Tag: Life After Loss

Life After Loss

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Dad

Lori Martin

It is said the “firsts” after someone passes are the hardest. First holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, etc without your loved one seem to be the hardest. Thursday, June 15 would be our Dad’s 93rd birthday – but he passed away on October 15th, so this is his first heavenly birthday.

June 15, 2022 – Dad’s birthday at Giant City Lodge with Dave, Kathy, and my family.

I planned a lot of “grace” for myself for 6/15. I’m not going to work, unless I want to; I have an appointment with my therapist (talking to her has helped me so much); and I signed up for a gardening class through our local extension office. If I don’t feel like going to the class I don’t have to. But, something tells me that tomorrow isn’t going to be as horrible as other “firsts”. I think part of that has to do with the fact that I’m feeling more “at peace” with his passing, mostly because I believe that he and our Mom are together again – and that’s really where he always wanted to be. He lived over 13 years beyond when she died, and I know he missed her terribly. During the 14 or so months he lived with us until he died he loved to tell my kids tales of adventure that he and Mom had gotten into. For me, the memory of sitting next to him at the dining room table, watching my two kids listen as he told of the time he and Mom went to see Louis Armstrong in concert – and Mom just walked backstage like she owned the place – is a treasured memory (likely equally as treasured as his memory of that night was to him). My kids, both being very involved with music, sat across the table listening to him tell this epic tale, with looks of awe and amazement – their grandparents had seen the great Louis Armstrong in person and grandma had conned her way backstage to have her album signed!

Oh, the adventures they had! They had been married 58 years when she died in 2009.

Maybe I’ll be a little sad tomorrow. But I hope that I can think of times past, laughter and tales, and how even 13 years after he died, he still got choked up and teary eyed when he spoke of Mom. I choose to believe that they are together and they’re enjoying what lies beyond. I recently “read” a book called “Unlikely Animals” by Annie Hartnett, and I really really really hope that the afterlife is something like what is depicted in this clever and well written novel. As I listened to the audiobook I would often find myself smiling and picturing my parents in the mix of characters of the novel.

Having Dad live with us was great – we went on lots of adventures, including to
Florida in March 2022, shortly before we bought our vacation home in Port Charlotte.

So, that’s that. Tomorrow is one of those “grief milestones” that we each must go through, but I hope that for me there are more smiles than tears – and maybe even some laughter. Maybe I’ll see a pair of cardinals tomorrow morning as I enjoy coffee on the deck. Maybe I’ll hear one of “his” songs as I go about my day. I’m sure he will be with each of us tomorrow, and encouraging us to celebrate the time we had with him.

My brothers – Dave, Jeff, and John – and I with our Dad in 2018

I’ve had a lot of help from family and friends since Dad passed away. I sincerely thank each of you. Having him live with us and caring for him at the end of his life was an honor and privilege. He was a sweet and gentle man who had a wonderful sense of humor and could tell a good story. I cherish the time that I had with him and hope that he has a wonderful heavenly birthday and that he and Mom know how very much they are missed.

Life After Loss

Happy Anniversary

Lori Martin

Today, April 7th, is my parents’ wedding anniversary. They were married in 1951, so this is their 72nd anniversary. My Mom died in 2009, and my Dad passed in October of 2022, so this is the first wedding anniversary that neither of them is here.

I really hope with every fiber of my being, that they are reunited and together today to celebrate their anniversary and all the joys of their lives together. As a parent, I don’t know there’s anything more gratifying than seeing your children (no matter what their age) doing well and being happy. My wish for today is that my parents are together and feeling satisfied that they created a partnership that produced four children, all of whom turned out to be decent humans who are happy and fulfilled.

We all miss them terribly, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my parents and the things that they taught me. I am thankful that I had the parents that I had and for the family they created. I am thankful that I had time with my Dad due to cancer that I likely wouldn’t have had otherwise. While it wasn’t always pretty, it was time together than we leaned on one another and slogged through it together. I’m thankful that he hung on after my Mom died. Now I find myself missing him, yet also feeling hopeful and optimistic that they are once again together.

Cheers, Mom and Dad – cheers to your marriage on April 7, 1951 and for all of the things that day set in motion.

Life After Loss, Trauma

Schuyler

Lori Martin

A week ago I wrote a post for your birthday. Every tap of the keyboard was a reminder that as we mentally celebrated your birthday – a week later we would memorialize the day you died. I wish I could say that the memories from the day you were born were as strong as the day you died, but as I’ve experienced more and more life I’ve come to understand that trauma often plants a deeper root into our memories than joy. Such is life…

I took my own time last night to remember the events of today in 2009. Each of us has our own recollection and those feel sacred and private. Today I’m going to share my thoughts on time and wishes.

Fourteen years – every year as we add another number to the sum that you have been gone it is both amazing that so much time has gone by and also feels like an eternity since I felt your hug, heard your laugh, or shook my head and rolled my eyes at something you did or said. I suppose there’s a bit of beauty in that, though – because even though 14 years have passed, you’re still such a part of our lives. I think about you every day. Your name often graces a conversation or funny story. Your name and your memories cannot be erased from our history because you aren’t physically present in our days and nights. There’s actually a lot of beauty in that.

Fourteen years has not taken grief away – but it has softened the edges of it. I feel a pang of loss when I see your friends with their children, or look at a family photo and your face is absent, or see the shift in your Dad’s face when someone mentions your name. I feel that pang of loss because I grieve all the stuff that you didn’t get to do beyond the age of 25. I grieve that you didn’t get to attend weddings, graduations, vacations, holidays, or even just a random Saturday night back yard BBQ. The edges of that grief are softer though, so I don’t stay there long – I sit with it for a moment, and then my mind drifts into a space where we all were together and I can hear the laughter, feel the breeze from the river, and smell the grill. Twenty five years wasn’t enough, but it was so much better than nothing at all.

Wishes – I have so many, but for today, just a few. I wish Drake and Avery KNEW you. They “know” you and Drake might even slightly remember you, but neither of them got to really KNOW you. I’ll even lump Logan, Cole, and Brenton in there. It makes me sad that the only way they know you is because of what we tell them, photos we show them, and stories from your friends. I mean, to be honest, you’d have really taught them some raunchy shit, but even just the thought of that makes me smile. I wish you could’ve had that opportunity, and even more – that those kids would’ve had the opportunity to really know you. You’d have been the person they’d confide in – because they would know that you were a safe person, no judgement, and that you’d be honest with them. You’d be the “fun” uncle/cousin but you’d also have been that safe person for them because you would’ve let them know that you had made mistakes and been judged. You would’ve loved them as fiercely as you loved all of us, and nobody has ever been hurt by being loved too much.

I hope that you know how incredibly much you are missed by SO MANY – and how you live on in our memories and hearts. People say “Never Forgotten” but I can assure you that you truly will never be forgotten. Many remember you as the young man from Kewanee who gave his life for his country. Those of us lucky enough to call you family or friend remember you as the person you were, and the person who we will miss forever.

Life After Loss

happy birthday

Lori Martin

Today, February 17th is Schuyler’s birthday. Schuyler is my nephew.

He was killed by an IED blast in Afghanistan in 2009.

Some may think today “was” his birthday and he “was” my nephew, and that’s ok, but that’s not how I see it. February 17th is – and always will be – his birthday. He will remain forever 25 in my mind – with a huge smile, a mischievous laugh, and a gripping hug that practically squeezed the air our of your every cell. A week from today, on the 24th, is the day he died…one week after his 25th birthday. Here and then gone.

I think about Sky a lot, but more so during this month, and even more during this week – the week between the day of his birth and the day of his death. Today, as thoughts of him and memories have passed through my mind I’ve smiled. Even now, typing this, I just have to smile. That’s really all he ever wanted – to make people smile. Right now I am feeling a little morose, as the thought just occurred to me – How much MORE laughter would we all have in our lives if he were still alive?

Wow – so much. So much more laughter.

He was truly a gift, and his presence in my life was a gift. Like everyone important to us who we lose, I long for more, but have to be grateful for the time we had.

That’s the real trick in this grief thing – remembering to be grateful for the time you had instead of focusing on what was lost.

So, happy birthday Schuyler. Thank you for the memories that you left with me; thank you for the people you brought to my life because of yours; thank you for whooshing through my head sometimes when I’m taking life way too seriously and reminding me to enjoy the ride; thank you for being the reason people choose to help others; thank you for being who you were and who you will always remain, in my heart and mind.

Life After Loss

Moving…

Lori Martin

So, first some back-story for anyone that stumbles onto this site and doesn’t know my story…

In the fall of 2021, my dad moved into our home because of some health concerns. He didn’t want to move in with us, as he didn’t want to be a burden on us. We, as a family, explained that it was easier for us all if he was here because I was going to be taking him to a lot of appointments and such – due to his recent diagnosis of Stage IV bladder cancer. He moved in, and we had him take the master suite, as it is the only bedroom on the main floor, so no stairs to climb. The hubs and I moved to one of the bedrooms upstairs. Fast forward (and skip a whole lotta stuff that I’ll likely get into at some point) to October 15, 2022. That was the day that my sweet Dad took his last breath, and I literally felt his heart stop beating, surrounded by his 4 “kids”, one daughter-in-law, and one niece. He died at 8:45 that morning – in our master bedroom – in our bed.

OK – so you’re caught up now. Well, the scene has been set anyway. You get the idea. Mad props to my hubs – what a patient and kind man he is. To be fair, anyone who would put up with me has to be patient and kind (and a bit mental) but he has really been exceptional during this “caregiver” phase of my life. After Dad died – the bedroom sat. And sat…..and sat.

Finally I decided that in order to move back in there I needed to change it up, so I announced that I would need new furniture. I went out, found bedroom furniture that I thought would work, graphed that out on a “bedroom schematic” he made for me (yeah, we’re THOSE people) and ordered the furniture. Next step – paint the formerly deep maroon wall a different color. I chose and bought the paint. The paint sat. And sat. I gave all of the furniture in the bedroom to someone who needed it….except for the mattress, because we had bought the mattress before Dad moved in, and we liked it as it was adjustable.

So now we have the room with nothing but the mattress and adjustable frame and a wall that needs to be painted – and like a metric crap ton of clutter and crap that I need to go through and decide “keep/donate/trash”, but I digress. Sometime during the holiday break I declared the day of painting the wall was at hand and got to it. Almost like magic, while I was on the stepladder (Dad’s stepladder) painting, my phone rang and it was the furniture store calling to set up delivery for 12/31. Yep – the new furniture was delivered on New Year’s Eve. Crazy. I finished painting, cleaned the room up pretty well, and then the hubs and I moved the adjustable frame and mattress to the opposite wall, as I wanted the room to be laid out differently with the new furniture.

The new furniture was delivered, set up, and voila…it was done. Time to move in. Except, I really didn’t want to. Any time I have something that I don’t want to do…a task that seems too monumental that I am paralyzed to even start…I remind myself of the following:

How do you eat an elephant? ONE bite at a time.

Time to start eating the elephant that is “moving back to the master suite”. My first step was once the furniture was all in place I headed to Home Goods and got some new window treatments, bedding, throw pillows, throw blanket, etc. Once I got that all put together I realized I needed lamps for the nightstands. Back to Home Goods and home with the new lamps. I looked around and surveyed my work, feeling pleased with the results. My work here was done…but it was not. The room was ready, but our stuff was still upstairs. Some days the “bite” I could manage was a single trip with hanging clothes. Other days I made trip after trip, hauling stuff, sorting through donate/keep/trash, and putting things away like a fiend. Some days you’re really hungry and can take bite after bite after bite…some days a single bite feels like it will choke you.

The moving back in has been hard, but even harder for me has been actually sleeping in the room. I’m not even sure how to put this into words – this difficulty. I’m not creeped out by it being the room that Dad died in. Hell, I sleep on the side of the mattress that he was on when he died. That’s not it. For days I’ve wondered why I have such a hard time sleeping in this beautiful room, and today it occurred to me…

Moving IN does not equal moving ON.

Moving back into the master suite does not erase Dad’s presence – from my home or from my life. Moving in does not diminish what happened in this room. And when I think of what happened in this room, I can think of it in many ways – but the version that I CHOOSE to think of is the beauty of a man who lived a long life…the beauty of being surrounded by the voices, the tender touches, and the sounds of loved people and music. I think of the beauty of LOVE and LIFE. The room held much more life than it did death, even in the hour of his passing. Honestly, even after he passed, the room continued to hold more life and love than it did death, even as the hospice nurse and I bathed and dressed him to prepare him for his final departure from our home.

Moving IN does not equal moving ON. I don’t think we ever “move on” from life changing moments. We take so much of those moments with us…those moments become part of our body chemistry, part of our DNA, part of our soul. Those moments help to define our responses to future challenges and choices. Those life changing moments become part of who and what we are. Moving IN doesn’t equal moving ON. Every time I walk into the room it feels a bit more “our” space again. I like the simplicity of the room, and hope we can keep that up (it was packed with stuff before). This is just another step in the process, and while I know the process continues, I’m happy that we have at least started eating the “moving back in” elephant. Every day I make sure I take at least one bite. This may involve bringing another basket of stuff in and putting those items away, or it may involve many trips. Either way, it’s happening…one bite at a time.