Don’t you just love the promise of structure and organization the first day of school holds? Since the boys started school, I have always loved the feeling of reeling the chaos of our summer back in and being in charge of a more tightly run ship. (Now, ask me in June and I will tell you that I love to abandon the structure and to be free from all restraints imposed by schedules. Fickle, I tell ya.)
It has been a long time since chaos has taken the back seat at our house. I really haven’t had the energy or the inertia to control the chaos. Believe me, the garage, closets and basement would wholeheartedly agree. Obviously there have been other things occupying my mind and my time. And if I wanted to be honest here, I just haven’t cared about the mess.
But, now the school year has started and I don’t want to miss out again. Last year is such a blur. I find myself in a bit of a panic because Quinn is already a Sophomore and Jake in 8th grade. It is going too fast. Getting organized and back in control of my surroundings will help me to be more present in everything. Clearing the cobwebs in my head as well as my home…
It feels good to be on the path towards accomplishing things again. Another step in finding my way towards my Happily Ever After.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
She's In The Army Now
On May 12, 1986, I enlisted in the United States Army. Why? I wanted Johnny to ask me to marry him.
See, I got the idea from Johnny’s mom, Ginger. She and John Sr. had been dating and she wanted the same thing, a ring and a promise. So she told him she was running off to join the Peace Corps. It worked for her. Out came the ring and she stayed home. Me, not so much.
My friend, Wendy, planted the seed. She was enlisting and thought it would be great to join the Army on the Buddy System -- Join with a buddy and stay together during Basic Training and AIT. I considered my options. Since I was working my way through college and not enjoying it, I liked the idea of coming out in two years and letting Uncle Sam pay my tuition. But, in reality I like the idea of saying I was joining the Army so that Johnny would “put a ring on it” and we could just be done with the silly nonsense of me running off to join the Army.
It didn’t work. Actually, my plan failed miserably. My biggest mistake: I told him during hunting season.
Johnny’s reaction: How long will you be gone?
Me: Two years.
Johnny: Ok, that’s about right. I’ll miss you.
So, I showed him. I joined the Army with Wendy and off we went to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. On the day Wendy and I left, October 31, 1986, Johnny was at the train station to say good bye along with my entire family. Johnny’s Suburban was fully packed and ready to go. As soon as my train pulled out, he headed to the Upper Peninsula to go hunting. My timing was perfect.
All these years later I can tell you that I wouldn’t change a thing.
Basic training was tough, but not impossible. My dad’s advice when I left was, “Figure out when to volunteer and when not to. And, don’t let the drill sergeant’s learn your name.” Sound advice that I actually followed.
On my first phone call home after arriving at the Reception Battalion, the conversation between my mom and I went something like this:
Me: Moooooooooooooooooooooooom! [sob, sob, sob, sob]
Mom: [sob, sniff, sniff, sob, sob, sob, sob] Do you want me to call a lawyer and get you out? [sob, SOB, sob]
(That is the actual transcript of the conversation, I swear.)
While in Basic Training, Sue Leonard was my bunk mate. It worked out perfectly because she was tall and wanted the top bunk. I happened to be short back then, too, and wanted the bottom bunk. Ours was a friendship made in Army bunk heaven! Sue is one of the most genuinely kind people you will ever meet. She and her husband, Craig, joined the Army right after getting married and also joined on the Buddy System. I was amazed that they were still on their Honeymoon and in Basic Training. Sue and I have remained friends this entire time. She is now a school teacher and has the most amazing penmanship I have ever seen! (Hi, Sue!)
When Basic Training ended, we were lucky enough to have the opportunity to STAY at Fort Jackson (read that with as much sarcasm as you can muster) for AIT (Advanced Individual Training). We were going to 71L (Seventy-One Lima) school to learn how to be Radar O’Reilly. Forms in triplicate and in accordance with Army Regulations. Good stuff.
Although AIT was still tough, it was a bit more relaxed than Basic. And….. There were boys and girls in the same classes and in the same barracks.
Does anyone see where this is headed?
In my class was this very tall boy. Very. Tall. Boy. We became instant friends and would talk and laugh during our classroom breaks and at meal time. He would listen to my tales of Johnny and I heard about his wife, Diane, and their little boy, Corey. Johnny and Diane even rode together to Fort Jackson to visit us.
Very Tall Boy (VTB) would help me out during our physical fitness tests. You may not know this about me, but I am really not much of a runner. VTB and another friend, Sean Gallivan, would actually pick me up under my arms and run with me when the drill sergeants couldn’t see. They shaved minutes off my best run!
Throughout AIT, VTB and I were good friends. On the day of graduation, VTB was first in our class. I graduated second. Wait, what? I was second to a boy? I was second? I reminded him of this fact several years later and he didn’t even have the courtesy of remembering that he beat me! The nerve.
After graduation was over, VTB and I parted without ever saying good bye. Not a word. I still don’t know why we didn’t exchange home addresses or parent’s phone numbers. Since email wasn’t around and neither were cell phones, we lost touch. Too bad, too. I really liked him.
Oh, I forgot to tell you VTB’s name ……… Michael Lagen.
See, I got the idea from Johnny’s mom, Ginger. She and John Sr. had been dating and she wanted the same thing, a ring and a promise. So she told him she was running off to join the Peace Corps. It worked for her. Out came the ring and she stayed home. Me, not so much.
My friend, Wendy, planted the seed. She was enlisting and thought it would be great to join the Army on the Buddy System -- Join with a buddy and stay together during Basic Training and AIT. I considered my options. Since I was working my way through college and not enjoying it, I liked the idea of coming out in two years and letting Uncle Sam pay my tuition. But, in reality I like the idea of saying I was joining the Army so that Johnny would “put a ring on it” and we could just be done with the silly nonsense of me running off to join the Army.
It didn’t work. Actually, my plan failed miserably. My biggest mistake: I told him during hunting season.
Johnny’s reaction: How long will you be gone?
Me: Two years.
Johnny: Ok, that’s about right. I’ll miss you.
So, I showed him. I joined the Army with Wendy and off we went to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. On the day Wendy and I left, October 31, 1986, Johnny was at the train station to say good bye along with my entire family. Johnny’s Suburban was fully packed and ready to go. As soon as my train pulled out, he headed to the Upper Peninsula to go hunting. My timing was perfect.
All these years later I can tell you that I wouldn’t change a thing.
Basic training was tough, but not impossible. My dad’s advice when I left was, “Figure out when to volunteer and when not to. And, don’t let the drill sergeant’s learn your name.” Sound advice that I actually followed.
On my first phone call home after arriving at the Reception Battalion, the conversation between my mom and I went something like this:
Me: Moooooooooooooooooooooooom! [sob, sob, sob, sob]
Mom: [sob, sniff, sniff, sob, sob, sob, sob] Do you want me to call a lawyer and get you out? [sob, SOB, sob]
(That is the actual transcript of the conversation, I swear.)
While in Basic Training, Sue Leonard was my bunk mate. It worked out perfectly because she was tall and wanted the top bunk. I happened to be short back then, too, and wanted the bottom bunk. Ours was a friendship made in Army bunk heaven! Sue is one of the most genuinely kind people you will ever meet. She and her husband, Craig, joined the Army right after getting married and also joined on the Buddy System. I was amazed that they were still on their Honeymoon and in Basic Training. Sue and I have remained friends this entire time. She is now a school teacher and has the most amazing penmanship I have ever seen! (Hi, Sue!)
When Basic Training ended, we were lucky enough to have the opportunity to STAY at Fort Jackson (read that with as much sarcasm as you can muster) for AIT (Advanced Individual Training). We were going to 71L (Seventy-One Lima) school to learn how to be Radar O’Reilly. Forms in triplicate and in accordance with Army Regulations. Good stuff.
Although AIT was still tough, it was a bit more relaxed than Basic. And….. There were boys and girls in the same classes and in the same barracks.
Does anyone see where this is headed?
In my class was this very tall boy. Very. Tall. Boy. We became instant friends and would talk and laugh during our classroom breaks and at meal time. He would listen to my tales of Johnny and I heard about his wife, Diane, and their little boy, Corey. Johnny and Diane even rode together to Fort Jackson to visit us.
Very Tall Boy (VTB) would help me out during our physical fitness tests. You may not know this about me, but I am really not much of a runner. VTB and another friend, Sean Gallivan, would actually pick me up under my arms and run with me when the drill sergeants couldn’t see. They shaved minutes off my best run!
Throughout AIT, VTB and I were good friends. On the day of graduation, VTB was first in our class. I graduated second. Wait, what? I was second to a boy? I was second? I reminded him of this fact several years later and he didn’t even have the courtesy of remembering that he beat me! The nerve.
After graduation was over, VTB and I parted without ever saying good bye. Not a word. I still don’t know why we didn’t exchange home addresses or parent’s phone numbers. Since email wasn’t around and neither were cell phones, we lost touch. Too bad, too. I really liked him.
Oh, I forgot to tell you VTB’s name ……… Michael Lagen.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
What I Do Remember
When I think back to last year a this time, I really have a hard time isolating events. I know I did stuff. I know that eventually I showered, got dressed, and left my room. But what in the heck did I do and when did I do it?
I remember going to Quinn’s soccer games. Without fail, my parents would pick me up in the minivan, load me and my hover-craft, and off we would go. I remember a couple games (first game, Quinn caused a penalty kick… another, an opposing player fractured his clavicle) but nothing really concrete.
I remember going to doctor appointments. Seems my body was under a bit of stress and my bones refused to heal. Since my bones weren’t healing, the external wounds (incision sites) felt inclined to receive attention of their own. So, off I would go to the Wound Care Center. OH! I remember meeting a woman there that had a sore on her leg they had been treating since 1997. No kidding. I told her that her wound qualified to be in junior high… same age as my youngest son! I could probably do an entire post on the Wound Care Center, but it would be too graphic and GROSS!
I made trips to the grocery store, etc. Well, this is an assumption because really I don’t remember doing that specifically.
From August until early November I can recall very little except how to get as comfortable as possible in my bed, take my medications for pain and to help me sleep (oh, heavenly little pills of slumber!) and then wake up the next day to exist.
But, do you want to know what I do remember?
Two people showed up day after day after day after day. I was their little girl again. The broken little girl that needed her mommy and her daddy. And they were here for me every single day. Without fail and without question.
I needed help with everything: My kids, my laundry, picking up around the house, shuttle service for the boys and my doctor appointments. Absolutely everything. My broken body and my broken heart.
Dad gave me accessibility to the world. He built a ramp, took off the screen door, and made sure I got in and out of the house safely every time I needed to venture out. Countless times he loaded and unloaded the wheelchair, the scooter, crutches, ME! He filled my leg cooling contraption with ice water every single evening so that I could keep the swelling down and stay as comfortable as possible. He fixed what needed fixing and was the driving force (literally) behind getting everyone where they needed to be when they needed to be there.
He kissed his little girl good-night every evening before going back home and always left saying, “Ya need anything else?” or “If you need anything, call.” His quiet strength was a gift at a time when I needed it without wanting to ask for it.
Mom was, well, my mom again. I have always been very proud to be so independent, and I have always been able to fend for myself, thankyouverymuch… But when I couldn’t any longer, it was mom. She tidied the kitchen and loved on my boys. She helped me get comfortable in bed and provided conversation while waiting in doctor’s offices. She was here when I needed her. I was her little girl again, and I could cry and snot on her shoulder and she didn’t mind. Most of the time, she cried with me. Everytime, she would run her hand over my hair to comfort me while I cried it out.
And each night when she left, it was with a kiss and a hug and, “Everything is going to be ok, honey. Just get some rest. We’ll be back in the morning.”
And they were back in the morning. That I remember.
I remember going to Quinn’s soccer games. Without fail, my parents would pick me up in the minivan, load me and my hover-craft, and off we would go. I remember a couple games (first game, Quinn caused a penalty kick… another, an opposing player fractured his clavicle) but nothing really concrete.
I remember going to doctor appointments. Seems my body was under a bit of stress and my bones refused to heal. Since my bones weren’t healing, the external wounds (incision sites) felt inclined to receive attention of their own. So, off I would go to the Wound Care Center. OH! I remember meeting a woman there that had a sore on her leg they had been treating since 1997. No kidding. I told her that her wound qualified to be in junior high… same age as my youngest son! I could probably do an entire post on the Wound Care Center, but it would be too graphic and GROSS!
I made trips to the grocery store, etc. Well, this is an assumption because really I don’t remember doing that specifically.
From August until early November I can recall very little except how to get as comfortable as possible in my bed, take my medications for pain and to help me sleep (oh, heavenly little pills of slumber!) and then wake up the next day to exist.
But, do you want to know what I do remember?
Two people showed up day after day after day after day. I was their little girl again. The broken little girl that needed her mommy and her daddy. And they were here for me every single day. Without fail and without question.
I needed help with everything: My kids, my laundry, picking up around the house, shuttle service for the boys and my doctor appointments. Absolutely everything. My broken body and my broken heart.
Dad gave me accessibility to the world. He built a ramp, took off the screen door, and made sure I got in and out of the house safely every time I needed to venture out. Countless times he loaded and unloaded the wheelchair, the scooter, crutches, ME! He filled my leg cooling contraption with ice water every single evening so that I could keep the swelling down and stay as comfortable as possible. He fixed what needed fixing and was the driving force (literally) behind getting everyone where they needed to be when they needed to be there.
He kissed his little girl good-night every evening before going back home and always left saying, “Ya need anything else?” or “If you need anything, call.” His quiet strength was a gift at a time when I needed it without wanting to ask for it.
Mom was, well, my mom again. I have always been very proud to be so independent, and I have always been able to fend for myself, thankyouverymuch… But when I couldn’t any longer, it was mom. She tidied the kitchen and loved on my boys. She helped me get comfortable in bed and provided conversation while waiting in doctor’s offices. She was here when I needed her. I was her little girl again, and I could cry and snot on her shoulder and she didn’t mind. Most of the time, she cried with me. Everytime, she would run her hand over my hair to comfort me while I cried it out.
And each night when she left, it was with a kiss and a hug and, “Everything is going to be ok, honey. Just get some rest. We’ll be back in the morning.”
And they were back in the morning. That I remember.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Back to Life
It would be nice if I could tell you that immediately after losing Johnny, I pulled myself together and moved forward with strength and grace. It would be nice, but it wouldn’t be accurate.
Like most people who have lost their spouse, I had a very difficult time. To be honest, I didn’t care too much about showering, getting out of bed, getting dressed, being a mom/daughter/sister/aunt -- or even being alive. I didn’t feel alive. I felt hollow and lonely. Lonely is the very worst feeling there is, if you ask me. And widow is the loneliest word.
I knew I would miss Johnny. Of course I would. Since I was 16, my life had been shared with him. We grew up together, married, had a family, traveled, built a house, built a life. What I was completely unprepared for was that I would miss him with all of my senses. I couldn’t see him or hear him any more. I couldn’t smell him or taste him. And I couldn’t feel him. I had pictures I could see, but they didn’t provide flesh and blood. I had his voice on videos and my voicemail, but it wasn’t his voice speaking directly to me and having a conversation. His smells (good and bad) were evaporating into thin air… and you can’t stop it from happening. I couldn’t taste his last kiss or feel his last hug. My feet didn’t find their warm spot in our bed any more.
When you are caught inside your head and all you feel is lonely, it takes something just this side of a miracle to make you want to live again. My miracle came in the form of my two boys. Quinn and Jake were so amazingly patient with me. I will forever thank God for giving me these two amazing kids. They allowed me space to grieve, and would even crawl in bed to grieve along with me at times. Quinn took his role as the ‘man of the house’ very seriously. He would make sure I was safely tucked in bed (remember: my legs were still a mess) and always made sure I was ‘ok’ before he would go to his room for the night. Jake would check in daily and would bring his laptop to my room and we would check our Facebook pages together. Or, I would read my Kindle and Jake would play computer games. Often the three of us would end up in my room to check on each other, which prompted some pretty amazing conversations. There were nights that we just needed to cry together, and other nights that “Dad Stories” made us giggle. My sole purpose became keeping my boys talking. I knew if they kept talking and not hiding away what they wanted to feel and say, they would get to the other side of this heartache in one piece.
“How you doin’?” became our opening statements to each other on most days. Testing the waters, so to speak, to check on our collective well-being. It was ok to cry. It was ok not to cry. Really, I knew that rules didn’t apply. Whatever needed to happen, happened. Whatever we needed to do to get through just one more day was good enough. It felt like a long, lazy, fuzzy dream.
There was no precise moment that I decided to get up and start living again. It all happened by degrees. But, as much as I hated to admit it, LIFE was still happening.
It was a conscious decision to join in.
Like most people who have lost their spouse, I had a very difficult time. To be honest, I didn’t care too much about showering, getting out of bed, getting dressed, being a mom/daughter/sister/aunt -- or even being alive. I didn’t feel alive. I felt hollow and lonely. Lonely is the very worst feeling there is, if you ask me. And widow is the loneliest word.
I knew I would miss Johnny. Of course I would. Since I was 16, my life had been shared with him. We grew up together, married, had a family, traveled, built a house, built a life. What I was completely unprepared for was that I would miss him with all of my senses. I couldn’t see him or hear him any more. I couldn’t smell him or taste him. And I couldn’t feel him. I had pictures I could see, but they didn’t provide flesh and blood. I had his voice on videos and my voicemail, but it wasn’t his voice speaking directly to me and having a conversation. His smells (good and bad) were evaporating into thin air… and you can’t stop it from happening. I couldn’t taste his last kiss or feel his last hug. My feet didn’t find their warm spot in our bed any more.
When you are caught inside your head and all you feel is lonely, it takes something just this side of a miracle to make you want to live again. My miracle came in the form of my two boys. Quinn and Jake were so amazingly patient with me. I will forever thank God for giving me these two amazing kids. They allowed me space to grieve, and would even crawl in bed to grieve along with me at times. Quinn took his role as the ‘man of the house’ very seriously. He would make sure I was safely tucked in bed (remember: my legs were still a mess) and always made sure I was ‘ok’ before he would go to his room for the night. Jake would check in daily and would bring his laptop to my room and we would check our Facebook pages together. Or, I would read my Kindle and Jake would play computer games. Often the three of us would end up in my room to check on each other, which prompted some pretty amazing conversations. There were nights that we just needed to cry together, and other nights that “Dad Stories” made us giggle. My sole purpose became keeping my boys talking. I knew if they kept talking and not hiding away what they wanted to feel and say, they would get to the other side of this heartache in one piece.
“How you doin’?” became our opening statements to each other on most days. Testing the waters, so to speak, to check on our collective well-being. It was ok to cry. It was ok not to cry. Really, I knew that rules didn’t apply. Whatever needed to happen, happened. Whatever we needed to do to get through just one more day was good enough. It felt like a long, lazy, fuzzy dream.
There was no precise moment that I decided to get up and start living again. It all happened by degrees. But, as much as I hated to admit it, LIFE was still happening.
It was a conscious decision to join in.
Monday, August 15, 2011
We Made It
"We will never have to say, 'This is the first time...' again." -- Quinn Brawley
August 8, 2011, marked the one-year anniversary of Johnny "The Fighting Toad" 's death. The day, like so many others over the past year, was incredibly difficult. But, we made it.
Johnny said we would. He said the three of us together would be strong for each other and he was right. We did it together.
In a conversation Johnny and I had after he was deemed 'terminal', I cried to him that I was being robbed of my "Happily Ever After". "You can still have your 'Happily Ever After'... it will just have to have an alternate ending."
So, here it begins: My new 'Happily Ever After' with its 'Alternate Ending'.
August 8, 2011, marked the one-year anniversary of Johnny "The Fighting Toad" 's death. The day, like so many others over the past year, was incredibly difficult. But, we made it.
Johnny said we would. He said the three of us together would be strong for each other and he was right. We did it together.
In a conversation Johnny and I had after he was deemed 'terminal', I cried to him that I was being robbed of my "Happily Ever After". "You can still have your 'Happily Ever After'... it will just have to have an alternate ending."
So, here it begins: My new 'Happily Ever After' with its 'Alternate Ending'.
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