The House



The top photo is of the Ocean Bowl Skate Park in Ocean City, Maryland. The house, above, is a block away from the skate park. This is the location where I last saw my brother. He had been in OC with his long-time friend, Dave. I stopped by the skate park to watch them skate, as they've done for years. It was May of 2006. Specifically, the final vision I have of my brother is him kicking and coasting along on his skateboard on the street, in front of this house—which, if I'm not mistaken, was/is owned by a friend of his— while I drove away, waving good-bye. I swear to God (which I truly do not say lightly), I remember thinking it might be the last time I see my brother. I actually had that thought. I don't know why. I didn't know why at the time. I remember having that thought and skeptically dismissing it because it was such a crazy thing to think, ...right? 

The snapshot I have of him skating by is so vivid and I will forever cherish it. I will never forget how he looked: smiling, optimistic, excited to go to the bowl and make more videos of Dave and the other guys skating the ramps; his hair was blowing away from his face as he kicked. He had such a great time in OC. It was a beautiful moment, really. If I had to choose one vision to be the last of my brother, it would either be of him throwing clay, fishing, or skating. Luckily, I have photos of him doing all of those things he loved, and a final, wonderful memory of him enjoying life and having a good time. Amen, bruddah, amen.

Another December

Even if you don't usually spend time praying, giving yourself a moment to sit in silence will help get you through the holiday season. It's difficult to see all the commercials of happy families sharing Christmas morning together or watching people in stores smiling with their Santa hats as they shop, but just remember— you are not alone. There are millions of people worldwide experiencing the holiday season—be it for the first time or the fiftieth— without a loved one. You are not alone.

Here's an excerpt from Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman:

Dec 8
In the flurry of the coming weeks I will try to spend a few minutes each day in prayerful silence—my own particular stay against the emotional and physical tumult of these days.

October Rituals

Tomorrow is the four year anniversary of Bob's passing. I can't believe it's been four years already. Even more surprising is the fact my parents and I have been able to survive and continue living without my brother, without their son. I don't know how we've done it. Holidays pass, birthdays pass, significant anniversaries pass... The world keeps moving at rapid speed.

Today my mom drives up from North Carolina. We'll be going to the beach tomorrow which is what we've done since October of 2007. I have leis coming in from Hawaii which we'll throw into the waves and say a blessing for Bob. My dad will go to the beach in North Carolina with Kona, take a fishing pole, maybe throw a line out. 

I've learned the importance of rituals honoring a loved one. Whether it's on their birthday, anniversary of some kind, or just a special day during the year you set aside, designating a time to be with your loved one helps in so many ways. You feel more at peace, gain strength, you're allowed to laugh and to cry. It's a special, quiet time when the world does seem to stop...just for a moment. 

A poem from ELEGY by Mary Jo Bang

UTOPIAN LONGING BECOMES MORE ABSURD

After the beloved is dead.
After the personal history ends
With a glassy-eyed over, it's been,
Says a polar presence. Cold

Juxtaposes with the waning warmth
Of the human. Cold, and its polar
Opposite. There was once
An earlier epoch

Of four-wheeled skates, a Philadelphia
Sidewalk, when imagination corresponded
To a future. Here is the tormented
Arithmetic of one minus one. The zero

In one now hides the other. This is
What it looks like. A domino sequence
Of nothing becoming a spectacle
Watched for a while

(The gate latch sticks and then clicks)
While eating a cone of cotton candy.



A poem from Mary Jo Bang's National Book Critics Circle Award Winning book, Elegy.
By Graywolf Press

What's on my mind. 7:52pm, Tuesday night.

I have so many things I want to write but I'm feeling overwhelmed. So this particular entry will be somewhat of a stream of consciousness. More like scattered thoughts.

I want the world to be gentle with me. Have patience. I'm forgetful. I get confused easily. I find myself unorganized at times. But sometimes I am completely focused. And sometimes, I just need help.
I want the world to know that my brother is on my mind every minute of every day. When someone talks about their brother, I instantly get a sick feeling in my stomach. I can't help it. I want to cry. I want to change the subject of the conversation or walk away. When people joke about death, or talk about it nonchalantly, I want to berate them. I know they're not being insensitive. They simply don't know about or understand my situation. Or maybe they forgot. I want people to ask me how I'm doing. No one asks me that anymore. Yes, it's been 3.5 years since my brother passed away. It hasn't gotten easier. It's not something that happened in the past, therefore insignificant. His death is with me always. The feeling of his absence is with me always. The reality of knowing he is not here on earth is with me always. He's not waking up, having lunch, petting his dog, checking out the forecast, laughing at something he saw, hugging someone, skating, driving somewhere, celebrating a holiday, throwing clay... At the same time, I do feel he is with me. He is with me as I'm looking up at the clouds. He is with me when I'm petting Mason. He is with me when I'm laughing. He is with me when I'm driving.

On July 4th— just a few weeks ago— I was standing outside on my balcony. It was around 9:15pm and the fireworks in Annapolis were already on their way. And all day long I was feeling my brother's presence. It's something I can't explain. If you feel these things, you know what I mean. And I was hoping I'd see a blue heron. (That's the sign/symbol of my brother for me. When I see a heron, it means sort of like, "Hi, sis!") But no herons were spotted all day. Then, I see this thing flying straight towards me as I stood there looking out, leaning on my railing. It was flying away from the black sky smudged with a haze of fireworks and smoke. I thought at first it must be an osprey since they're everywhere. No, it flew closer and closer, I could see it was a huge blue/gray bird, and it flew— I AM NOT KIDDING— right over my head, over my balcony. All of a sudden I couldn't hear the fireworks. Everything was silent but for the flapping of this heron's wings. I remember looking at his outstretched legs then he was gone, overhead, over the building. I think he may have even looked at me. It was one of those moments of pure disbelief and of joy and of shock. I couldn't speak. I almost fainted. Bob, I love you and I miss you.

Today's Entry - June 25

Here is today's entry in the book I read every morning, Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman.

How much time we spend anguishing over a future without the one we love—anticipating all the times we would have expected that person to be present with us, sharing our life.
Yet the future is unknown to us. We ourselves may not be present at these events we look toward anticipating grief. Why spend the energy of our lives on an unknowable future when the present world lies all around us, moment by moment, day by day? There is grief enough here. But we do not need to compound that grief by projecting ourselves into a time beyond our knowledge or control.

Affirmation:
I feel wonderful freedom when I stop imagining my future sadness and live only in the present.

Absence

I apologize for not blogging in a long time. I have a list of topics I need to write but haven't been able to sit down and write in a long time. Hang on. I'll post something new soon. Thanks for checking in ya'll. And don't forget to leave a comment if you'd like.

Personal Items - Part 1


Bob was born in Harrogate, England. My parents lived there while my dad was working for NSA. It was something that my brother always thought special; the fact that he was born in another country just added another layer to his interesting life. He always carried a metal British flag/Union Jack keychain on his keys. On the back it says, Made in England. I don't remember if he told me where he got it. Maybe he found it or bought it. I don't know. I wish I knew. Because I now carry it on my keys. It's damaged, pieces of the enamel have fallen off from years of being attached to my brother's keys. Keys to his VW van, keys to his Jeep Commando, keys to his red Ford pick up truck. Keys to his home, his potter's studio.

I think it's really important to carry something around everyday that was once owned by the departed. I have many of Bob's possessions, as I've mentioned before, but to have something so small, something so meaningful, and be able to carry it with me every single day and look at it when I'm at a stoplight, glance down at it when I'm at the grocery store, it just really warms my heart and is extremely comforting. I suggest you carry something, too. A piece of jewelry, maybe, a patch of fabric from a t-shirt, a photo of them you know they liked. Wear it on your finger, around your neck, keep it in your pocket, or place it somewhere in your car where you can see it every day. That way, they are always with us. Always.

After the Holidays

The holidays are over thank goodness. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the holidays to some extent, but they’re not the same, obviously. November through January is a very difficult time for those who have lost a loved one. There is heartache, happiness, confusion, joy, depression, and for me personally, an indulgence in pasta. 

December 2006, two months after my brother passed away, I attended a ‘getting through the holidays without your loved one’ seminar at the local hospice. There were about 20 people there--teenagers and older folks, men and women. Little did I know at that time (because I was still in a complete fog), it was going to be so helpful each holiday season thereafter. The two women speaking from hospice were extremely knowledgeable and kind. They talked about how the grieving process is a roller coaster; we made memory keepsakes of our loved ones; we shared our stories if we wanted; and one really wonderful thing they did was give us a little gold jingle bell on a ribbon. It was to signify how much ‘jingle’ --happiness for the season-- we wanted to allow ourselves to have. If we wanted to be a part of the joyfulness of the season, then we can hold it in our hand and jingle it for as long as we wanted. If we’re not feeling in the mood for the holidays, then maybe just one shake of the bell would do. No matter how we felt about the holiday season, we were told that it was okay if we didn’t want a lot of ‘jingle’ this time of year. 

It was such a simple gift yet so effective. I have kept that little bell on a stand in my foyer ever since. I look at it every day and remind myself that--even though the holiday season is over-- I am the one who has control over whether or not I want ‘jingle’ as I go about my day and it’s okay to want a lot or none at all. 

I encourage those who have lost a loved one to contact your local hospice. They are not only incredible caregivers, they have programs and counseling on bereavement. Click here to find the local hospice near you.

These Days Vol. 4

1. Rusty Nails / 4:32 / Moderat
2. Zero / 4:26 / Yeah Yeah Yeahs
3. Drunk Fun In London / 5:44 / Vincent Oliver
4. Fifths / 6:19 / Deadmau5
5. Green Eyed Love (Classixx Remix) / 5:08 / Mayer Hawthorne
6. Ashes On the Fire / 4:26 / Richard Hawley
7. Tom Sawyer / 4:34 / Rush
8. Ring the Bell / 4:23 / YACHT
9. Puppy Toy / 3:30 / Tricky
10. Too Late to Think / 4:00 / Slaraffenland
11. Velvet / 4:12 / The Big Pink
12. Forget My Name (feat. Hot Chip) / 4:20 / Jesse Rose
13. Brass In Pocket / 3:06 / Pretenders
14. Heartbreaker (feat. John Legend) / 3:13 / MSTRKRFT
15. At Forest Edge / 5:49 / Vetiver
16. Headphone Space / 4:47 / A Sunny Day In Glasgow
17. My Last Days on Earth / 4:39 / Bill Monroe