difficult subjects

Death

Posted on October 24, 2011 Written by Tonya

People don’t like to discuss death.

In many circles, the topic of death and dying is one of those taboo subjects, right up there with religion and politics, however, when it comes to death, there is no debate. Death is final and it is going to happen to all of us.

Death is the great unknown and thinking about our mortality makes us uncomfortable.

Death presumably can never affect us in a good way.

Death represents loss; loss of a loved one, loss of everything that we know.

Death is equated with fear; fear of losing someone and fear of how it will happen to us when it’s our time.

Death is a mystery and makes us question the unimaginable:

Will I go quickly?

Will I be in pain?

Will I see a white light?

Will I have done and said everything I need to when my time is up?

What kind of legacy am I leaving behind?

Will I go to heaven?

Will I ever see my loved ones again?

Will anyone attend my funeral?

How will I be remembered?

Trust me, death is far more than Elisabeth Kübler- Ross’ Five Stages of Grief.

I am convinced that if we talked about death more, if it wasn’t such an off limits subject, it wouldn’t be so scary or hard to face.

Having lost my parents at such a young age, theirs (60 and 58 respectively) and mine (35) and serving as the executor of their estate, I implore you to think about your wishes after you die and discuss them with your loved ones.

Openly.

Candidly.

Luckily, my parents did have a Will, but it had been created 28 years before they died and there were a lot of blanks and unanswered questions. With the help of many people I trusted, their estate is now closed, but it took the better part of three years.

Imagine my shock when I discovered on my father’s last “To Do” list a line item that read: Update Will. He thought he’d have time to revise it.

I also encourage you to talk to your aging parents and/or grandparents about their Last Will and Testaments in addition to their material possessions.

When my sister and I cleaned out my parents home, we separated the things we wanted from the things to be donated and the things to be sold through an estate sale, and still filled a 4′ x 30′ dumpster to the very top with junk. 16 years of paper mostly. My parents it seems were pack rats.

Death is no fun, but it is inevitable and the sooner we stop tip toeing around it, the better.

The Hole In My Heart

Posted on October 14, 2011 Written by Tonya

October used to mean feeling Fall in the air and spying Halloween merchandise on every aisle at the supermarket and being greeted by big shinny round pumpkins with glowing smiles on my neighbors front porches.

October meant the nights were getting longer and the air a little cooler. Not quite flannel jammies time, but close.

Conversations about how to spend Thanksgiving begin and Christmas shopping lists are started in October.

Now October has a new meaning.

In particular October 15, but the days leading up to it and the days preceding are tough too.

October 15 used to have no significance to me at all, just another day on the calendar.

Now it marks the anniversary of my parents’ death.

Today they have been gone for four years. 1460 days. It’s hard to believe it has been that long.

I dread the anniversary the most; more than their birthdays, more than Christmas, more than Mother’s Day, Father’s Day or their anniversary. The day I was notified my parents had died was the worst day and every October 15, I relive it. And every year I think it’s going to be a little easier, and it’s not.

I’ll never forgot sitting in my friend Suzy’s kitchen two weeks after the memorial service and watching her eyes fill with tears as she talked about her own father’s passing as if it happened the day before. He had died 30 years earlier.

In some ways this was strangely comforting to me; knowing I wasn’t alone in my grieve for a lost loved one and in other ways it made me even sadder than I already was. I realized this wasn’t something I was going to “get over”, I realized that death is as permanent as grieve and I would have to learn to live with this emptiness, the loss and the hole that was now forever in my heart.

I would have to live with the sadness each and every October and all the days in between.

Catalina Island, July 2005

One good thing occurred on October 15, 2008 on the one year anniversary, I told my sister I was six weeks pregnant with Lucas.

Heartbeat

Posted on October 3, 2011 Written by Tonya

I am 10 minutes early.

After signing my name on the first available line, I sit and wait.

Deliberately I thumb through magazines, one after the other as families of four smile up at me from the glossy pages.

It’s finally my turn.

I am ushered to a dark room and asked to undress.

The image on the large screen above me is fuzzy, difficult to make out and yet somehow I know.

My hands begin to sweat and I am holding my breath.

“I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.”

A sound I have never made before escapes my throat.

This post is for Write On Edge’s weekly writing assignment RemembRED. This week’s prompt: Conjure something. An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season – whatever you like. But don’t tell me what it is, conjure it. 100 words or less. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Tell Her

Posted on September 18, 2011 Written by Tonya

Tell her it has been far too long since we’ve seen her beautiful face or heard her deep laughter.

Make sure she knows we miss her.

Tell her we hear her; every single tear and every single plea and we wish we could provide the answers she seeks.

Tell her to trust in her heart that we are always by her side, even if she can’t see us and that whenever she feels a cool gentle breeze on a warm day or spots a hummingbird in the most peculiar of places, that is us; whenever the smile on a stranger’s face makes her feel at ease or she hears one of our family’s favorite songs on the radio, that is us too. We are all around quietly guiding and watching her.

Tell her how pleased we are with the woman she is becoming and the direction her life has taken. Assure her that her future is brilliant and that she should hold on to her dreams with fierce determination and with a little luck and a lot of hard work, they will come true.

Tell her there will be more heartache for her, but nothing that she is unable to withstand. Make her believe that she is so much stronger than we ever realized.

Let her her know that in tough times, it is okay to lean on you, Tonya, that though your exterior is tough, you feel as much as she does and will always be there for her. You are sisters and she needs to know how much you love her and that you always have her best interests at heart.

Tell her that your son is… well, there really are no words. Lucas is sublime and the perfect antidote for the sadness you both must feel since we’ve been gone. We are so grateful for his presence. He is wise beyond his years, enjoy him.

We don’t have to tell either of you how short life is or how it can change in an instant, you both know that now, better than anyone. We were not ready to go. Please live each day to it’s fullest and never forget how loved you are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Knowing it would defy all logic and reason, it’s an interesting concept, so if my parents could reach me, I believe this is what they want me to tell my younger sister, Leah.

At Ease

Posted on August 15, 2011 Written by Tonya

We held hands the entire drive home from the therapist’s office.

Relief.

A decision had been reached.

The words spoken out loud.

Later would come the tears. And questions.

So many questions.

Some people offer disconcerting looks, you know the one that says, “oh, I’m sorry, I brought it up.” and then quickly ask if I got married too young, like that’s a suitable excuse.

“No, we were 27 and 30 respectively,” I answer matter-of-factly and in my mind think: old enough to have been around the block a couple of times, but young enough to still believe that love conquers all.

A lot of people don’t even bat an eye and a few are shocked as hell at the discovery.

I was married before I met Lucas’ father.

Over 50% of all marriages in the U.S. end in divorce. I am not proud to be a part of this group. I know it shamed my parents, especially my father. I apologized to him over and over again.

My ex-husband and I met in college, dated for three years, broke up for six months, reunited, were engaged for a year and married for almost three years. No one did anything wrong in our marriage, but neither of us happy. We shared some good times, great laughs and I don’t regret a single moment I spent with him, but somehow I knew our marriage wouldn’t last.

No one gets married to get divorced, but sometimes love doesn’t conquer all. It’s native to think it does. I know this now. Sometimes priorities are warped, you lose sight of yourself in spite of yourself and over time realize the person you thought you fell in love with is someone else entirely. People change. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

I knew something was missing.

It was me.

I was missing from my own marriage!

From the moment I said, “I do,” my true authentic self began disappearing. It was slow at first and then like a whirlwind. I became this odd matronly figure that wore clothes that were a size too big and I started buying trivets and cookie jars. I was trying to be the “perfect” wife, knowing full well that no such thing existed. The more I lost myself, the sadder I became. Then I focused on trying to make myself believe that I was okay with being content.

Content.

I hate that word.

All the sacrifices and compromises weren’t worth it and in then end, I was only compromising myself.

We spent several months in mid 2002 trying to figure out what to do and if our marriage was salvageable. We sought marriage counseling and finally after many sessions and sleepless nights decided to go our separate ways. It was, to date the hardest decision I have ever been faced with.

My ex-husband is a good guy; charismatic and ambitious. He has a wonderful family and had an all-American upbringing. We wanted different things and in an effort to be true to ourselves had to say goodbye to one another.

I haven’t seen him since early 2008. He attended my parents memorial service, which was both unexpected and sweet. We’re Facebook friends (I think?) and we exchange yearly holiday cards and the occasional e-mail. He is remarried and has children and I hope more than anything is happy.

Anything but content.

I’ll never forget that drive home that hot August night.

As sad as I was, I was at ease.

This post is for Write On Edge’s weekly writing assignment RemembRED. This week’s prompt was: Write about a moment in your life when you knew something had to change drastically. Maybe it was a relationship, or career, parenting, school, diet – anything.

Uncertainty

Posted on July 27, 2011 Written by Tonya

Each and every day, I strive to appreciate the wonder, beauty, and whimsy in the small moments, the moments that, when strung together, form a lifetime.

From the moment I read this on the Home page of In These Small Moments, I knew Nicole and I would be friends someday.

Her writing is eloquent, touching and magical. It doesn’t matter if she’s writing a letter to her daughter’s teachers, allowing us a glimpse of the beautiful love she and her husband have for one another, sharing her grief for a father she never knew, or showing us a small moment spent with her son, Nicole writes purely, deeply and from the heart.

I am very honored to have her here today.

Please follow Nicole on Facebook and Twitter and look for her at BlogHer ’11, where she and I will most certainly be sharing a ~~glass~~ bottle of wine.
__________________________________________

I’ve known for all of my life that my father was dead.

I was told that he was in Heaven…that he loved me very much and one day I would join him.

I’ve also known for my entire life that my brother was dead…that he was with my father and they were waiting patiently for me.

From a very young age, I felt that tremendous, consuming weight of death.

It became my responsibility to care for my mother and younger brother, as I was petrified of losing them too.

I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t struggle with anxiety…with fear.

My father was dead and fear of losing my mother was truly paralyzing.

My older brother died as an infant, so losing my younger brother wasn’t an irrational fear.

Tonya asked me one day, nearly a year ago, how I will explain my father’s death to my children.

My mother was faced with the choice between telling me the truth, as appropriate to my age, and distracting me with half-truths.

She chose the former.

And I’m not sure if there was a right answer.

For as long as I can remember, I have known bits of the truth that came to form a whole by the time I was a teenager.

I knew that my father’s best friend shot him. Twice. At close range.

And for my entire childhood, death was real.

It lurked behind every car trip.
Behind every scary face.
Around every corner.

I lay in bed at night, nearly every night of my childhood, bargaining with God.

I’ll be a good girl, God…please just don’t take my mother. I have nothing else.

I won’t sass, God.

I will keep my room clean, be nice to my brother.

Just please don’t take them, too.

When my daughter turned two, I felt as though I could breathe a little easier…that she was finally at an age when she could begin to store her memories…just in case.

That’s how I’ve lived my life, gathering small moments and stocking them away, just in case.

So, as my daughter approaches the age where she’s making connections, seeing where she fits into a larger whole, her little wheels are spinning and it won’t be long before she asks me where her grandfather is.

And it will paralyze me.

Because he is dead and I’m not as certain of that Heaven as I once was.

What will I tell my children?
Will I be as honest with them as my mother was with me?
Will I tell them comforting stories of Heaven and being together as a family one day?
Or do I have some other choice that I can’t see in this moment?

As the months since Tonya’s invitation have passed, I hoped that I would reach some conclusion…that the answer would take shape in my mind.

But it hasn’t.

And as more time passes, I’m not certain that there will ever be an easy answer.

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A Woman I Didn’t Know

Posted on April 20, 2011 Written by Tonya

I had a good mother but she and I did not have the type of relationship that I would have liked. We didn’t share intimate secrets or inside jokes. She wasn’t the first person I would think of to call when I had a dilemma. I loved her dearly but I didn’t know her at all.

It’s taken me a long time to be able to admit that my mother and I were not close, especially since she has been gone for over three years.

My mother was a sweet and giving person. She taught kindergarten or third grade my whole life. She loved to celebrate each and every holiday with gusto. She sent heartfelt greeting cards and made the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet. Her motto was a cliche that I grew to hate: c’est la vie because it became her “go to” response to EVERYTHING.

My mother was a very intelligent woman and I can recall hearing my father comment many times on her high IQ, but she didn’t talk very much.

I don’t think she knew how to express herself.

Until I realized that, she seemed disinterested, oblivious and even intimated by me. I know she must have had a lot of opinions, but she didn’t share them, even after much probing.

There were nightly conversations in our home on a variety of topics ranging from entertainment and politics to current events and religion and it was always my father, sister and me having the discussions, while my mother sat quietly on the sidelines not contributing a word.

Was it our fault?

Did we not include her enough?

Did she think she couldn’t relate?

Did she feel as though her opinion didn’t matter to us?

It did. Very much.

She appeared to be listening and taking it all in, but there was zero exchange.

I was once at a job for more than two years before she ever asked me what it was that I did.

I can accept the things my mother was, but to this day I cannot accept the things that she was not.

I wish we had both tried harder.

If my mother blogged or even kept a hand written diary when I was Lucas’ age, I feel like I would have been privy to a woman I don’t feel like I knew. I would have learned of her inner most thoughts and feelings on motherhood, dreams for me and herself. I would be able to read about her passions, joys, sorrows, strengths and weaknesses and love for me.

I would have very much appreciate, benefited from and cherished a Letters For Tonya blog.

This post was written for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop, Prompt 2.) If my Mom were a blogger…

Mysterious Ways

Posted on February 10, 2011 Written by Tonya

I could never have imagined that my parents would not meet my son.

It didn’t once enter my thought process when I dreamed about having a family. In my mind, two sets of grandparents were always part of that equation.

Being a parent without parents never ever crossed my mind.

They should be here.

My son should have two sets of grandparents.

My mother and father should know Lucas.

Lucas should know my mother and father.

He will.

Lucas will know my parents through me and my husband and my sister and anyone else that wants to tell him about what amazing people they were. He’ll hear that he reminds us of them in small ways; like a simple expression on his face that looks just like one my mother would make when she was giddy with excitement and big ways, too, like Lucas’ insatiable curiosity that was so similar to my father’s and how they were taken from all of us too soon.

But it’s not the same.

Lucas is missing being able to go to a Red Sox game with my dad, hear first hand about the small town in Texas where he grew up. He is missing learning about stamp collecting, how to make the perfect Orange Julius and the intrigue of film-noir movies.

Lucas is missing holding my mother’s soft hands, devouring her scrumptious chocolate chip cookies and celebrating each and every holiday with gusto, as only she knew how.

Lucas is missing out on so much.

But they are missing out too.

I have a beautiful, smart, funny, awesome son and just once, I’d love for my parents to able to hear his magical laughter every time I chase him around the park.

Losing my mother and father at such an early age, mine and theirs respectively, is unfathomable. But, sometimes the universe works in mysterious ways and the unfathomable happens. I lost my parents and less than a year later became pregnant with Lucas. I suffered the greatest loss of my life and then gained light and hope and more joy than I ever thought my heart could hold.

I could never have imagined that my parents would not meet my son or that they wouldn’t be here longer than they were, but the way I used to think changed and then the whole world shifted.

If want to know more about how I lost my parents, please read For My Broken Heart.

This post is for The Red Dress Club’s writing meme, Red Writing Hood. This weeks prompt was to write a post that begins with the line, “I could never have imagined” and ends with the line, “Then the whole world shifted.”

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Woulda Coulda Shoulda

Posted on December 2, 2010 Written by Tonya

Like most of you, I’m sure, I try not to live with any regrets.

But I do have a few…

I think we’d all be lying if we said that there wasn’t a time when we wished we had gone left instead of right, accepted one offer over another, stepped out of our comfort zone, been a little bolder, braver, wiser, faster, showed up five minutes later, five minutes sooner, spoke up, volunteered, reached out, tried a little harder, or been the first to say “I’m sorry”.

There’s no going back now.

What’s done is done and all we can do is learn from our choices and move on.

For me, first and foremost, I wish I had told my parents how much they meant to me, how much I appreciate the sacrifices they made for me, the childhood they gave me and the lessons they taught me. I wish I had said “thank you” and “I love you” more often.

Now for the stupid stuff….

I wish I had gotten my math and English requirements out of the way the summer before I started college. Those two classes caused me so much grief for five long years. It honestly took me that long to get them completed because each enrollment period, the classes would get so full that I couldn’t get into them. It happened every semester!

I wish I had saved more money while I was in college and getting a substantial monthly allowance. I have absolutely nothing to show for all the money I frivolously spent in my 20’s.

I wish I had dated more in college. I entered as a Freshman with a boyfriend and we were together on and off for four of my five years.

I wish I had taken more time after graduating from college to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life instead of accepting the very first $22,000/year job I was offered.

I wish I had done more with my Spanish minor degree. There was a time when I was pretty fluent, but these days I can barely converse with our housekeeper.

I wish I had lived in New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Washington D.C. or Boston when I was young, single and unattached. I think I would have loved big city life.

In some ways, like energy level and not knowing any better, I wish I hadn’t waited until I was in my late 30’s to start a family.

Again, no real regrets, just a hand full of woulda coulda shouldas. What are yours?

All regrets aside, if I could relive my wedding day or the birth of my son, I would do it in a heartbeat and do everything exactly the same. 🙂

This post is for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop – Prompt #5: If you could relive any moment in your life, what moment would you choose? Write about it. (inspired by writingfix.com)

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Ebony & Ivory

Posted on November 18, 2010 Written by Tonya

We learn to live, we learn to give each other what we need to survive together alive. – Paul McCartney

I’m burned out.

Firstborn, middle born, last born, only child, or twin.

How two people that come from the exact same parents can be so completely opposite of one another is baffling to me.

In my sister and my case, I blame our age difference.

For as long as I could remember, I wished for a little sister and then when I turned 11, my wish came true. And before you ask, my sister was completely planned; the 11 year age difference and everything. My mother even had her IUD removed in order to conceive her. TMI?

My parents were no strangers to age gaps; there were 13 years between my father and his eldest brother and eight between him and his middle brother. There were six years between my mother and her brother.

Whenever my parents were asked why they waited so long to have another child, the response was that they wanted to be more financially stable. Fair enough, I suppose. I didn’t care, I finally had what I had always wanted.

I remember every detail of the day my sister was born. It was magical and hectic and so exciting. Up until the birth of my own son, it was one of the best days of my life and nothing can compare to being old enough to witness the joy and pride in my parents over the new addition to our family. It was written all over their faces for the nine months leading up to Leah’s arrival and it was understood that our household would never be the same.

As I was entering high school, she was starting kindergarten.

As I graduated from college, she was struggling with her math homework.

As I was going through a divorce, she was buying a prom dress.

As I was busy building a career, she was trying to figure out what her major would be in college.

As I was a newlywed for a second time and she had just graduated from college, we both lost our parents.

As I was preparing to have a baby, she was trying to start her career.

It’s sad to think that our lives will never catch up to each other and while we may experience some of the same things years a part, it was only with the deaths of our parents that they were derailed at the exact same time. Only we know what it feels like to go through something like that. Our memories of our parents are different in some ways, but our love and loss is shared.

While Leah was in college, our parents still lived and worked overseas so I became, for lack of a better term, her surrogate mother. This is not a role that I have ever been completely suited for nor enjoy all that much.

Never the less, I answered the phone in the early morning hours, waited for the texts they said she landed safely, replied to the numerous questions about growing up, life after living under your parents roof and members of the opposite sex and offered advice, whether solicited or not over money management, career opportunities and portraying a positive, wholesome image. I did this through her four years of college and still do it now.

I’m tired of being the older sister.

I have my own child now.

I’m burned out.

Over the years we have shared many laughs and good times. We’ve gotten more than a little pissed off at one another, especially lately.

We are true sisters and I love Leah with all my heart.

After 26 years later, while I can’t imagine my life without my sister in it, I honestly believe that the 11 years between us has been detrimental and I can’t help but wonder how our relationship would be different, better even if we were closer in age.

My sister and I are in need of a long, heart-to-heart, an open, honest, most likely with raised voices, possibly four letter words and maybe even some tears conversation. I’m dreading it, but it’s overdue.

I feel a tremendous amount of pressure and responsibility.

I want to redefine my role.

I’m burned out.

This post is for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop – Prompt #1: Why are your burned out?

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Death

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The Hole In My Heart

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Heartbeat

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Tell Her

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At Ease

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Uncertainty

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A Woman I Didn’t Know

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Mysterious Ways

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Woulda Coulda Shoulda

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Ebony & Ivory

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