transition) without the benefit of even knowing you were pregnant. No early labor, no “honey I think this is it,” no water breaking. Just BAM! Transition. Maybe you are rushed to a hospital or the paramedics arrive. You are at once surrounded by people who are telling you what is happening, but you are blinded by fear and pain, unable to comprehend the enormity of the event, and the million ways your life will never be the same.

Transition is the most painful part of labor, but it’s also the shortest. If you don’t know that when you are in it, you might lose your mind. You might anyway. In a strange way, as I grope for some kind of coping strategy, I keep going back to those first few weeks with Seamus when Eric and I were like really really tired deer in headlights. It took us a long time to piece together what happened at the hospital and get oriented in our new role as parents. Of course we knew I was pregnant and we went to the classes and read all the books, but we could not have known how profoundly our world would change on the day Seamus arrived.

A few weeks ago I heard a segment on This American Life about a woman who truly didn’t know she was pregnant until she was in labor. That’s when it clicked for me that in the same way we had to abruptly adjust to life with Seamus, we have to learn to live without him. Unlike his birth, however, we could not have seen this coming. It’s like “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” in reverse.

After Seamus was born we had the joy that comes with watching your baby grow into a little person, and that consolation is where my metaphor breaks down. There is nothing that will ever make us whole again, but I do believe that our course has been permanently altered in a way that will invite new (but different) joyful events. I’m hoping to someday be able to look back on this experience with the same clarity I was eventually able to see Seamus’ birth. In retrospect, it still hurt like hell, but it ushered in a really beautiful, if far too short, time in our lives.

Everything you think you know is wrong.

2011-02-16T10:34:00.000-08:00

I love this article - I am so glad this research is getting some attention. As we make our way through this experience, Eric and I have been learning the hard way that everything we think we know about grief in our culture is a load of crap. It sucks because in the beginning, all you want is a road map out of the hell you find yourself in. It’s really appealing to think “OK, I must be in anger – only three stages left!” All of the metaphors (we’re on a journey, finding our path, picking up the pieces, climbing out; rebuilding, etc.) imply a destination or an end. But the reality is that our lives are permanently and profoundly changed. There is no end, there is just this. And “this” is unrecognizable. We just have to sit in it until it becomes familiar.

Being at our house is like...

2011-02-13T17:32:00.000-08:00

... getting punched in the stomach repeatedly while someone pulls out your fingernails one by one. Also, the soundtrack to The Titanic is blasting in the background and you are watching someone beat the shit out of a baby panda. Torture.

That said, we are so close to being done. I'm calling the property management company tomorrow, and hopefully by the end of the week it will be on the rental market.

Eric put a new vanity in our bathroom yesterday, and it's so beautiful I think I would have a hard time setting my toothpaste on it. Here's a before and after:

Hard to believe we lived with that horrible pink tile (that wasn't even tile - it was made of metal) and laminate vanity for five years.

Taken with my phone but you get the idea - the stone is called "elegant brown," which came in handy when the caulk jokes got old.

This Old Stupid House

2011-02-07T05:21:00.000-08:00

Eric and I have been spending every waking free moment over at the house, trying to get it fixed up for renters. Before the accident, we were finally getting some traction behind our kitchen remodel. Eric had installed a new countertop, sink, faucet and tile. He was in the process of building new cabinet doors. Then, starting around November 9, everyone we had ever known or even met in our lifetimes was suddenly in house, most of them standing in our kitchen, probably wondering why we had such shitty doorless cabinets. "If you're looking for the tea, it's in the upper right cabinet, next to the pile of sandpaper and to the left of the screwdrivers."

I was going to say that this process is bittersweet, but mostly it is just emotionally exhausting. There is some satisfaction in finishing projects, but being in the house is really hard. There is still crayon everywhere that we can't bring ourselves to wash. We keep finding Seamus' little hiding spots, including a small gap between the cabinets and the baseboard where, after some struggle, Eric pulled out the magnetic letter "V." Another thing Seamus loved to do was launch small toys into our garden. Now that our vegetable plants are shriveled and dry, it's like we've discovered a sacred toy burial site, with hot wheels, plastic balls, and other colorful reminders of his game.

The good news is, Eric's been doing a lot of caulking, which creates a nonstop supply of bad jokes. Eric loves caulk. He rubs his caulk on the wall. He put his caulk in a hole in the cabinet. He sent me to Lowe's for caulk. I was not allowed to go to the bathroom for several hours because Eric's caulk was on the toilet. He asks me to hold his caulk while he hammers and screws. I could go on and on. (Really I could!)

Here's a before/after picture of our kitchen. the first one was taken right after we bought the house. The second one is a work-in progress taken yesterday (notice Eric's caulk on the counter.) The bathroom has gotten a similar facelift. I'm going to try to take some better pictures before we're done.

Portlandia

2011-02-04T11:11:00.000-08:00

I really enjoyed walking behind this guy on Mississippi Ave. the other day. White long underwear, tucked into wool socks and hiking boots, under a black velvet skirt, topped off with a winter coat from the clearance rack at Goodwill. I love his long flowing hair. I was tempted to put a bird on it.

P.S. he also was wearing black hipster glasses, natch.

Well shit.

2011-02-02T05:42:00.000-08:00

I finally got the scoop on the hearing yesterday. Apparently the driver showed up to court without legal representation and pled guilty. The judge did not feel that he understood the charges or the process, and so he changed the plea to not guilty and rescheduled the hearing.We're probably looking at March or April now. Hopefully the guy hires an attorney in the meantime.

Eric was asking if he was entitled to an attorney for free, and I'd love to hear from any legal types who can explain this to me. I am guessing that your Miranda rights don't apply in traffic court.

Blackberry Memories

2011-01-30T06:25:00.000-08:00

Here are some random Seamus pictures from my phone. He was such a busy guy!

At the Children's Museum.

"Helping" Dad with a home improvement project

The spinning tops were by far Seamus' favorite toy. He learned very quickly how to get them spinning himself, but of course it's always better when daddy does it for him.

Dancing with the Stars

2011-01-29T06:18:00.000-08:00

Since people have been asking, I thought I would give everyone an Eric update. Even though he’s resumed his very physically active life (bike commuting, lifting giant slabs of granite up stairs, and working out at a gym after work – he’s crazy like that.) he is in a fair amount of pain from the accident. The most menacing aspects are a constant headache where the impact was, and really deep bruises on his ankle and upper thigh. As the bigger injuries are being treated, other smaller issues have been arising – elbow pain, tinnitus, and a “clicking” sound he hears every time he flexes his foot to walk. Thanks to regular acupuncture, naturopathic medicine and massage, he’s making noticeable progress, but it is slow and the stress of having all of these appointments on top of his really busy work days gets to him sometimes.

We’re also seeing a grief counselor together, which is helping us stay connected. We both have moments of really intense sadness and longing for Seamus, but they are not predictable or necessarily in sync. The perfect illustration of this is when we had signed all of the paperwork for our apartment and we were standing there looking out over our balcony and Mississippi Ave. I said, “This is going to be great.” And I looked over at Eric and he was crying. A hopeful moment for me felt like a punch in the gut to him. As hard as it is to be the one crying, it’s also really difficult to be pulled out of a rare good mood to comfort the one who is hurting.

It’s like a really complicated dance that we are both committed to learning. I was going to make a joke about Eric being the bearded Patrick Swayze but we’re actually both Jennifer Grey in this scenario. Or maybe I’m Jennifer Grey and he’s Michael Bolton. That's not really fair to him, though. If he's Michael Bolton then I should be Bristol Palin. And now I've killed my analogy and ruined my breakfast all in one sentence.

Fighting Spirit

2011-01-25T06:52:00.000-08:00

I’ve been watching the recovery of Representative Giffords with an unsettling mix of emotions. Like everyone, I am heartbroken for her and her family and hoping she continues to beat the odds. But I also have some really intense and ugly feelings of jealousy. Every headline that shouts about some amazing milestone, my first instinct is “fuck you and your stupid recovery.” Nice, right?

As soon as that wave passes over me, more sobering and compassionate thoughts surface. Rationally, I know that her injury is different from Seamus’ injury. But thinking about our own hospital vigil and enduring crushing disappointments one after the other with no break in between, so much that we were grasping at the thinnest of straws just to keep from falling apart, it hurts to see someone else enjoying a miraculous recovery.

I like this article in the NY Times today – it puts things in perspective and takes some of the sting out of hearing good news on the Giffords front. Just because Seamus didn’t recover, doesn’t mean he didn’t want to, or that he lacked some kind of fighting spirit. Good and bad things happen to us all regardless of our virtue. As my friend from the south likes to day, “It will be what it do.”

Back to Work

2011-01-24T06:56:00.000-08:00

I’m going back to work today, one more step toward the new normal. As much as I am anxious to get back in the game, I’m fearful for what this day will bring. The last time I was in that space, I was in a state of sheer panic.

I could work from home and I probably will a little bit, but my physical presence is a big part my job satisfaction. I enjoy my interactions with faculty and other coworkers. I like to send a bad joke in an email and hear my coworker laugh through the cubicle wall.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a private office. I have a really nice cubicle with a window, and I’m lucky to have it considering that many of our faculty members have to spend their office hours in horrible gray carpet cube farms. But I’m literally right outside the president’s office in a high traffic part of the campus. Normally I enjoy the bustle and I’m able to tune it out when I need to work, but today it’s going to suck. I'm thinking of putting up a sign that says "No unsolicited hugs."

My only point of reference for this experience is returning to work after three months of maternity leave. I wasn't anywhere near fitting into my old clothes and I had an extremely “spirited” infant (aka a nonstop crier). As soon as I walked in the door I made a beeline for my friends’ shared cubicle and cried for 20 minutes. Back then, there was comfort in looking forward to 5:00 and being reunited with Seamus. I carried that comfort with me every day of my working life since having him. I’m not sure what it will be like without that happy face and slobbering kiss to welcome me home.

Maybe, just for fun, I’ll rip out my earring, roll the remote control batteries under the couch, throw half of my dinner on the floor, and wake up at midnight and again at 3am, just to find comfort in old rituals.

Getting Philosophical

2011-01-23T07:48:00.000-08:00

How do you know that your children/spouse/partner/friends love you? Can you prove it scientifically beyond the shadow of a doubt? The answer is obviously no. For one thing, you’d have to define love, reduce it to a form you can point to and say “There! That is love.” Most of us are content to let the concept bend and shape to fit different situations, people and events. We love our children. We love deviled eggs. We LOVE Justin Timberlake. We love to watch the cedar waxwings return to their favorite tree each spring.

There is no formula we can apply - only evidence in the form of words and actions. Sometimes this evidence works against us, as our friends let us down or our partner comes home in a bad mood. We are required to take a leap of faith, to believe in that love despite conflicting evidence and the absence of proof. Most of us do it every day without thinking about it because to suspect that there is no love would lead to despair and isolation. On the other hand, to trust and believe in these relationships brings meaning and joy to our lives.

As a nonreligious type, it is interesting to note that my entire life is built on social systems which require me to trust and believe. Yet when it comes to spirituality, people like me have a very hard time making the leap. To do so would open up immense hope for Seamus and for all of us. It would bring peace, comfort, meaning. To exist where I am (suspecting that the atheists are right) brings dread, fear and isolation.

This is what hit me yesterday while I was running off my Burgerville lunch: If my suspicions are right, and we get to the end and there is nothing, well then so what? My guardedness does not result in some award or satisfaction. If, on the other hand, I can pry open that possibility of something else, and let a little bit of that hope shine on my life right now, I get an immediate reward in the form of meaning and maybe even a connection to Seamus. And if I get to the end and I’m wrong, again - so what? I'll never know it. If it turns out that my hope was merited, well that’s just gravy.

Prying open that possibility is consuming a lot of my mental efforts these days. The religion that I have been exposed to in my life has gone so much farther than simply allowing possibility – it has constructed these huge narratives that, frankly, seem kind of absurd and insultingly patriarchal to me.

On the other hand, lots of cultures I have been reading about are content to stop at the point where they allow possibility without demanding definition. They are comfortable with what they know and seem to have developed a healthy sense of awe and respect for what is not known. To me, that seems like a fine place to exist because there is room enough for doubt and hope at the same time.

Eric has a pretty good layman’s understanding of quantum physics, and every once in awhile I’ll ask him to explain things like black holes and alternate universes to me. Interestingly, I find comfort in this science because it is mind-blowing. It shows me that "facts" we take for granted, such as the concept of time, are not facts at all. That’s about as far as as I can go without having a mini-stroke, but you should ask Eric about it sometime, preferably over beers.

A far more accessible metaphor is the children’s story Amos and Boris, in which a whale and a mouse become friends. A mouse knows certain things, but could a mouse living in a field in Iowa ever develop the concept of the ocean independently? Even if we drove that mouse to Florida and took him deep sea fishing, he would not know how to process all that information. Likewise, could a whale ever conceive of a cornfield? A tractor? Even if you showed her these things, it would just cause stress and confusion.

Can a human really conceive of, define, and explain “life” on the other side of death? Does our inability to do so preclude the possibility?

Maybe I’ll teach my cat algebra, or try to explain to a spider how to set the clock on my microwave. Humans think we know a lot, but there’s also an infinite amount of things we don’t know. And to sit in that understanding that we only know what we know, and have a healthy respect for things we’ll never know, is a beginning. And a reason to hope. I’m working on it.

(I'm hesitant to credit the works that inspired these thoughts out of fear that I've completely mangled the original authors' ideas, but if you want to know how I started down this path, click here and here and here. And I've never actually read Amos and Boris, I just love the concept.)

Follow up on News and Other Stuff

2011-01-21T06:17:00.000-08:00

A few people have asked for a follow-up/clarification on the news stories from last week. Several outlets printed stories on their websites but I don't know if it was on TV. We were not contacted, nor were any of my friends and family that I know of. From our perspective, it was pretty easy.

For whatever reason, many of the news stories made it seem like the driver would face no consequences whatsoever, which is not true. I don't know if it was lazy reporting or if they were trying to generate controversy, but he is being charged with careless driving, as I explained here. It's "only" a traffic violation, but it's a serious charge, the same one being faced by the Tri-Met driver who hit and killed pedestrians last spring.

In the case of the Tri-Met driver, pleading guilty will end her career, so she is fighting the traffic violations with the considerable backing of her union. That is why you see days of wrenching testimony and nonstop news coverage of this horrible tragedy. When the driver in our case faces a judge, he will plead guilty, receive a sentence, and then it will be over. In six days, this part will be over. That is huge for us.

As it was explained to us, a driver who hits pedestrians will only be charged with criminal negligence if s/he is knowingly breaking a law and puts people in danger by doing so - being drunk or high, speeding, running a red light, etc. None of those things were present in our case, which made it pretty cut and dry from a legal perspective.

In other news, my sister Ninner (aka Linda) has started a blog!!! She lives in Yellowstone Park and has a life that most of us could only imagine. Have you ever called into work because of buffalo? Ninner has. One day she told me she had to go in late because a herd of buffalo had decided to hang out right on the path she needed to ski to get there, and there was no safe detour. I've personally witnessed a grizzly bear walking down their street more than once. Anyway, if you throw a few comments her way I bet she will reward you by sticking with it and sharing some of her amazing stories. Plus, she lives in one of the most beautiful places on earth, I told her if she just posts a picture every day it will be interesting.

Gratitude

2011-01-20T05:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I decided to tackle the enormous task of writing thank you cards to people who contributed to the DuBarry Family Support Fund at Umpqua Bank, which was set up by my friend Ann. Never in a million years would Eric and I have asked anyone for money – in fact, three months ago if you had told me that we would be the beneficiaries of something like this I would have been embarrassed.

But the cold reality is that losing a loved one is expensive, especially if you want to be kind to yourself, seek medical treatment, take time off, plan a fitting memorial service, and gather your faraway loved ones. We had no idea of any of this, of course. But when the time came to shell out the money for the various expenses, we had it, and we lost no sleep over financial matters in those horrible dark days.

The other thing I have learned is that people genuinely want to help. My brother, who was handling all of our communications in the aftermath of the accident, was beating people back (kindly and gently of course) because although sending a card or email was fully sufficient to us, it was not enough for many people. In their own shock and grief, they wanted a tangible and personal way to help. Thus the meal train, the many donations to the Children’s Hospital (which I will write more about at some point), and the various other ways people found to bring comfort to our lives over the last few months.

After all the cards had been written yesterday, I realized that there was still a few thousand (!!) dollars that are unaccounted for. The bank gave us copies of all the checks, and so I suspect that many people donated anonymously or gave cash. How I wish I could find these people to thank them personally! Their kindness has been so appreciated.

Chris and Weather are adopting a baby!

2011-01-19T12:17:00.000-08:00

I’m so excited to share this news – I’ve known about it for several months and have been suppressing a squeal ever since. When I got their Christmas letter, where they finally “went public” and revealed their plans to their wider circle of friends, I had tears of joy just thinking of the lucky child that will have them for a mom and dad. I’m sharing their adoption website with the hope that someone in my circle knows someone who knows someone who knows someone (etc.) who is searching for an adoptive home for their baby:

http://www.chrisandamythompson.webs.com/

You will find lots of good information about them on their blog and on the website above, but here are some tidbits that I will share just in case you are in any doubt of their amazing compassion, humor, and all around delightfulness:

Their wedding was the best wedding I have ever been to. There was a real feeling of celebration that they had found each other – the love from their family and friends was palpable. Weather’s dad gave a toast, which was so beautiful and so moving that even Eric was crying (the second time I’d ever seen him cry in my life!). Just as people were recovering, Chris’ dad gave a toast of his own, and everyone lost it again. We laughed so much that night, and I don’t think there was a single person who wasn’t sore the next day from busting out their best dance moves. Their families are so loving and so fun – it is no wonder that they produced such exceptional children.
When Weather was my roommate in Bozeman, she was by far the most responsible and conscientious one among us. She was the one who sat down with a highlighter and figured out the phone bill each month. She used to give us stern looks when our dishes piled up and once gave the garbage man a hug because she felt bad that we had not scrubbed the labels off the jars meant for recycling.
Chris is a truly gifted photographer. (See here if you want proof) Their child’s life will be beautifully documented.
Weather is the best, most entertaining story-teller I have ever met. And she has great stories. Ask her about her friend's pet bird when she lived in Wisconsin. Or pencil poop. Or about the dog who drank a Pepsi through a straw. She will have you laughing your ass off.
Their home is always warm and comfortable, even during the lean years right after college when we were all poor. There is always music, laughter and good food when you are with them. I kind of want to be their roommate.

There is so much more I could share, but you get the point – these two are exceptional in every way. Please share the above link with anyone you think may be connected with a possible birth mother. We need this process to go quickly because I am impatient and I cannot wait to meet their little one!

Like a Fine Wine...

2011-01-18T06:34:00.000-08:00

My friends get better with age.

It is a Stone family tradition to climb up onto the dinner table after each meal and lie on your belly to aid in the digestion of the delicious food that Brie cooks.

Like everything these days, my trip to Missoula and Seeley Lake was wonderful and it was also incredibly difficult. Laughing with my friends, enjoying wine and delicious home made food, getting some baby snuggling and enjoying the silly banter of Brie's 5 and 3 year old = wonderful. But I also felt the big hole where Seamus should be, particularly as the kids made their way into the living room early in the morning. I have not witnessed the soft padding of footed pajamas, rubbing of eyes and bedheads in nearly three months, and even as I smiled and enjoyed their company, I physically ached from missing Seamus. Luckily, when I am with Brie and Dana, I can be an emotional train wreck without self-consciousness.

I am told that with time, memories of a lost loved one become comforting and not painful. I am not there yet, I can't even imagine it, but that idea is a beacon to me right now. In the meantime, I try to make my peace with the sadness so as not to lose hold of the memories.

Seeley Lake, MT

2011-01-17T05:16:00.000-08:00

Cora, Emmett and Noah jus chillin on the dining room table.
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