I’d like to make an appointment for a grief wax, today, if possible.

I finally used up the spa gift card I won at Steve’s retirement/fundraiser event from 2010.  When I won the spa basket I was excited…helllloooo massage.  But, it turned out it was harder than I realized to actually use it.  It felt strange to benefit from my brother’s illness.  Your brother is dying, here have a massage.

I used the gift card mostly for leg waxing.

If only it was as easy to rip the sorrow out of my heart as easily as the hairs off my leg.  What a wonderful idea.  See, you have this pesky grief hanging on you.  You just need someone to forcefully rip it off.  The treatment would start with a hug, like the warm wax, it is soothing, comforting.  You say, this feels good.  Then, rip, off comes the grief.  It hurts at first because the grief became a part of you.  But like the hair, you say good riddance.

If only it were that easy. But like the hair, the sorrow would probably just come back.

I guess it was fitting to use up the last of the gift card today since tomorrow I am on my way to Oahu then next week Kona (by the way, the waxer lady used to live on Oahu, interesting).  My mind knows he will never again walk the beaches, body surf at Hapuna, jog in the early morning and bring us back a cinnamon roll, eat at that Thai place he loved so much.

But my heart knows he is there, and I can’t wait to see him.

DSC01721_edited-1

I can never look a PB&J in the eye again

Been craving PB&J sandwiches the last few weeks.  Don’t get me wrong, I love them, and that should be enough of a reason to crave them, right?

But, as I opened the cupboard to make a sandwich it hit me.  Two jars of peanut butter stared back at me.

The last time I noticed there were two jars of peanut butter it was not my proudest day.  Back then both jars were empty and I cried.  And cried.  I think I may have thrown one on the ground (plastic, thank goodness) and shook my fist at the sky.

Now I do love peanut butter, but really, I don’t looooooove it…not enough to cry about it.

Just like two years ago, I am reaching for some comfort food.  THE DAY is getting closer.  It can’t really be two years.  It feels like forever.  It feels like yesterday.

I can’t believe it has been nearly a year since I posted.  I started one after Katelyn’s wedding.  It is still in draft.  Someday I will finish it.

I think of him every day.  I hear him laugh when something funny happens.

And in case you are wondering, I make sure we are not out of peanut butter since that day.

(link to my tantrum post, even though I freaked out that day, when I told some friends about it we ended up laughing.  If you hear someone ask me how many jars were there and I say “TWO!” and start laughing, you will know why)

https://grumpybutterfly.wordpress.com/2011/01/22/tantrum-thy-name-is-me/

Avoiding the Past (tense)

A year has passed.  My dad did a great blog of our day 2/18/2012…so rather than compete with my dad (hard not to do, we are a competitive bunch) and recreate the day myself, here is a link to his blog post  (Just between you and me, I would probably win.  Not that we are competing or anything, and it is not like I have to win.  It is just better that I do.  His ego is big enough already, we have to keep him in his place.  Mom needs all the help she can get.)

http://skinhorsereal.wordpress.com/2012/03/01/the-deceptiveness-of-dread/ 

I usually write a post and re-write it over several days before I actually post it.  And as some of my subscribers know, I post and then usually make changes almost immediately.  This is the first one I wrote and posted in the same day, so if it jumps around some, that is my excuse.

When asked how many siblings I have, I say 3.  I still have 3.  Will always have 3.  No amount of time will make that number decrease. I find it is hard to refer to Steve in the past tense.  When I talk about him words like “used to” or “had” don’t sound right.  Nor does adding “ed” to words make any sense.  I don’t say “I loved him” because the love never stopped.  I love him.  Simple.

To me he still is.  He IS a fisherman, an athlete, brother, son, husband, father, friend, baker, prankster, promoter, cousin, uncle, nephew, brother-in-law, son-in-law, story-teller, shit starter (yes, I went there…you all know it is true).

And teacher.  There are so many ways he still teaches, not only us but people he just met for a brief moment and people he never met.  I am touched over and over by how much he impacts others.  Makes me realize we don’t often know what others will remember about our interactions.  Probably not how our hair looks (Yes, have to mention the hair.  It is always on my mind, no pun intended.)  Or whether our shoes matched, and I don’t mean match the outfit, but match each other (I don’t know how I made it out the door with two different shoes.  In my mind I told Steve about my shoes and heard him laugh and laugh.  That laughter, though only in my head, was worth looking like a fool for a day).  Maybe people will remember our witty comments, or sarcastic remarks.  Hopefully we will be remembered for our compassion, generosity, and heartfelt kindness that surprises the giver as much as it surprises the receiver…we don’t always know what we are capable of till we reach beyond our comfort zone (I know you will like that one dad, you risk taker you).

And Steve is still full of surprises.  Visiting us when we think we are alone or when we dream.  Sometimes startling us, sometimes making us laugh.  Sometimes just calling out our name, maybe to remind us we not as alone as it feels.  He still tries to comfort us the only way he now can…even if it freaks us out a little.  Actually, he probably likes that he makes us jump every now and then.

He is all he ever was, but I don’t think he is all he will ever be.  Holly found an article written about him in April 2010.  A man commented on the article in November 2010 after having sat by Steve during a flight back from Hawaii.  A total stranger, but after having spent 5 hours next to Steve this man states he “is a better person from having met Steve”.  Five hours and this man was touched by Steve.  Most people don’t leave that kind of impression after 5 years.

That kind of magic never fades, and I am oh so proud every day to be his sister.  (Sorry to those who have to keep hearing me brag…just kidding, I actually am not sorry because I am going to keep doing it.  You have been warned.)

A few bragging articles:

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/MensHealthNews/rare-disease-forces-popular-teacher-retire/story?id=10429408

http://www.komonews.com/news/local/91524984.html

http://www.issaquahpress.com/2010/06/15/never-say-quit-teacher-leaves-a-final-lesson/

http://www.flintofts.com/  This is still available, including the guest book comments

My turn

Well, my birthday came and went and I survived.  I still don’t know why the birthdays are such a big thing to me this year.  I have not spent every birthday with my family so this fixation is a little weird.

I got through the headache, the shakes, the tears and spent half the day at a casino.  In memory of my brother?  Nope.  He was not a gambler so this was definitely not in his memory.  But he would have gotten some major giggles over the machine Holly found.  Steve got a lot of laughs from a college nickname I had (thanks Deltas) that I was totally innocent of  (totally!).  Thanks Holly, that made my day even if I did not win any money.  Thinking of how much Steve would have laughed at the game and your impression of the main character is priceless.

What did I do in memory of him…spent the other half of the day watching football of course.

Break Out the Day Planner

We plan the most important decisions, days and events of our life.  Or at least we try to.  Some plan how many children to have, and when to have them.  Most plan their weddings and if you are a woman (and some men), you probably started planning it in elementary school (I know I did, even had a folder I kept till my mid 20’s).   If we are lucky we get to plan what job we have and when to move on to the next job, or when to retire.  We plan out where we live as best we can. 

There are some decisions I can make very fast…but I can take an hour to pick out a name for a character I create in an on-line game me and my husband play.  It took me three hours to pick out my eye glasses, three years to pick out curtains, and 10 years to pick a color to paint my walls (I have only managed to decide on the bathroom so far).   If you think I am joking, then you haven’t met me or been shopping with me for glasses or paint.  The curtains I blame on my husband…he insisted on very thick, functional curtains and I wanted pretty flowery ones.  What did we settle on?  Sage green with tassels. 

If we spend time planning other parts of our lives, why is it so strange to plan the last important decision of our life? (disclaimer…only with regards to death with dignity, of course)

After trying to accommodate us by avoiding birthdays, looking at travel plans and school schedules, my brother picked his day and the planning began.   Yet, it was surreal, planning his last day with us and the celebration of his life.   We  grieved while we talked casually with him and each other  about food, preparations, programs, music.  He did not want a service but I and others told him the service was for those left behind, not for him.   We needed this for each other.  As strange as our conversations felt, looked, and sounded, for me it gave me a sense normalcy, just planning any other family event, right?  Though there were times it was awkward and I would think,

“Am I really talking to my brother about his death?” 

“Did I just ask my mom to bring her paper plates to my brother’s last dinner?  I am thinking of being green at a time like this?”

“Am I really using a toothpick to scrape the medicine out of the capsules for my brother’s last drink?”  

But, by planning for his death we were able to give his life the attention he deserved.  Probably over 100 people visited him in the last week, and he received many, many letters.  People were able to tell him how he impacted them, share stories and laugh.  If he had doubts at all that his life had meaning, those doubts should have been washed away by the downpour of love, gratitude, and kindness from those he touched. 

How wonderful is that?

I voted for WHAT?!

The Death with Dignity Law became effective in Washington in 2009.  I voted for it.  But actually going through this with someone you love can make you ask yourself, what in the world was I thinking?

When my brother picked an actual day to die, for a moment I wished the law had not passed.  In theory, death with dignity sounds like a good idea.  But when faced with the reality it was a shock.  I have to admit there were many times during the last few weeks I did not feel like I had any dignity, hence the temper tantrum with an empty peanut butter container.

But, it was only moments.  Brief and painful moments. At first I was ashamed of my reaction.  But, I think it was something I had to go through.  Get it out of my system so I could be there for him.

It was a beautiful morning. Some might find it inappropriate or strange for me to say that.  But beautiful it was.

This morning we gathered again.  My brother, his wife and kids spent much of the morning alone together.  Around 9:00 am, his chosen time, we circled him.  Those that wanted to spoke again.  

Their family dog said his own good-bye.  Once we all stood around my brother the dog ran down the stairs and jumped on the bed next to him.  My brother and his wife were holding hands.  The dog licked my brother’s hand over and over.  The dog jumping on the bed and licking are both unusual actions.  After a bit the dog stopped, looked up at my brother very intently for a few seconds, then started licking again.  After my brother drank the medicine, the dog then licked the hand of the volunteer who gave my brother the cup.  Almost like he was saying “It’s ok, thank you for helping relieve his suffering”.

One of my sister’s gave us all a heart-shaped piece of coral to hold.  I know we will all treasure these hearts forever.

His kids were amazing (ages 15 and 17).  They stayed by him, touching him.  After a few minutes he fell asleep.  And snored, which gave us some comic relief.  The muscles stiff for so long let go and it was wonderful to see.  It had felt like forever before we had seen him like this, relaxed with his back straight and his head up.  This disease had contorted him so much.  I am glad his kids were able to see him like this again.  That one of their last memories of him will be of him looking close to like he used to.

After awhile his breathing quieted.  His daughter leaned over and kissed his chest and he made a loud noise.  This was probably close to his last breath.  It was like her kiss released him.

This truly was death with dignity, a most appropriate name.  Despite our tears, anger at this disease, fear of losing him, anquish for his wife and kids, my parents, each other, our selves.  Ultimately I wish my brother never became ill.  But he did.  This is probably the most dignified event I have ever witnessed. I am so thankful I could be a part of it. I am forever changed.

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