You've Got One Week to Fit It All In....

I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.
- Diane Ackerman

As with my last post, I am thinking about the time leading up to July 4th, which will mark a full 365 days that Stephen has been in heaven. It seems a little surreal as I type it, much like the surreal emotions I felt last year when my world was forever changed. I miss him. Three words that I have quietly uttered repeatedly as I cried over my keyboard, writing away the pain. I find as I approach the day, I have a range of emotions. It is difficult to describe really, to be a bystander to the passage of time.

I've written hundreds of posts, and a book since last year. Actually, a book and a half, as I am finishing up a second one right now. The words have flowed from me, and I have mentioned many times that I often wonder if it is me writing the words, or am I the virtual assistant to the universe. I'm glad that I decided to grieve this way. Looking back at some of the earlier posts, I can see it provided me with a thread to hold onto.....when I felt like I may be at the end of my rope without a knot in sight. Many days, many words sparked a reflection in me that saved me from myself, protected me from bitterness, allowed me to keep living.

But, with each passing day, my focus is shifting. I am beginning to write, not so much about death and grief, but about life and living. And, as I shift, I am finding that one cannot exist without the other, and the relationship between the two is what adds the season, the flavor in our very existence. Because the life I have now is much deeper and richer than it ever has been before. I appreciate my life, my family and my surroundings more, because of the loss in my life. I have perspective.

So, as part of that perspective, I want you to think about something.

7 days.

In a week, it will be July 4th.

What if you were in a position like Stephen was this time last year, beginning the last week of your life on earth? What if, without you knowing, the clock was ticking, your number was going to be called, the time had come? What if this was it? What if God sent you a text message and told you, gave you a heads up so you could clue up some things before he swung by to pick you up?

What would you do on your bucket list?

Who would you contact to say I love you?

Who would you call to say I'm sorry?

What foods would you eat?

What books would you read?

How would you change how you parent your children?

Would you make any changes in your relationships? With your partner? Your friends? Your siblings? Yourself?

What fears would you throw out the window?

What adventures would you fit into the seven days?

Would you focus on what you've lost or what you have?

What kind of conversation would you have with God to make sure all your affairs were in order?

Now, look at your answers. Really look at them.

You just created the Instruction Manual for your life. Go live it. Now.

Wishing you sight to see the beauty that is all around you,

Kelly

Sour Milk....

“Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.” -James Dean-




Yesterday morning, my son and I were chatting in the kitchen. I was packing his lunch for hockey camp, and he was pouring himself a glass of milk to wash down his peanut butter toast. We were chatting, and laughing, and then I saw him stop in his tracks.

He was looking at the milk and then quietly said,

"The milk......It expires on the same day as Stephen died."


His words caught in his throat, and made his mother stop in her tracks as well on a sunny Tuesday morning. You see, we knew July 4th was coming. We've talked about it, as a family, and with our grief counsellor. We've made a plan and we know what we will be doing on that day. But there was something about that darn milk announcing it.


Our family is only a jug of milk's lifespan away from being without Stephen for a full year. There is something about that reality that hits us both as we stare at the skim milk in the glass, almost like the white liquid is the sand of time itself.


So, we talk about it. Over milk and peanut butter. We both think Stephen would not want us to focus on the day we lost him, but rather look at all the days we had him. We know we will always think about July 4th differently, but we also know that it is our choice whether we make it a hard day or one of celebration.


Later in the day, as we are in the kitchen preparing for dinner, my husband, after hearing something on the news, exclaims he can hardly believe that it has been a year since the loss of Michael Jackson. He asks me, "Can you believe a year has passed already?"


Yes and no. Yes, I can believe it was a year because I watched the coverage with Stephen, and we both talked at length about the lack of dignity that was given to this poor man in his last hours of life. The aerial shots of the stretcher, the prying eyes of the media, the focus on a story rather than the end of a life.


Nine days later, I was the parent sitting behind the yellow tape, devastated and broken open by life. And although the coverage of my loss was in no way comparable to the media circus surrounding Michael Jackson, I had my own taste of the disregard shown to the bereaved, having to read things about Stephen and the accident that implied and judged incorrectly.


But no, I could not believe it was a year, because in many ways, I can't believe that much time has passed already. I can't believe that I am a jug of milk's lifespan away from a full year.


I guess my point is this. Last year, as I sat and watched Entertainment Tonight with Stephen, we talked about this family in Hollywood and the tragedy that they faced. We discussed it as onlookers to their pain, never once contemplating that we could ever experience anything like it.



And now, eleven months later, I'm watching the milk in the fridge, as the fat free liquid counts down the last days of the toughest but most awake year of my life.



We are not as fortunate as the milk. Look right now to the bottom of your foot. Do you see an expiration date?

No?

That's because none of us knows when it will be our time to go. Unlike the milk, the future is not as certain for us. It could come after many years of living, or it could come tomorrow as we mow the lawn.


That is why we must live each moment like it was our last.

Get out there and live today will ya?

Kelly

Memories of My Father...

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland


I am a day late with my Father's Day blog post, as we had a fun filled weekend at the State Games.
But I could not continue with the week until I took a moment to reflect on my father.

I wanted to, in the same way I did on Mother's day, reflect on my father, and how his time with me shaped and molded the way I live and parent each day.

My dad, Don. I've been thinking about him for days now, reflecting on him and who he was. In fact, I've been reflecting on the combination of my parents, and how they deserve the credit for the way I've grieved loss, being the best teachers in my life. My mother was resilient, and able to continue on, no matter what storm she faced in life. My Dad believed and proved you can do anything you put your mind to...Dad showed me that "where there's a will, there's a way."

So, in honor of my Dad, here's some memories:

• He had this swagger when he walked. It was a walk with purpose. When I was older, he told me he had an accident at work, that had crushed one of his legs, and the doctors said he would never walk the same again, with one leg slightly shorter than the other. He told them he would. And he did. It was that moment I realized that the swagger was more important than I had realized.
• He could whistle like no other. He had this vibrato in his tone, and he could make music with any song. I can still hear him whistling as he worked around our house, sounding like a beautiful bird.
• When he was mad, he said very little. That was left to Mom. But, if you really crossed the line, he would point his right crooked index finger at you. His eyes would widen and he would point. And no words were necessary. I would want to ground myself and take away my allowance. I remember him pointing like that when he found me running around the front lawn with his Knight of Columbus 4th Degree regalia on, plumed hat and cape flowing in the wind, swinging his sword for all the neighborhood kids to see.
• He loved my mother, and was so protective of her and his children. I never understood truly the depth of the love he had for her until the day I walked into their bedroom, and saw him singing to mom as she lay quietly, dying from cancer. Blue Moon....He showed me the kind of love that was possible.
• He loved, as did my mother, to have the house full, music playing, and guests to entertain. They were both so good at it. He had a flare for the dramatic, and would don costumes, have theme parties, and make the moments into memories. He especially loved parades, and would have all of his grandchildren parade through the house with an instrument, to entertain the masses.
• At gatherings at our house, when the guitars would break out, he would always play his tin whistle. This would be a fond memory if only he knew how to play it. He didn't. He would play along, and it sounded like an duck with a vocal injury had snuck in the house and was calling for help.
• He would not accept that something could not be fixed. And most times he was right. He would tinker and work on an appliance until it sputtered its last breath. He wouldn't give up easily. One year, my mother, exasperated with the daily fixes of the washing machine, ordered one from the local store, telling the salesman it must be delivered before dad got home from work. I believe he would still say he could have fixed the old one. He did not see things as broken. He saw them as waiting to be fixed.
• He was an artist but never believed it.
• He always made me believe that he really did love the jug of Aqua Velva I gave to him each Christmas.
• When he found out I was pregnant with Stephen, he came in to my room, and sat down on my bed and held my hand, and told me everything was going to be just fine. We would work everything out. He told me he loved me through tear filled eyes. There was no dramatics, no yelling, just love.
• Every Christmas Eve, we would have our day, shopping together for last minute things, and perhaps to also give my mother time to clue up preparations at home. We would have lunch together at the same restaurant, my dad would order a cheeseburger, fries, and ice cream, and tell me this was our little secret, his cheating on his diet. Each December 24th, I long for those shopping trips and cheeseburgers.
• He influenced, not only me, but Stephen. Stephen had many qualities I could not take credit for, and Dad was one of his influences. Shortly after Stephen died, I found dad's whistle in Stephen's knapsack, and I realized that he carried my Dad with him as much as I did.

Today, I am thankful for my father, who taught me that there is nothing that can break me, nothing that I can't fix, and no limits on the amount of love that can exist in your family.

Take some time today to think about dear old dad, and how he shaped the way you live.

Kelly

What's Your View Like?

“The most important things in life aren't things.” -Anthony J. D'Angelo-

It's hard to believe, but June is flying by.....and before you know it is will be July 4th.

One year.

It's hard for me to believe really, that a year has passed already. In some ways, it seems like only days ago that I answered my cell phone to have the sheriff on the other end tell me that my life would never be the same. But, in other ways, it seems like the world slowed a little, so I could experience every moment, and write about it, even through my tears. Of all the things I have been most grateful for over the past eleven months, I can surely say that my decision to grieve with gratitude would be at the top of the list.

It has helped me find my way through, allowing me to see the goodness that remains, even in loss and pain. That goodness comes in many forms; people, hugs and cuddles, big brown dogs, flowers, butterflies, tears, laughs, pictures, emails, chocolate icing. If you have been following along with me, you will see that none of the things that I've been grateful for were elaborate. In fact, very few of them have been material things at all.

Something to think about in your own life....that's my lesson for today. Don't complicate things by looking for the earth shattering changes in your life so you can be grateful. Instead, look at the life you have right now, only with grateful eyes. I think you will find that life has presented you with an abundance of gifts.

Wishing you a day of awareness....that the things that really matter are not things at all.

TGIF,

Kelly

The Line in the Sand-Understanding Boundaries When Supporting a Grieving Heart

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. - Henri Nouwen



Recently, I was faced with a moment in my life where another person made a decision that affected the timing of my grief. I was thinking about how to handle something that was difficult for me, a milestone in my life without Stephen. Then, without my knowledge, a well meaning person took care of it for me.

I was devastated, crushed, and felt that my control had been once again taken away from me. I had no control over when he died, and now......well, you get the picture. My control was snatched away once again, and it derailed me. I was hurt, and I felt more than a little violated, almost as if someone had marched in my house and sent all of his clothes to Good Will. It was nothing as overt as that, but emotionally, it felt that way. As the days passed, anger began to bubble up within me, like I had never experienced before. I was seething, and it was the first time I understood what the word seething really meant. I finally did let go of it, but it was only when I was looking up at the sky with tear filled eyes, asking and begging God to once again keep the bitterness away. I felt like I was falling off the edge of something so deep and so dark, that unless I grabbed hold, I would never find myself again.

Sounds pretty serious doesn't it? It felt serious. It was right around Stephen's birthday, and the emotion of the month of May combined with this smacked me like a slap shot in the playoffs. (I had to use a hockey reference)

The particulars of the situation are irrelevant. And truly, if I was to separate myself from the hurt, I can tell you that the action was taken by this person with the best of intentions. The intent was to support and love me, to protect me. I know that. The person that stepped over the line? I doubt they would even know they did something wrong.

So, it got me to thinking....what are the boundaries when it comes to supporting the bereaved? What qualifies as support and what feels like overstepping your bounds? I suppose, like everything else I contemplate in this blog, it is individual. It is not black and white, and support for one person can mean an entirely different thing for another person.

Regardless, here are a few tips based on my own experience:

1. Understand that this is not your journey. Even if you are really close to it, even if you loved the person who died as well, ultimately this is an individual journey that each person who has lost must take alone. The feelings they have are their own. That is okay. Accept it. Nothing fits into a neat little package, or matches to anything else with grief. There is no cookie cutter approach that fits for everyone. This is a journey that will heal a person, but that can only happen if they deal with the emotions in their own way and in their own time.

2. Respect the time lines that an individual sets for their journey. You may wonder and look from a distance, thinking "When are they going to take care of that? It's time to move on..." But it is only time to move on in your mind, in your life. You will never understand the timing I require for grieving Stephen. Just as I can never understand how long it may take you to grieve your mother, sister, dog or goldfish. The intensity of grief is dependent on the intensity of love; there is no calendar that times this the same way for every person. If I seem stuck in a place of grief, it could be that I am working through some of my deepest emotions.

3. Love the person through it. You may not understand why a person is not willing to move forward at a certain point in their grief. You may look at the situation and be confused as to why they are not ready to do something. You may feel compelled to step in and help, to push a little, as if to start the ball rolling with forward movement. You may feel you need to fix this situation. But, the best thing you can do is simply love the person. Love them even if you don't understand completely, love them even if it is taking them longer than you think is "normal", whatever normal even is.

4. Never....Never.....Never assume you have the right to step in and do something without first talking to the immediate family. If someone had asked me about this situation before acting, I would have politely told them that I really wanted to take care of it myself. It was personal for me, much like it was when I cleaned out Stephen's room. I needed to do it on my terms, with my decided timing.

Losing someone quickly reminds us of how fleeting life is. It can change in an instant. I've often described it as someone pulling the rug out from beneath my life. I was tapping my toe around madly trying to find solid ground, only to find out that they had removed the floor too. Groundless.

If you are comforting someone, remember the word groundless. Remember that when all else has been stripped away, sometimes the only thing I feel in control of is how I choose to grieve. Don't take that away from a person.



Today, I am thankful for the people that love me....

Kelly

Relays, Resilience and Remembrance...

“Twelve hours. It can stretch out forever when you're waiting to hear the report on a biopsy. It can literally evaporate when it's the last hours spent with a dying loved one. Or, it can bring hundreds of people together in the fight against cancer through Relay for Life.”-Sheila Blankenship-

My husband and I just finished walking in the American Cancer Society Relay for Life. We joined a dear friend's team, and agreed to walk for two hours this morning, from 6-8AM. Although I was not sure about it as I pried my eyes open at 5 this morning, I can now say that it was well worth the early rise.

As we walked around the track, Brady and I talked about 100 different things. Summer, our planned adventures, our health, our companies, Brendan, Rudy and so much more. I am blessed with what we have, we communicate about the important stuff, and he is my partner. He challenges me and my thinking, and I do the same for him.

But, even with the stimulating conversation, I could not help but notice the surroundings. Tents, decorated to show the individuality of the team, expressing in some cases remembrance, and in others, the resilience of survival. As I walked past each one, I thought about how cancer had touched each person on the field, and this is one of the ways that they decided to make something good from it.

It got me to thinking. Thinking about this journey we call life.

Many of the participants in this yearly relay took something really bad, and decided to make something good. I write and write and write to find something good in something really bad.

No relay or blog can change the bad. But, it does change perspective. Focusing on something that we have power to affect change upon, even if in the big picture, it would appear that nothing is fixable.

I'm not sure if I'm making sense. If I'm not, it would not be the first time...

I guess the point I'm trying to make is this. Bad stuff happens every single day. It comes in a multitude of different forms, and no one will walk through life untouched. But just like the cancer survivors circling the track this morning, we all have the power to choose what road we will take after the hurt. We can choose to live, or we can choose to let the pain define us forever more.

I am humbled on this sunny Saturday morning, thinking about the brave men and woman who live with cancer, and thankful I was able to walk alongside some of them this morning. They reminded me of the real reason I started this journey with gratitude. Because life, even when it gives you hardship, it still worth living.

Have a good one,

Kelly

The Clarity of Grief...

He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I thought I would share this article, written by Kristine Carlson, wife of Richard Carlson, author of "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff." Richard died suddenly in 2006.

Her words about her early days of grief are beautiful and honest. She speaks of clarity that can be found only in grief. It is worth sharing.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-1283992/Sudden-death--The-great-beauty-grief-clarity.html?ito=feeds-newsxml

Clarity from grief. It seems that the idea could not be true. How could one feel any clarity from death and grief? But it is the very thing that kept me going. In fact, I have been revisiting some of that clarity, rereading some of the early posts to my blog and some chapters in my book. I am reminding myself, once again, of what really matters in this life. Hint: It is the love, it is and always will be the love.

That's why you haven't heard much from me lately. I decided to let myself become still again. To listen, to rediscover that clarity, to work a little on another little thing I'm writing, to think further about how Stephen's life has changed the way I will live mine.

Hope you enjoy the article...

Kelly