loss

In The In Box

Posted on July 13, 2011 Written by Tonya

I spend a lot of time ~~trying to stay~~ staying up on my e-mail. And by that I mean, what we all do: respond, put off responding, organize into files or finding more satisfaction than is probably allowed by hitting the delete button.

If you’re a mom, a blogger and a Twitter addict, like me, I don’t have to tell you how downright daunting a full In Box can be. What with all the newsletters, blog subscriptions, blog comments and back and forth with family and friends, it’s enough to make your eyes pop right out of your head. And now, Twitter e-mails me responses to my Tweets (anyone know how to cancel that, by the way?) It’s all a bit too much for me some days.

Especially when I’ve neglected it.

I like for there to be less than 18 e-mails in my In Box, that way with the size I have my browser set to I can still see the very last one. It’s the last e-mail my father ever sent me.

Beyond 18 and his gets pushed down too far.

It’s not even a great e-mail.

The subject is sox and addresses but it was sent four days before he and my mother died so I will keep forever.

So strange that I’ll never receive another e-mail from my father, but there he is, in my In Box every day. Right there with Groupon notices, Vlog Talk Weekly Prompts and tips on how to get your toddler to eat more veggies.

Just knowing it’s there comforts me somehow.

Except when I forget about it and then upon discovering it, my brain malfunctions for half a second and leads me to believe it’s a new e-mail from him.

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Searching For Peace

Posted on June 24, 2011 Written by Tonya

Even though she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days, she woke up before the sun.

There were no more international calls to make or receive; all the details had been handled to the best of her ability, knowledge and strength.

The photos and music had been carefully selected and the difficult but necessary phone calls made.

She bought a new black dress that she knew would hang in her closet forever but only be worn once.

The obituary had been written and ran in the newspaper the previous day. She will always wonder how there can be a word limit when describing a person’s life. Let alone two. How do you convey all the wonderful qualities about someone and list the reasons why they will be missed in 300 words or less?

This morning she would do something life affirming.

She wanted a chance to forget for a while; to do something that she would do any given day so as to feel the slightest bit normal.

A walk through a beautiful canyon. She would immerse herself in abundant wildlife, get lost in hillsides resplendent with palo verde trees, graceful groves of ocotillo and prickly pear cactus.

She wanted to be surrounded by life, to fill her eyesight with nature and growth so that her dark and broken heart may heal someday.

Today was a day to remember, mourn and begin searching for peace.

This post is fiction and was written for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, Red Writing Hood. This week’s prompt: Write a 300 word piece using the following word for inspiration: LIFE. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Empty

Posted on June 19, 2011 Written by Tonya

Lucas has only been to my parents house one time.

Given the circumstances, once is enough.

He was almost five months old and it was a trip made out of necessity. There was much work to be done.

He’ll never even remember the six days we spent in Tucson and for that I am grateful.

We were there almost a week and each day proved more difficult than the previous. Thoughts of what should have been swirled my mind and consumed me with grief.

My parents house had been cleared of all the knick knacks and furniture, books, clothing, linens, pots and pans; cleared of all of the items that make a house a home.

There was a fresh coat of paint of the walls that used to adorn family photos and souvenirs from around the world. Now the walls are scarce and a boring egg shell white.

Some of my favorite photos of us were taken in the backyard during that trip. The desert always makes for a beautiful backdrop with it’s sun kissed purple majestic mountains and our blue eyes against the Arizona sky.

Lucas saw his first cactus on that trip. He had a bath in the kitchen sink and played on the bed my parents used to share.His laughter filled the halls and lifted our spirits because he didn’t know any better.

Never had I dreamed of being in that house with my son without my parents there too.

Aside from all the things that are missing, the house is void of all the warmth, light and love it once held. Cherished memories that I can recall in an instant of Christmas mornings, chocolate chip cookies cooling on the kitchen counters, family debates around the kitchen table and countless summer bar-be-ques.

This was one trip that should have been the first of many.

The house is empty now, it’s occupants have been gone for over three years.

There is still some work to be done, but I don’t know that I can ever take Lucas back to that house again.

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Left Behind

Posted on May 28, 2011 Written by Tonya

It’s not an exclusive club.

Anyone can join and often do when they least expect it.

Dues are paid in tears.

The moment you lose someone close to you, the very instant you learn of their deaths, you immediately become a lifetime member of a group you never wanted to be associated with.

You are one of the ones left behind.

You now have a kinship and a bond with fellow suffers of grief and loss whether you like it or not.

It doesn’t matter if you lose and an aunt, grandmother, best friend or father, you now “get” it. Or, at least have the ability to understand a little better what other “members” of this grief stricken club are going through. You can empathize in a way few can.

When you lose someone, other people’s losses are harder on you. In part because it conjures up your own loss and because you know what they are going through. You know that kind of pain.

I learned yesterday that my cousin’s son, Zach died.

He shot himself for reasons that are still unclear to me, as well as the rest of our family.

I never met Zach. I regret that, not because he’s gone now, but because he was family.

I know two things about death: it’s final and a parent should never outlive their child.

My heart aches for Zach’s mother and father.

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A Fine Mess

Posted on May 2, 2011 Written by Tonya

I didn’t come undone.

I was in shock for sure and completely devastated, but I didn’t lose my shit.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t come unglued.

I had a younger sister to consider.

I had a younger sister that had just lost her parents and if I thought I was too young at 35 to be going through this, she was definitely too young at 23.

Not to mention, there was so much to be done.

So many decisions that needed to be made right away. There were phone calls to make, e-mails to send, notes to take, questions to ask, the repatriation of their bodies, a funeral home to select, urns to chose, a service to prepare for, documents, signatures, lawyers, and then ultimately, homes to clear out and an estate to settle.

I didn’t make any of tough decisions alone. Thankfully, I had my husband and my sister by my side, but it still felt like I was the one in charge.

My emotions could wait.

I thought I could delay my grieving process just a little longer.

Of course, I was wrong, so….

Four days after the memorial service, I returned to work in search of normalcy. Almost a year later I quit my job and discovered a new normal all together.

In the year that followed my parents deaths, I exercised like a maniac, which made me feel stronger physically. It also created endorphins that made me feel better mentally. Today, I’m an endorphin junkie!

I talk about my loss with anyone that will listen in a honest and open way.

I seek help in the form of a grief counselor or a glass of wine at the end of a particularly rough day, but have never turned to antidepressants.

I work through and with my sadness.

I cry.

I go through photos and momentos and remember.

I write.

A lot.

I could have curled up in a little ball and shut the world out, I could have let this tragic loss break me, but I made a conscious decision not to. It hurt like hell, but I chose to put one foot in front of the other and just keep living.

Some may say I’ve pushed my grief aside in an effort to avoid it or that I have compartmentalized it; placing it neatly on a shelf to address at another time, but I assure you I DEAL with it every day. It’s always there.

It is definitely a long and arduous process but I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be and I am very proud of the way I have navigated through such uncharted territories, especially considering I became a mother right smack dab in the middle of it all.

This post is for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, RemebeRED. This week’s prompt was: Tell the story (without any trivialization or modesty) of something in your life that you are proud of.

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A Fact Of Life

Posted on April 26, 2011 Written by Tonya

Before Nichole, Cheryl and Katie paired me up with Jessica as my Red Dress Club’s Red Writing Hood writing partner, I didn’t know her or her story at all.

Jessica is the mother of an autistic teenager, gave birth to triplets and lost one and then had a son that is nearly Lucas’ age. Her blog, Four Plus an Angel is beautiful, heartbreaking and inspirational. I’m honored to call her my friend and her writing, her story never ceases to move me.

Sadly, we have both suffered great loss in our lives and we write about it often. We write about our grief not because we want (or need) pity, but because it is always with us and writing about it helps. It’s healing.

I am over at Jessica’s today talking about why grief sucks. I promise it’s not all that sad, just a fact life.

Please stop by and leave us a hug.

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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…

Silence

Posted on April 14, 2011 Written by Tonya

It had been five years.

Five years of old wounds, words left unexpressed, tears and pride.

Five years with zero communication.

No I hope you are smiling today text messages, no family photos were e-mailed, no three hour phone calls just because, no humorous you’ll always be older birthday cards or holiday greetings. There were no weekend visits or three glasses of wine long lunches.

Silence.

Regret.

Loss.

It was as if their connection, their friendship never even existed.

One

Two

Three rings

Part of her was relieved when she saw the name appear on her phone screen, although, it was after midnight. What a strange time to choose to extend an olive branch she thought.

The name she saw illuminated in the dark was one that had crossed her mind so many times as she wondered how the person who it belonged to was doing. She would always silently send love and light and then would go on about her day.

She was relieved to see the name now because at last, the ice had been broken and she was grateful that she hadn’t had been the one to take the first step.

She was angry too. At herself. She should have been the bigger person, she should be the one reaching out.

Lastly, she was surprised that the name and number were still stored in her phone. But, then again of course they were.

Four

Five

Six rings.

Letting the call go to voice mail would be the easiest course of action and the most cowardly.

She turned on the lamp on the bedside table, took a deep breath and answered the call.

Before she could say a word, she heard:

“Hello, I’m Sean.”
Who? Was he crying?

“You don’t know me. I’m your sister’s husband.
What the hell? She got married?! I suppose a lot can happen in five years.

I’m using her phone. I, um found your number in her contacts.”
She still has my number in her phone too.

“Okay?”

There was a long pause and a very heavy sigh and somehow she knew that the next words out of his mouth would change her life forever.

“Well, you see, um, there has been an accident. She didn’t make it.”

“What?”

“Your sister and our daughter died tonight in a car accident. I thought you should know.”

Silence.

Regret.

Loss.

Nothing would keep me from talking to my sister! This post is fiction and was written for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, Red Writing Hood. This week’s prompt was to write a piece surrounding the following details: In the middle of the night, you get an urgent call from a friend you haven’t talked to in years. Something terrible has happened. What is it and why is he/she calling you?

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For The Best

Posted on March 23, 2011 Written by Tonya

I hold on to you tighter than anything else in my life.
I have faith that you will get me through no matter what’s in store for me.
You offer me the prospect of a better tomorrow.
You grow and bloom in my heart whether I want you there or not.
You make me believe that I will be more patient, more loving, more tolerate and more at peace.
You are the cure, the relief, the strength and promise I need.
Without you I’d be lost.
Without you I’d be desperate and sad.
For the best or for the worst,
You are hope.

This post was written for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop, Prompt 2.) April is national poetry month…Write a poem about hope.

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Right On Ludington

Posted on March 7, 2011 Written by Tonya

I don’t know why I did it.

I wouldn’t normally consider myself a stalker.

Yet, I found myself drawn to the mid-sized maroon Saturn for several blocks.

The young woman driving the car was crying.

Sobbing, in fact.

At stop lights she would wipe her eyes, blow her nose and wail. It was a sunny day and both of our driver-side windows were down and I could feel her pain.

She was oblivious to anyone around her. Why is it when we are in our cars we believe we are alone and safe from the outside world?

I continued to follow her.

I was intrigued.

What would make her weep like that and where was she going?

Did she just lose her job? A loved one? Was she mourning the loss of a relationship? Did she find out she was pregnant or maybe not any more? Perhaps she had received medical results of another kind and the prognosis was grim? Maybe it was as simple as a poignant song that came on the radio and weeks of tension were finally being released as she quietly sang along. Whatever it was, my heart went out to her.

Why?

Because I’ve been that woman.

When the Saturn turned right on Ludington Street, I kept going straight giving her the space she deserved.

This post is for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, RemembeRED. This week’s prompt was to imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself. Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you’re from, describe a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self.

In The In Box

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Empty

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