Crash Site

I've had this one percolating in my brain for the last few days.  See, that's the thing with the way I deal with grief.  Even though I don't need triggers to take me back to when Caitlin was killed or when Diane died, they still exist and they still take me right back to those events.  And I work through whatever I need to work through in my brain to get some equilibrium back.

This particular trigger came a few days back when this news broke, at least locally, since I never saw it mentioned on TV or in the Chicago papers.  And I thought about doing something with it yesterday, but I didn't want it to get lost in the crush of "it's New Year's Eve so don't drink and drive" posts.  And believe me, I don't mean to denigrate those posts, I think every single one of them helps.  Or at least they don't hurt.

And before you start with the "OMG he's a cop, he should know better" just stop yourself.  Instead, tell me who DOESN'T know better?  I mean yeah, I get it, but c'mon.  Look at who gets DUI's let alone who kills someone driving drunk?  Athletes, actors, politicians, blue-collar types, captains of industry, young, old, black, white, men, women, you name the demographic and it's full of people that have done it.  So spare me the faux outrage because, in this case, it was a cop.

Instead, let's see some real outrage that it happened period.

Due to this latest event, I've spent a lot of time thinking, not only about my own family, but also the family of the 29 year-old woman that was killed.

Happy freakin Holiday.

They're going to be dealing with these memories for the rest of their lives.  Every December, when most of us merrily turn our thoughts to whatever family tradition we may celebrate, they'll be mourning.

So do this.  Pick some family member at random (as opposed to some random family member) and picture your most recent family gathering without them.

And picture every future family gathering without them.

And think about how, because of some completely preventable act by some person, with no sense of anything beyond their own self-importance, took them from you.

And think about how you would cope with that absence.

Because I guarantee you, it's what we do in one manner or another.  Try celebrating the first birthday of a granddaughter that will never know two amazing women.  Or maybe celebrating the wedding day of one of your daughters besties, knowing full well she would have been a part of the day if only...

I could go on and on but you get the picture.  I hope.

So, today, I did something I haven't done in a long time.  Frankly I don't remember the last time I went to the crash site, but I needed to do it today.

I just felt like taking Caitlin some flowers was the right thing to do to get through the burden I've been feeling the last few days.  And when I walked in to the local Jewels the pink bouquet you see kind of jumped out at me.

I'll always remember the first time we went there, even though I'm not certain of the date.  Since we never left the hospital after the crash, until the transplant team came to "harvest her organs" a truly tasteless albeit accurate phrase btw, I'm pretty sure it was four or five days after the crash.  We met Diane's middle brother and a family friend who also happened to be an Elgin cop.  We combed the ditch, picking through the crash debris, looking for Caitlin's class ring.  It wasn't at the hospital but we knew she had it with her.  I remember Tom explaining the crash reconstruction to us by the markings on the roadway.  And I remember when we finally found the ring.  At the Kane County Sheriff's impound lot, where both vehicles were taken to be held as evidence until after the trial.  Two friends of mine from the fire department I started out with brought some extrication tools with in case we needed to open up Caitlin's little Pontiac Sunfire to find the ring.  As it turned out, we didn't need to tear the car apart, the ring was on the floor on the passenger side in, almost, plain view.  Or at least reachable from outside the door.  That ring brought great comfort to Diane, like a tangible piece of Caitlin was back with her.

Those are just some of the memories that have come flooding back to me since I read the article I linked to up top.  I'm choosing to leave it at that because, even though I'm writing this from home today, I'm making the conscious decision not to turn myself in to a blubbering mass right now.  I was teetering on the brink the last few days, but I feel better just having put this much out here.

Sometimes that's all it takes.

Sometimes it takes more.

Peace

Ten Years Gone

This is not a new song, it's from Physical Graffiti, an album that came out in the mid 70's.  But, as happens from time to time, random songs pop in to my head.  This time though, I don't think it's quite so random.  I don't know why, but a couple days ago the song appeared in my brain.  Probably because I had been thinking about the the time, ten years ago, leading up to this date.  I started thinking about the lyrics and, while they're not a perfect fit, they sum up nicely what it's been like.  As I wrote a couple weeks ago, this month contains some memorable days both good and bad.

Today is the first of each.  Even though yesterday we celebrated the first birthday for the little Diamond (shown here with her "smash" cake) today is her actual birthday.

 

This one is actually fairly early on in the "smash" process.  Shortly after I took the picture I had to walk away for a couple minutes and regain my composure.  

Because today is also ten years since Diane died.  As I stood in the driveway (smash cakes should be an outside event whenever possible, for obvious reasons) I couldn't help but reflect on how spoiled the grandkids would be had Diane and Caitlin been here.   I could clearly imagine Diane beaming, could almost hear her laugh, as she watched this little gem destroy her own personal chocolate cake.  I thought of something the Oldest One posted about Caitlin referring to the Heir to the Throne as "her" baby when he was an infant and transferred all those feelings in to yesterday.  And to every single event involving each of the grandkids for the last ten years.  Today too.  So, feeling the emotions get the best of me, I chose to walk away rather than allow my sadness to intrude on a day of joy.  

Removing myself like that probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with grief, I recognize that.  But, at this point in my life it rarely lasts more than a few moments.  Whether that's a function of a normal grief life-cycle now or me willing it away I don't know.  But it's been a long time since it brought me, quite literally, to my knees.  

Time has a way of marching on at it's own pace.  Despite our best efforts to change it.  In that respect not much is different since we marked a decade without Caitlin.  In my humble opinion, grief marches at it's own pace too.  At least it should if we allow it to.  

That's a lot easier to do after ten years though.  I read something recently by Patton Oswalt about the sudden passing of his own wife.  He wrote about how, after doing something for 102 consecutive days, you should become quite good at it.  And yet, 102 days after his wife's death, he felt no better about any of it.  It was really well done, quite profound and right. on. point.  If I can figure out how to link it here, I will.   Done.  Give it a look.  But as I was saying, grief needs to move at it's own pace.  I've mentioned here before about how making it through the first year is all well and good, but that the "seconds" will hit you hard if you're not aware of them.  I feel like that's one of my missions in life now, to spread that information around to people that may find it useful. 

It's taken me a lot longer to get to where I am now than I thought it would.  Literally.  I started this post this morning at the coffeehouse, but I wanted a picture or two that I only have on my home computer.  

And, I took a side trip to the cemetery.  It seemed like the thing to do.  I took Diane a rose, "talked" to her for a little bit, and headed back home.  I used to to do that a lot more often (I promise, no more links today) but the last time I was there was, I think, last fall when the Boy Child and I took the grave blankets there.  

I don't really have a feel for how I want to wrap this up so I think I'm going to default to one of the aforementioned photos 

Ok, one last thought from the cemetery.  When we picked out the headstone I had a verse inscribed on the back.  I don't remember where I heard it originally, I've searched the interwebz a few times looking for it (most recently about thirty seconds ago) but can't find it's origin so I can't give props.  But, to paraphrase it -

Know the gift you have been given.  And realize the gift has not been taken from you, only the wrapper.  For once you have been given the gift, it can not be taken away.  

Maybe it can help someone else.  I know it helped me.  So did believing that these two were together again.

Peace

August is the cruelest month.

With apologies to T.S. Eliot, I really don't know what to make of August.

The current month, over the course of my life (specifically the last 21 years) has brought towering joy and crippling pain.  Probably everything in between too, but me being what (who?) I am, these are the markers I follow.

August of 1995 was not easy.  Dad passed away on the 31st.  His last several months had not been easy for him.  He had COPD, a heart attack about ten years earlier had weakened him too.  That in itself wasn't easy for me to accept, in retrospect.  Here was a man that, although I stood about six inches taller than and outweighed by close to thirty pounds, I never doubted could kick my ass if he chose to.  Not that he ever exhibited that temperament though.  Dad was (still is) the most laid-back, even-tempered person I've ever known.  And that's made all the more remarkable by being married to Mom for 52 years, lol.  To say nothing of my siblings and I.

Well, them at least.

I never gave them any trouble...

Ahem.

So to watch Dad in this condition, to see him, in his last weeks, confined to a hospital bed after a devastating stroke, was something so foreign to me, well all of us really, but since I'm the one writing this, you know.  One of my most lasting impressions, one that comes fresh to my mind every time I let my (now) greying beard go for three or four days between shaves, is of Dad, unable to do that for himself.  He asked me if I could shave him.  Of course I did, gladly.

I also remember Dad's cardiologist, after the stroke had left him unable to speak clearly, which frustrated him to no end, commenting on how Dad was an angry old man.  Never in my life did I want to punch someone as much as I did this doctor.  I refuse to capitalize those words btw.  I don't know where he's practicing now.  He was pretty young so I'm sure he's still in practice.  Hopefully he's learned some bedside manners.

My most lasting impression of that time though, is that Dad wouldn't let Mom call for the ambulance if I was at work.  He'd tell her "Wait.  Joe will be home tomorrow.  You can call then."  That happened four or five times his last year.  The first couple times I was able to function as his paramedic as well as his son.  After that, I couldn't do both.  I had to be his son and let the crew perform what needed to be done for him.  That was a difficult reality to come to grips with.

Let's move ahead now to August of 2000.  And the birth of the Heir to the Throne.  What an amazing moment.  My first grandchild.  He was perfect in every way.

Now?

Wellllllllll...

The truth of the matter is he really is a pretty great kid and I count him among my blessings every single day of my life.  He's growing into a fine young man and I couldn't possibly be more proud of him than I am.    I remember how thrilled Diane was to go in to the delivery room with the Oldest One.  And how she wasn't sure what to make of this whole "Grandma" thing she was experiencing.  She did kind of dig it though when people would tell her she looked too young to be a Grandma.  She also doted on the HttT every chance she could get, right up to the end.

Which, btw, came in August of 2006.

Diane picked him up one morning, the week before he was supposed to start Kindergarten.  We were going to keep him for a few days and just goof off.  Whatever he wanted to do, that was our plan.  Life, of course, got in the way as it usually does.

That afternoon we were playing in the pool we had in the back yard.  Diane got out, said she had some stuff to do in the house, so I got the HttT out of the pool and dried him off.  We went in to the house and Diane told me she'd experienced some discomfort in her chest while she was in the pool and again climbing the stairs.  She said she felt fine now but had never felt anything like that before.  We talked about the dozen different things it might be but agreed the smart thing to do was to get it checked out.  We called the Boy Child and asked him to come over and hang out with the HttT while we went to the ED.  I vaguely remember calling him a few hours later and telling him they were keeping her overnight and calling the Oldest One and making up a story about why we had to bail on our plans.  At that point Diane didn't want anyone to know what had happened.  At her request I didn't even call the Quiet Child to tell her any of this yet.

When I say the week spiraled downhill from there it doesn't begin to describe the next six days.  Let me just say that it ended with me, sitting cross-legged on the floor; in the bedroom at the house of one of my nieces; trying to explain to my five year-old grandson why the Nana that adored him, that he worshipped, was never coming home.  The memory often brings tears to my eyes, even today, ten years later.  It is the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do.

Fortunately, in time, August made a move toward redemption.  Last year my favorite gemstone joined the family.  The old saying goes- "Diamonds are a girls best friend" right?  Well, I may not be her bestie but my fifth grandchild and second granddaughter made her appearance to rave reviews.  She, like the Reigning Princess before her, had me wrapped around her little finger from the start.  Her personality is showing more and more each day and she cracks me up regularly.  The Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law (still working on an actual nome de plume for her) have become my go to Sophie sitters when I need to go out of town for a few days.  Both of the littles are great with Sophie, but my little Diamond squeals with glee every time she sees Sophie, even if only moments have passed since the last time she saw her.  Literally.  Almost "peekabooish" and it's hilarious.

She's also very watchful of Sophie's dietary intake as this photo clearly shows.

You can see how pleased she is that Sophie is eating.

As plans are finalized for celebrating the little Diamonds first birthday I fully realize that August, fickle beast that it is, is currently a happy place.  Time has taught me that it may only be temporary.  So, I think I have really only one last thing to say, and, while it's hardly an original thought, it's certainly one we should all heed.  Enjoy your commas.  No, that's not it, although I do enjoy them. 

Rather, it's enjoy the life you live.  We all have little to no control over it, so stress as little as possible and embrace the warm fuzzy moments when they present themselves.

Peace

Diamonds

As I was driving home from work this morning, after a couple of button punches, the David Bowie classic "Changes" came on my radio.  

And it made me stop and think a bit.  I've (obvs) mentioned changes in (random southern-speak alert!) these here parts in the past a time or two and will again in the future, I'm sure.  But today I've got changes on my mind...

We were sitting at the kitchen table this morning chatting with today's shift pre shift change, when Kevin mentioned today was Rochelle's last day in the ER.  Ro is one of my favorite people on the planet and she's been a regular presence across the street for over ten years.   I had no idea she was leaving, apparently mention was made of it at one of our paramedic training sessions recently but I must have missed that one.  So, on the way home, I swung by the ER to say goodbye and fare-thee-well to a dear person.  

Ro was standing at the Charge Nurse station when I walked up behind her, put my arm around her and asked "why was I not consulted on this?"

She jumped back, got a big smile, immediately followed by a sad look on her face.  

I felt the same way.

She's moving up to one of the floors, she said it was time, and I wished her well.  She was on the verge of getting emotional (me too) but managed to laugh it off and said she'll be down to visit from time to time.

Rochelle is an outstanding nurse with a great sense of humor and those of us that had the joy of interacting with her will miss her.  And I'm sure every one of us wish her nothing but the best.

This next point, in itself is no change because I've hated winter for quite some time now.  But I've found myself looking at retirement locales recently.  

Warm(er) weather locales.  

As in, not northern Illinois locales.

Today I checked out my pension calculations.  I was curious what it would be if I left in two years, three years and two months.  

Yikes.

I'm not leaving in two months.  I don't think.  I'd really like to stick around long enough for the Heir to the Throne to come to work with me and do a ride-along and he's supposed to be 18 (again, yikes! 18? yeesh) for that to happen.  I think.  Maybe 17.  Maybe I'll get confused in a couple years and think he's 18 when he's really only 17...  

Stranger things have happened.  Just sayin...

Speaking of which, I've been on a small roll of late in that I've been "on time" for the last few appointments and/or meetings and/or gatherings of one sort or another.  This is no small accomplishment for me.  I think I can blame these on genealogy as much as anything.  At least that's my story and I'm sticking with it.  My family tends to not be the most punctual, a habit that makes some crazy.  Sure often times it's no big deal, but it can be construed as a sign of disrespect too, I get that.  And that part of it bothers me.  I'd like being punctual to be a bigger part of who I am for that reason.

Now, I wrote all that drivel to get to this...

According to the Boy Child (I believe in citing my sources whenever practical) two percent of all babies are born on their due date.  Two percent.  For all you non-math types out there, that's not many.  You're welcome.  

Grandchild number 5, granddaughter number 2 (that's one and the same person btw) arrived yesterday morning at 7:38, on her due date.  She obviously gets her promptness from her Mother's side of the family.  I have decided her nome de plume will henceforth be some derivative of-

Diamond

Clever, no?  

And so, my little jewel (not to be confused with the Jewels) let me tell you a little about the family you've been delivered to.

We're a little off...

I mean we're all (well, mostly all) nice enough, but certainly not without our quirks.  The aforementioned timeliness being one of them.  We tend to be smart alecky.  We tend to not always think things through as well as we should.  We sometimes look good advice right square in the eye and plow right ahead with our own ideas.  And we sometimes (maybe more often than we should) don't pay enough attention to the feelings of those closest to us.  

I'm not particularly proud of that last one.  It's caused a lot more pain than it ever should have.  But since you're coming into this hot mess of a family, you need to know these things so you can avoid them.  

That's not to say we have no redeeming qualities either.  

They're just not as much fun to list.

And so, my little Diamond, before the wheels fall off this thing, let me just say I can't wait to meet you today.  My heart has been filled with such joy since your Daddy sent the text announcing you were here that I have a hard time finding the right words and for some strange reason I keep getting stuff in my eyes since then too.  

Must be awfully dusty around here.

Or something.

Peace