Bob is Always with Me

Approaching the 5th year anniversary of Bob's passing, I wanted to take a visual inventory of just how much he is still in my life. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, he is with me. Saturdays sitting at my computer, evenings relaxing on the couch, I am surrounded by his things, gifts he's given to me, and even gifts I gave to him that I now own. Every piece of pottery he created, unique gifts from Hawaii, his guitar he adored, the clothing he once wore. It's not that I need to be reminded of my loss; having all of these things fills the air with his spirit, and I know he is with me, and that's comforting.

Below is a slideshow of the photos I took of the things I see everyday around my house...

If you don't have Flash, copy and paste this link into your browser to see the album.
https://picasaweb.google.com/109746190036513054714/BobAroundTheHouse?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCO7xyuLr86DsuAE&feat=directlink

A Note

This evening I started craving soup for dinner. My brain started buzzing. It's raining and snowing, I've got lots of vegetables in the fridge to use, I could make a lot of it and freeze the rest, I've got some soup base seasoning to boost the flavor, should I use a recipe from a book or should I throw stuff together, on and on ran my thoughts. Among my rows of cookbooks is one called Thai. It was a Christmas gift to my brother from me many years ago. I was flipping through it, looking for soup recipes, when I came upon this piece of paper with his handwriting. Ingredients needed for egg rolls. I was overcome with emotion. My hunger turned to nausea. Here he was. My beloved brother that was once alive on this earth, scribbling a list of things to buy at the food store. It was a shock to my system. It was one of those moments I found myself caught between my daily reality and my life reality, if that makes sense. I'm living, I'm going on about my days, I'm looking through cookbooks, and then the heavy reality presents itself. It's a quiet, empty feeling.

One of the most tragic, difficult aspects of losing a loved one is just not being able to talk to them. I just want to talk to him. I want to have a conversation with him, it doesn't matter what about. I do talk to him in my mind, but, obviously, it's not the same. I want to ask him if he made those egg rolls. And if he made them for himself or a friend or if he took them to a party. How'd they turn out? Then we'd talk about his delicious marinated chicken kabobs he used to make for our 4th of July parties. But I can't call him. I'm left with a note, written one day, years ago, when he was looking through a cookbook.

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.

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

September

It's September 4, 2009. I'll turn 35 in 2 days. The air feels heavy and anxious this time of year. 3 years ago, September of 2006, is when I visited my parents at their new condo in North Carolina. Bob was going to come down, too, since he lived only hours away but work overwhelmed him. As a potter, he was very busy in the fall, getting ready for an annual Thanksgiving fair where he could make some good money selling his pottery. I remember sitting at the glass table in the new condo as my dad called Bob and talked to him. We all sat there smiling and kind of laughing. Bob must have been saying something funny on the other line. I remember my dad asking if I wanted to talk to him but I said I'd call him later. I didn't know that a month later he'd be gone.

Bob used to always call me on my birthday and send a gift, usually a few weeks late. When he passed away October 2, and I was at his home solemnly looking through his things, there was a small cardboard box on a chair that had my address written on it with a black Sharpie. There it was, the birthday present he was eventually going to send me. It was the book Marley and Me. I still have it, in the box, unread.

They say birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays are the worst for the bereaved. It's true. I would always look forward to my brother calling me on my birthday, sometimes leaving funny messages on my voice mail if I didn't answer. But now, I'm somewhat afraid of September 6th. Just knowing I won't get that call from my brother still fills me with anxiety.

Crying Time

I cried every day for two years after Bob's death. Every single day. Mornings, in the shower, I cried heavily and loudly because no one could hear me and the water streaming down my face would carry the tears with it to the drain. During the afternoons, I sought out unoccupied public restrooms to shed tears. When I left work, I cried in the private sanctuary of my car. In the evenings I cried on the couch in the guest room, looking out at the moon through the narrow window that faces the Bay.

After the second anniversary, the crying episodes have become less frequent. I've noticed I rarely spend long amounts of time crying; rather, I have outbursts. I'll also experience several days, sometimes weeks at a time, when I feel very fragile, and the tears come and go, and my mood drifts from high to low.

Looking into the mirror now, possibly having cried more in the past two years than my entire lifetime before my brother's death, I see anguish. My eyes have gone through hell! They've had no rest in almost three years! They look heavy and sullen, like I've aged too quickly, or, better yet, incorrectly.

No one ever warns you of the strain your eyes will have to endure. I've realized this is the reason my eyes have become so sensitive to light. Sunglasses are a necessity to me more than ever before. I block out the light coming from the ceiling lights at work with a makeshift cardboard obstruction. I keep my brightness settings on my computer as dim as they will go.

This is just another element of grief. The physical toll it takes on our appearance is obvious, and more evidence that our lives have forever changed.

A Favorite Quote

From Healing After Loss, July 3:
"Everyone can master a grief but he that has it" -- William Shakespeare

Every grief has its own timetable, which only the griever knows. And usually the journey through grief is slow and often delayed.

Why the Good People?

Why did Bob have to die? Why was he taken from my parents and I? Why not someone who is evil, a murderer, a child molester. Not only my life, but the whole entire earth benefited from him being a part of it. He had such a good soul. He was genuine and generous.

I recently read an article about a couple who had been married for 40+ years and were inseparable, high school sweethearts. Along with their distinguished careers serving the public, they volunteered throughout their lives, helping others live better lives. They gave and they gave and they gave. Then they were killed in the Washington, DC Metro crash. Why were they taken?

The world suddenly but silently changes when good people die. And we are left empty, distraught, confused, asking questions that have no answers. At least, no answers that fill the void in our hearts.

Book Recommendation

Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman.

For every day of the year there is a quote, a paragraph describing the theme of the quote, and an affirmation to say to yourself. It's been my companion for two years, helping me cope and understand the grieving process. A friend of my mom's in her Compassionate Friends network gave it to her a while back and now my mom and I recommend it to others. Not every entry is perfect, obviously, but the majority are insightful, comforting, and encourage healing. Check it out...

Songs of Significance

Music is a huge part of my life, as it was for my brother. Soon after his death, I went searching on the Web for songs about loss and grieving, knowing music is very therapeutic for me. Unfortunately, many song lists I came upon were either religiously-oriented with lyrics that don't help me, just plain bad tunes, or were actually too depressing.

I soon realized what I was really searching for was music that was cathartic, raw, intense, emotional, and maybe even uplifting. I found some songs that had wonderful lyrics about losing a loved one. Other songs just felt right because they stirred something inside. Some were from musicians my brother loved which made them more meaningful to me. Indeed, some of these songs listed below make me cry, but an important thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is that you have to let the sadness present itself when it's obviously close-by. Don't fight it. Allow it to wash over you like an incoming tide, and then let it recede. And it will recede, perhaps when the song ends...

Enjoy. And please feel free to add your own recommendations because I love learning about new music and this is definitely an ongoing project...

NOTE: Clicking on these links will open a new tab or window in your browser, directing you to Rhapsody, which will automatically start playing the song. If you want to come back to my blog, hit the back arrow or check back to your History. Or, better yet, just check these songs out on itunes.

Series of Dreams by Bob Dylan
River of Tears by Eric Clapton
Come Back by Pearl Jam
Stove By A Whale by Ted Leo
The Trees by Rush
Your Long Journey by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Hold On by Tom Waits
New World by DeVotchka
A Dream That Can Last by Neil Young & Crazy Horse
The Black Arts by Stereolab
My Hero by Foo Fighters
Amazing Grace by Judy Collins
Alright by Supergrass
Stay With Me by Spiritualized
Black Mirror by Arcade Fire
All You Ever Wanted by The Black Keys
There Goes the Fear by The Doves
Fake Empire by The National
Slow by The Broken West
What Is And What Should Never Be by Led Zeppelin
This River Is Wild by The Killers
Time to Stand Still by The Wood Brothers

Grief Expectations

This is a well-known list of what you can expect from your grief. I keep a copy of this with me and read it occasionally. Not everyone will experience all of these things but I can honestly say I certainly have during my grief journey.

You can expect that:

• Your grief will take longer than most people think.
• Your grief will take more energy than you would have ever imagined.
• Your grief will involve many changes and be continually developing.
• Your grief will show itself in all spheres of your life.
• Your grief will depend upon how you perceive the loss.
• You will grieve for many things both symbolic and tangible, not just the death alone.
• You will grieve for what you have lost already and for what you have lost for the future.
• Your grief will entail mourning not only for the actual person you lost but also for all of the hopes, dreams, and unfulfilled expectations you held for and with that person, and for the needs that will go unmet because of the death.
• Your grief will involve a wide variety of feelings and reactions, not solely those that are generally thought of as grief, such as depression and sadness.
• You may have a combination of anger and depression, such as irritability, frustration, annoyance, or intolerance.
• You may have a lack of self-concern.
• You may experience grief spasms, acute upsurges of grief that occur suddenly with no warning.
• You will have trouble thinking (memory, organization and intellectual processing) and making decisions.
• You may feel like you are going crazy.
• You may be obsessed by the death and preoccupied with the deceased.
• You may begin to search for meaning and may question your religion and/or philosophy of life.
• You may find yourself acting socially in ways that are different from before.
• You may find yourself having a number of physical reactions.
• You may find that there are certain dates, events, and stimuli that bring upsurges in grief.
• Society will have unrealistic expectations about your mourning and may respond inappropriately to you.
• Certain experiences later in life may resurrect intense grief for you temporarily.

In summary, your grief will bring with it, depending upon the combination of factors above, an intense amount of emotion that will surprise you and those around you.

New Roles

When you lose a loved one unexpectedly, and find yourself in a whole new world, you immediately take on new roles, perhaps even a new identity. Some changes are immediate and obvious, others are transitional, becoming exposed over time. It was one of my brother’s best friends, Dave, who called me on the evening of October 4th to tell me Bob was gone. A frightening phone call to say the least and one I will never forget. I was then the person responsible for calling my parents to tell them their son had died. It was a role no one wants to experience and a role I never thought I’d ever have to assume, obviously. Who wants to call their parents and be the bearer of the absolute worst news of their lives?

In the days following (from what I can remember— because this was a time of overwhelming confusion, absolute denial, and devoid of genuine thoughts) I found myself taking on roles I didn’t want but were absolutely necessary. Decisions had to be made and it was only my dad, my mom, and I to make them. We instantly became a different family. All of a sudden I didn’t have a brother and my parents became parents who had lost a child. My dad realized he had to handle Bob’s finances— bills, mortgages, credit cards, his company obligations (because my brother was a self-employed potter)­. While at Twiford’s Funeral Home on the Outer Banks, I took on the role of writing my brother’s obituary. How do you summarize someone’s life in a few paragraphs? You can’t. The three of us made the decision for Bob to be cremated which we knew was his wish anyway. We also decided not to see his body at the funeral home. These are decisions you have to make immediately after you find out your loved one has died. Here we were, in another reality, making decisions and talking about things so foreign and absurd. Where are we? What are we doing? Is this even real right now? I then helped my parents contact friends and family and organize memorial plans. Everything happens so quickly you have no time to even think clearly. We were on auto-pilot, on a plane bound for territory unknown, for lack of a better description.

My parents became responsible for selling Bob’s house which was eventually sold after much heartache and turmoil due to a contractor taking advantage of my family during such a fragile time—a disaster too painful to explain right now. Mom and dad also became new parents of my brother’s dog, Kona, a loving, hyper yellow lab mix puppy. I became the owner of most of Bob’s possessions, an experience I will share in another entry.

Family roles have shifted. We've become each other's psychiatrist, listening, understanding, and helping each other along the grief process. It's brought us closer if that was even possible. Another role I’ve taken on is now being the only child. I am the sole caretaker of my parents when they get to that point of not being able to care for themselves. I am the sole inheritor as well. And I instantly became the end of the line for the Hathaway name. It’s a lonely feeling. I wasn’t really thinking to have a child but should I reconsider? If I get married, should I keep my last name? These questions will be answered in due time, I suppose.

For now, just 2 1/2 years after my life was turned upside down, I’m still assuming new roles and learning how to adjust, feeling the weight of uncovered responsibility. Moreover, I realize my entire self has taken on a new identity. It may not be apparent from the outside, but deep in my core everything has drastically changed, every cell in my body has been altered.

Past, Present, Future — Present

Everything along my life’s timeline has taken on a new meaning. I have an entirely new, albeit somewhat depressing, perspective on my past, present, and future.

The Present
Before my life turned upside down, I was living in the present. I can honestly say I tried to live every day to its fullest potential. That doesn’t mean I was jumping out of airplanes every chance I got, or attempting daredevil stunts, or doing anything and everything I could possibly do for tomorrow may never come. No. But I did live every day. I cherished every time my parents and my brother and I got together. I appreciated my life and never took anything nor anyone for granted. I’ve realized throughout my 34 years that life is indeed fragile and our time here on earth is indeed fleeting. But now, having lost my brother and having experienced firsthand what it feels like to have someone existing in my life one day and not the next, I’ve learned to trust the present. It’s here, and it’s all I’ve got.

I trust that I may awake in a fog but throughout the day, it’ll subside. I trust some days I will take one small step at a time, other days I’ll be leaping. I trust I’ll feel lonely in my sorrow but that I’m not entirely alone. I trust time will heal but the scar will forever exist. I trust my thoughts and feelings as my own, and whatever arises, accepting them for what they are, because they’ve originated from my very being. I trust that the sun will be in the sky, warming the atmosphere and encouraging the vitality of all living things. I trust that birds will go about their day, foraging for worms and building nests. And I trust the universe, in all its magnificence and ambiguity, because no one has all the answers. We’re just here, living in the present, gambling on trust.

Memorial Video

Click here to see the memorial video I made of Bob.

A Favorite Quote

"When the way comes to an end, change, and having changed, pass through." — Author Unknown

The above card can be found at the Smithsonian's Freer Sackler Gallery. http://www.asia.si.edu/