Tag: Death

Documentation

~ Lenore Diane ~ Leave a comment

FYI: In case you are following my journey, know that this post is unrelated to my journey posts.

This is a post about what I realize is one of the many reasons I write: Alzheimer’s disease. Well, I’m not writing about Alzheimer’s, rather I am writing about why I want to document my thoughts and experiences about life. In the future, should I be diagnosed with a memory stealing disease like Alzheimer’s, I want my kids to know what I thought about friends, family and life. I want my kids to know I loved them. (And, I’m okay with them finding out what annoyed me.)

I started writing this post several weeks ago. I was inspired by at story I watched on CBS Sunday Morning, ‘Jan’s Story‘. Because I was afraid many would find the post too depressing, I held off making it public. However, because of some news I received today, I have decided to publish this post.

What news did I receive, you ask? I know, you didn’t ask, but I am going to share some of it with you, nonetheless. A friend of my nephew was murdered yesterday. Her life was taken away by her Mom, who then turned the gun on herself. My nephew is grieving. This 19yr old was murdered by her Mom, and then her Mom committed suicide. Her Mom committed suicide. Suicide.

Me and my favorite guys - the ones I love the most.

I’ve considered suicide. I have seriously considered suicide. I’ve planned suicide. I know what it is like to be in the black hole that is all encompassing. I know what it feels like to believe wholeheartedly there is no way out but death. And, by the grace of God (and the support of friends and family), I held on to my life; I found my way out of the black hole.

Because I am alive today, I can look back and recall very recent memories of laughing fits that left me with a belly ache. I can recall recent warm fuzzies where Joe and Charlie gave me ‘around the neck’ hugs. And, I can remember many nights this Summer, helping Joe and Charlie catch fireflies. These precious moments were inconceivable to me, while in the depths of despair; but, because I faced the black hole, I was left to live in the light.

As I type, my youngest has a pillow propped up on my arm, and he is lying beside me watching a movie. Soon, I am going to give both him and his brother a bubble bath. We are together, and I am thankful I am still here to be with them.

I want my kids to know the good the bad and the ugly in life. I want them to know when they experience moments, hours, days or weeks that suck, there are more moments, hours, days and weeks that don’t suck. I want them to know that just because you yell at someone at the top of your lungs, it doesn’t wipe away the intense love you feel for the person. And, in case I am not around, mentally, to tell them my take on all of the above, they can read about my thoughts and experiences.

Regardless of how it happens, death will find me. However, death will not find me by my own hand. Suicide is not the answer. Suicide is not the answer. Suicide is not the answer. Yes. Sometimes it is pitch black. Sometimes death seems the only way out. I get that. I completely get that. But it is wrong. Death is not the only way out. It is not. Someone will lend you a hand. Someone will hold your hand as long as it takes and as often as it takes to keep you going. Just reach out. I will hold your hand. Even though I don’t know you.

Do not commit suicide. You will hurt more people by leaving than you will by staying. Killing yourself will do more harm than good. Suicide is a cruel and selfish act. You are not cruel. You are not selfish. Do not do it.

Going back to Alzheimer’s, my hope is that I recognize and don’t forget who my loved ones are as death approaches. But, just in case, Joe and Charlie, whether or not I remember your face, your name or your role in my life, I don’t want you to ever forget that I love you. You will always be in my heart, even if my head forgets.

P.S. Remember Joe and Charlie, do NOT commit suicide. Reach out. A hand will be extended and willing to help.

Thoughtful Thursday

~ Lenore Diane ~ 2 Comments

Dear Blogary,

Dear, dear Blogary. I’m warning you, I am feeling very sentimental today. I just told Rob that I was having a hard time today, and before I could get out why I was having a hard time – I started crying. Sobbing, actually. These emotions have come over me unexpectedly.

Why the sudden emotions? My dad. Today is May 13, 2010. Today is my Dad’s birthday. And, today my Dad would be 82yrs old . . . if he were still alive. My Dad died in February 1994, over 16yrs ago!

In our dorm room with my best friend (right) and my niece, Shannon (car seat). November 1987

So, is that it? Is that why I am feeling sentimental? Nope. This Saturday, May 15th, my oldest niece (and my Dad’s first grand-daughter) is graduating from college. She was born the year I started college, and now she is finishing college. My Dad was around when she started, and it brings tears to my eyes to think he is not physically around to see her graduate. At the same time, I can’t stop myself from grinning, as I look at the picture of Shannon, as a baby, which was taken during first quarter of my Freshman year.

Ok. I just checked my cycle calendar, [What. You don’t have a cycle calendar? It’s like a pass to be cranky. *kidding*] and based on the cycle calendar, the emotions I am having are not being triggered by hormones. Dang. So much for using hormones as an excuse to buy some Ben & Jerry’s later. Wait. I can be an emotional eater, too! I digress . . .

My Dad was raised just outside of Boston, MA. His accent was thick, though having lived in the South for over 20yrs, it may have lessened a bit. He always answered the phone saying, “Yell’ow?”; and, he had a way with saying my niece’s name, Shannon. He rarely said “Shannon”. Instead, my Dad would say, “Sha’nnn’onnn Elizabeth” in his thick accent and deep voice. As I type, I can hear his voice in my head.

So much has happened over the past 16yrs, including my marriage and the birth of my two boys, one of whom is named after my Dad. As Shannon gets ready to graduate, days after my Dad’s birthday, it doesn’t surprise me that I am overcome with sentiment. This is a special time in her life. But, being that she is the first grandchild in our family, it makes it all the more sentimental for us – her family.

My Dad, Summer 1993

My Dad would be 82 today. 82. That is no spring chicken. I haven’t a clue what he would look like now. His younger sister is still alive, thank goodness. I suppose I could look at her and get an idea of what my Dad would look like today. Honestly, he looked older than his natural age, in part because he smoked. So, he would probably look old. The picture, to the left, was one of the last pictures taken of my Dad. It was taken before the age of digital cameras, so the quality is lost a bit with the scanning. I believe the picture was taken the Summer (1993) before he died. Crazy.

If you’ve lost a loved one, you know the sense of ‘loss’ never dies. And, you know the pain eventually subsides. Though in the midst of the death, it seems the pain will go on forever. If you haven’t lost a loved one, you don’t get it. And, I am not trying to be disrespectful. You just don’t get it. I didn’t get it either. My friend’s brother died, and until my Dad died – I didn’t understand her grief. But, that friend was one of the most supportive friends to me when my Dad died.

My Dad and I, Junk food buddies. (1989)

To the person who has yet to experience loss, it is uncomfortable to deal with the sadness of someone else. The emotion is an elephant in the room, and you are unsure how to comfort and confront it. Take it from someone who has been on both sides, calling out the elephant in the room would be appreciated by the person suffering from the loss. Don’t tip toe around – call it out. Trust me, the person who is grieving will then take the reigns. In my opinion, when grieving, you really just want someone to listen, even if it means s/he will hear the same story over and over again.

Sha'nnnn'on Elizabeth and I

Oh Blogary, I didn’t mean for this to take such a somber turn. I miss my Dad, that much is true. And, perhaps because Shannon is graduating on Saturday, his birthday is hitting me harder than normal. The circle of life continues. I wish my Dad were here to celebrate it with us. And, as I watch Shannon grow into adulthood, gah – the emotions come over me again.

Blogary, please bear with me. I am writing to you instead of eating Ben & Jerry’s. You are my therapist, deal with it.

Charlie, Joe and Everett (Lindsey's son), June 2007

My mom used to take care of babies in our home. One of the babies was Lindsey, who is about 4yrs older than Shannon. And, when my Dad would see Lindsey, he would say, “Helloooo Lindsey-loopner.” [To this day, I call Lindsey, Lindsey-loopner.] I have watched both Lindsey and Shannon enter adulthood. And, both Lindsey and Shannon were a part of my Dad’s life. *sob* And, during my Dad’s funeral, Lindsey read a letter she wrote to my Mom, after my Dad died.

My Dad and I

I was 25yrs old when my Dad died. And, as I see both Lindsey and Shannon around the same age I was when my Dad died, well – I don’t know. Today is an emotional day for me. I miss my Dad, and I find it bittersweet to know Shannon is graduating college. I would love to hear my Dad say, “Sha’nnn’on Elizabeth” at her graduation. And, I would love to hear my Dad call out to Lindsey, “Helloooo, Lindsey-loopner!”

In honor of my Dad, I should eat a frozen Snickers candy bar. Those were my Dad’s favorite candy bar (bite size). Wait. Let’s be serious. In honor of my Dad, I should eat two or four frozen Snickers candy bars. My Dad never ate just one. We don’t have any Snickers in the house. Hmm… the grocery store is just around the corner.

I just explained to Joe why I was writing. This led me to explain why I was sad. Joe said, “Well, he’s not dead. He’s in heaven. You’ll see him in heaven.” I hope so, Joe. I truly hope so. In the meantime, I think Ben & Jerry are calling my name, here on earth.

Happy Birthday, Dad.
Congratulations, Sha’nnnn’on Elizabeth!

Love,
Me

Life goes on

~ Lenore Diane ~ Leave a comment
My Dad wearing the cowboy hat he received for Christmas.

My Dad died in the early hours of February 5th 1994. I had flown home from Washington DC the day before he died. When I got to the hospital, my Dad was unconscious and on a respirator. Seeing him for the first time with all the tubes and machines attached to him, I screamed and ran out of the room. I was not prepared to see him in such a state. The last time I saw my Dad, which was September the previous year, he was healthy (so we thought). After I composed myself, I went back into his hospital room and talked to him as if he could hear me.

I went home with my brother and sister-in-law that night, and my sister-in-law woke me up around 1AM, letting me know my Dad had died. Some of my family went to the hospital to see my Dad one last time. I chose to stay at my brother’s house. My Dad was cremated, so my last image of my Dad is in the hospital. The siblings of mine that saw my Dad after he died are thankful for their last image. They said he looked peaceful. I suppose a part of me wishes I had made a different decision the morning my Dad died, though I can easily look at pictures of my father and erase the hospital image of him.

When my Dad died I was heartbroken. One of the toughest things to face was the fact that life continued. I was mourning. My family was mourning. My Dad’s friends and colleagues were mourning. Still, the world around all of us continued to move forward, as if nothing horrible had happened. I can remember driving down the interstate consumed with sadness, and I became so angry when I noticed other people laughing in their cars. How could they laugh at a time like this? Didn’t they know a great man had just left his world?

As I type this, many nameless people are mourning the loss of a loved one. Many nameless people are sitting bedside by a loved one, watching him or her battle for life. And, I know people who are battling kidney Cancer, seizures, Multiple Sclerosis and Diabetes. These people I know are not nameless. These people are friends, relatives and loved ones. Yet, while all these people fight their battles, others are living a ‘normal’ and carefree life. I’m not suggesting we all become consumed with guilt, ever aware of the pain and suffering that surrounds us. Rather, I suggest we try to keep things in perspective, and we try to offer compassion to those that are suffering.

Today the death of celebrity Corey Haim is making the news. Corey died of an accidental overdose at the age of 38. He struggled with drug addiction for most of his life. And, I am certain Corey’s friends and family are consumed with sadness. I am also willing to bet that his family and friends are finding peace, knowing Corey’s battle with addiction has now ended forever. And, as they mourn, my life goes on uninterrupted. Corey’s death does not affect my life in any way, shape or form. Corey’s death does not change the fact that I have a friend who is worried about his newborn daughter, battling seizures since she was born on February 22, 2010. And, Corey’s death doesn’t change the fact that I am constantly thinking about my husband’s brother and his first cousin, who are  battling Diabetes and kidney Cancer. In fact, my husband’s first cousin recently found out the Cancer has spread and there is now a tumor on his one of his vertebrae. Finally, Corey’s death doesn’t change the fact that my sister-in-law is battling MS.

I believe it is also important to mention the people all over the world, continuing to recover from earthquakes, hurricanes, mud slides, bombings, war, etc. Haiti was in the news for several weeks after the devastating earthquake earlier this year. More recently, Chile was hit with a horrific earthquake. Is it just me, or have you noticed that the earthquake in Chile did not generate the same media storm or call to action as the Haiti earthquake? Does a  nation have to be incredibly poor to be worthy of help? The lack of attention Chile has received, compared to Haiti, seems unfair to me. Goodness knows, the world stopped for the people of Chile. Moreover, the world stopped for those around the world who had friends and family in Chile. In fact, I believe it is safe to assume that the world has yet to restart for many affected by the earthquake in Chile.

Again, my point in this babble is not to overwhelm you with guilt. Frankly, this blog enables me to express my own feelings about things that bother me in this world. My post is selfish, because I am able to stop my world for a minute, draw attention to the things that matter to me, giving me a sense of purpose. I believe I am also drawing attention to the nameless people who are in the midst of their battles, perhaps feeling invisible to the world around them. Via a friend on Facebook, I came across a blog created by a woman who recently lost her husband in a car accident. On December 29, 2009, I had a non-eventful and normal day. However, one woman from Texas was in a car accident on December 29, 2009, and her husband died as a result of that accident. In an effort to work through her grief and new life challenges, she is writing ‘Through the Valley‘. I encourage you to take a minute and read her story.

I hope you are able to enjoy a non-eventful and normal day today. Should you find yourself amidst a challenge, please know you are in my thoughts. No, I don’t know you, and I will not likely know your specific battle; however, I know you exist and I know battles are never ending. I know I wanted the world to stop for my me, my Dad and all those who loved him. So, I make it a point to stop my world daily, to think about those nameless people overcome with their own personal sorrow. And one more thing, would you please consider clicking on one of the following links and make a donation? Think of the nameless people who need your help. I am willing to bet you will get something out of it in return.  The American Red Cross; Partners In Health;  TOMS; The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society; Bethany Christian Services