Character Magnet

I attract "characters" like an industrial magnet.  It's as if a magnetic aura surrounds me.  Not everyone can see/feel this aura - only the strange and wonderful - and they are unable to resist the pull.

Here's the story of this particular character and the joy that she brought into my life.

My grandson is turning 13.  Imagine all the cliches about time flying - I feel them all looking at this child.

ANYWAY... Bryce plays football.  His number is 8.  His dad gave him a beautiful gold chain for Christmas with a number 8 charm to put on it.  Bryce's mom and dad weren't sure he'd like the chain and/or number, so the number they bought him was gold plated rather than 14K gold.  Well... Bryce loved the chain AND the 8 - so much in fact, that he wore all the plating off of the 8.  His father suggested that I might want to purchase a 14k gold number 8 for Bryce for his birthday.  Great idea!  I'm in!

So... off to the hunt.  I saw some 14K gold numbers to order online - which would arrive after Bryce's birthday - so my oldest son suggested that I might find one at the mall in one of the kiosks so that I would have it in time for his birthday celebration.  Great idea!  (These guys are soooo smart)

Michael and I went out to dinner,  which is not something we do often - so many dietary restrictions and so little energy,  By the end of the day, I'm usually out of steam.  (Do you know about the Spoon Theory?  If not, find an explanation in this post: https://despitethedarkness.blogspot.com/2017/08/putting-in-time.html#more)  I was pretty much "done" by the time we finished - my spoons depleted  -  but the mall was just across the street, so we decided to go and take a quick look.

We found the kiosk easily and asked the woman working at the kiosk (let's call her Dana), if she had a 14k (or even 10K) gold number 8.  She was a petite black woman wearing a baseball hat, jeans, a t-shirt, gold sparkly sneakers, and a HUGE smile.  I was dressed in jeans, sandals, a shirt, and a bandana covering my almost-bald head, dark circles under my eyes - no smile.

After looking thoroughly in each display case, she told us, "I don't have any here, but let me check with the kiosk at the other end of the mall for you."

As she called the kiosk at the other end of the mall, she began searching the internet on the computer in the kiosk.  The kiosk at the other end of the mall didn't have any gold numbers either.  That wasn't enough for her.  She made a few more calls, but couldn't find the charm for us. I can't remember when I experienced service to that level.  She was just exceptional.

She asked about the bandana, and I told her that I had just finished chemo the week before and that I had no hair.  She laughed and took off her baseball cap.  Bald!  B-A-L-D.

Laughing, with an infectious deep pitched belly laugh, she said, "I'm too old to mess with hair every day.  No thanks! I shaved it off.  Done."  I had to laugh with her as Michael and I turned to head toward the  mall exit.

"I feel like you have a birthday soon.  Do you?," she asked, cheerily.

"I do", I answered, incredulous. "My birthday is the 20th of this month."

"I just knew it," she answered loudly, laughing.  (she laughed a LOT) "Which way are you headed?  I'll walk with you a little bit."  We pointed to the direction we were going and she moved next to me as we started to walk.

With her cap still off, bald head exposed, the woman started singing Stevie Wonder's 'Happy Birthday to you" - with the most wonderful voice - at the top of her lungs - walking down the mall next to me (me on my mobility scooter).

She walked part way with us and then waved (still singing) as we moved away from her.

I looked at Michael and told him how thankful I was for her help and for her presence that particular day.  This last chemo was rough.  I was tired and didn't feel well.  It had been a long day - I pushed harder than I should have (a recurring theme) and I had been missing Greg a lot that day.

I am grateful that God not only loves me - but that he puts this kind of person in my path at the times that I need them most.

Thank you, God, for the characters in my life.  I love them all. 

Suicide Day ~ Chemo Cycle #5

One day last month Richard stopped at the house and I asked him how he was doing and how Greg's death has affected him.

His told me that he's angry - all the time.

"At Greg?,"  I asked.

"Just... angry," he told me.  "All the time.  I wake up angry.  I don't know why I'm angry.  I just am."

"You process your way and I'll process mine," he told me before I could ask another question.

"Okay," I answered.

He and Greg were close all their lives - played the same sports - had the same friends.  They were best friends - inseparable.  Although 14 months apart, they were known as "the twins" - the McKinnon brothers - clear through high school.  Richard's loss is enormous - and he'll have to carry that loss much longer than I will have to carry mine.

I don't think I understood until that moment, how profoundly the loss of his almost-twin brother changed Richard's life.

"Does talking about it help you," he asked me.

"It does," I replied.

"Well, it doesn't help me." 

I talk to Richard about everything. I lean hard on him.  I think we'll still be able to share memories and stories about Greg. I hope so.  But if he doesn't want to talk about "feelings" or how he's working through this, I have to respect his boundaries.  I hope it will change, but I'll follow his lead. 

All of that is a preamble to Suicide Day from Cycle #5 of chemo.

I told you about the emotional drop that I experience from prednisone after chemo.  Cycle #5 was the worst to date.

I decided that I was tired - done - ready to die - ready to let other people get on with their lives without being crippled by my presence.  These were not sad, self-pitying thoughts.  I was calm - rational (or so I thought).  I began to Google my medications to see what would take me out the fastest.

As I was gathering pills to kill myself, I had a flash of Richard - just a flash - his face - how he would look like after I died - how my suicide would affect him - forever.

I collapsed in tears.  I knew in that moment, that suicide could never be an answer for me. Never.  No matter what.

God's grace - his infinite mercy - touched me in that flash of Richard's face.

What had I been thinking?  It was then I realized the roller coaster pattern of chemotherapy (therapy?) and the chemical effect on my brain.  Knowledge is power, I've heard.  This experience was the living truth of that saying.

I will be forever grateful for Richard sharing his feelings with me that day - and even more grateful for God's mercy.

When I talked to Woowoo (You remember Woowoo, right??) about what happened, she told me that people contemplating suicide often report a "vision" that prevented them from completing their plan.

Did Greg have a vision?  Was it too late?

Quitter vs Pauser

For the record, I didn't quit.  I thought I did, but in reality... I just paused... for a lonnnnng time, but I'm back so that's proof that I didn't quit.   (That''s my story and I'm sticking to it.)

It got to be too painful.  I don't know what I expected, but this has not been "it".  I knew it would hurt.  I knew it would change me. BUT... I'm an overcomer... a fighter.  I thought every month it would get just a little easier - that time would help.  It doesn't work like that.  I thought I could "handle" the pain.  I was wrong. 

A week and a half ago, I was as close to suicide as I could be without actually committing suicide. What stopped me?  A sudden vision of my oldest son - the pain he is feeling now - and the knowledge of what it would do him for the rest of his life if I took mine.  Divine intervention?

That day I wrote:

If I had a way to do it
I would have done it today.
Too late now.

No more pain for them -
no matter the cost to me.  

Going through the motions -
screaming inside.

Smile.

Yesterday I had a hopeful day - posted happy words on Facebook - and got lots of support from people who actually think those words mean something more than having "a good day".  They think it means I'm a trooper - that I've got this grief thing under control.  They don't understand that it's fleeting - it's a feeling - it's not a definition of who I am.

I saw 3 of my grandchildren on Wednesday night - just for five or ten minutes when I dropped something off at their house, but it was enough.  Life makes more sense when you're hugging a 6-year-old - or an 8 year old - or an 11-year-old... who, by the way, gave her 8-year-old sister a nasty elbow shot to push by her - to get to me.  It was just what I needed and it made my day. I'm in charge of love - not discipline.  :-)  Wednesday night - got me through Thursday.  That's how I roll. 

This morning, I put my head down in the shower and let the water run over my head and face - and cried for about 10 minutes.  I miss him all day - every day.  There is no relief from grief (a term that is too liquid to hold in your mind).  There are days that have real joy in them - days that I'm incredibly grateful - but the loss is always there.  Always.  Under the joy - under the gratitude - under the smile - it's still there.

When I finally stopped crying in the shower, I got out - got dressed - and went to Philadelphia for a PET scan.  I was diagnosed about 4 months ago (I think - I lose track of time) with stage 4, lymphoma.  I'm trying to find space in my life to have a feeling about this, but I can't afford it right now.  I'm just moving forward - some days I'm sure I'll be fine - some days I just don't care.   Unfortunately, I'm sure you'll hear more about this, but I assure you, this is insignificant compared to the loss of Greg. 

Tomorrow?  I don't dare anticipate. 

Seeing Stars

I got up this morning at about 5:00 and looked out the window to the sky.

Now, I don't know if you're familiar with the sky at night in and around Philadelphia, but stars are not our "thing".  In fact, I can't remember when I looked at the sky at night and saw stars.

But I saw stars this morning - a whole sky full of stars - and one star in particular, that was exceptionally bright. 

It was beautiful and unexpected and just for a few seconds, I felt peace.

It was fleeting - but it was there.  The first time I've felt any peace since Greg died. 

I am grateful.

For a moment

My faith has always been strong.  I don't question God - never have - hope I never will.  I surely don't understand all of this, but I'm not questioning God (at least not in words - spoken or thought).

People give me Bible verses about God's love - how he will hold me up - comfort me - and more. Most of the time I don't see it.  I feel alone and abandoned.

No thanks - but thanks

In August, before Greg's junior year in high school (and his older brother's senior year), Greg came home from football practice and told me that there was a kid on his football team who was having problems at home and needed a place to live.  After hearing the details of the problems, I was pretty sure I didn't want to be involved.  But Greg wouldn't let it go, so I called the Principal of the high school to see what he knew about this young man.  The principle told me that Rich (let's call him Rich) was an exceptional child - athlete - good student - someone we would be glad we had in our home.  Greg had it exactly right... after speaking with Rich's mother and grandparents, we invited him to come and stay with us.  That meant that we had two high school seniors, one high school junior, and our youngest, who was ten - all living in a house that was less than 1,000 square feet before we closed in the garage  - three bedrooms - 1 bathroom.

Bracelets

Another day in the pits and I just can't write that again today.  Instead, I'll tell you about Greg's bracelets.

I think I've mentioned that I make bracelets.  If not... I make bracelets.  Currently, they're mainly leather bracelets.

A friend in need...

...needs a friend, indeed.  (my own twist)

Sometimes out of the worst of things, something wonderful happens.

After Greg died, I heard from an old friend (Let's call her Carol).  I met Carol over 30 years ago at church and loved her immediately.  We both had families.  Life gets busy.  And the years disappear.

Fear vs Love

I woke up, again, afraid of the day - and what it would hold - how much pain - how much sorrow - what surprises would shake me - rock me without warning today.

I finished my "morning routine (maybe should be mourning routine??), fielded a horrible phone call that turned out to be a scam, and Richard called on his way out of town.

Prayed up

Amy planned a reception for friends and family after the burial.  Not what I would have done, but again, it was perfect. (Pay attention, people!  Learn the lessons along with me, if you haven't learned them before.)

When asked last week... "Are you going to the funeral home on Wednesday morning?

Gifts

About the time, I thought I might actually cry myself to death, Richard stopped by to check on me.  He knelt on the floor and held me while I cried - and shook - and tried to pull myself together.

Always (unless he's really cranky - and he can get cranky) his voice calms me and somehow, life makes some kind of sense again.  His smile (and he smiles a lot) gives me hope. :-)