loss

My Candidate

Posted on November 9, 2016 Written by Tonya

It is the day after the 2016 Presidential election and I am sad, shocked, confused, and very worried for our country.

I know I’m not alone.

The candidate I voted for, researched, supported, donated money to, believed in and admired did not win.

My candidate is tough as nails.

My candidate has withstood a constant barrage of hatred, vilification, smears, and mudslinging for 25 years. Republicans blame her for everything!

I was able to look past my candidate’s flaws and scandals. I saw a person who has spent much of her life fighting for causes that are important to me; family values, children, education and equality for ALL, especially women and minorities. She has been a champion for advancing equal opportunities for women and girls in America and around the globe, calling women’s empowerment “one of the great causes of my life.”.

This is who I want in the White House. Electing our first woman president would be an important step to ending gender inequality. And now that I am the mother of a daughter, this is imperative.

More than ever.

This country is so full of hate.

I still believe.

My candidate impressed me with her intellect, judgment, and compassion. We all know the mess she endured because of her husband’s infidelities. That was not her doing. She tried to protect her family as best she could and in the end, perhaps having her own political agenda and dreams of leading our nation from the Oval Office, stood by her man.

I took Lola with me yesterday when I went to vote bright and early and snapped a photo outside my polling location, an elementary school within walking distance of our home. Elated to finally see a woman’s name on the ballot, I proudly voted for my candidate with my daughter at my side.

I was not expecting to be emotional but I cried anyway.

I cried tears of joy because I thought we had come so far and not since Barack Obama have I cared this much about politics.

I voted for Obama in 2008 while pregnant with Lucas and rejoiced at his win while at a Madonna concert at Petco Park. That was a magical night.

Watching Decision 2016 unfold on NBC as polls closed across the country I was thrilled to see the many blue states light up. I thought my candidate had it in the bag.

I was wrong.

So many of us were wrong.

Today I believe more than half of our country is made up of ignorant ass hats.

But I digress.

As I try to honor the outcome of the election and make sense of this America we live in, I will continue to teach my children, my sweet innocent children love, kindness and tolerance. I will teach them that ALL lives matter and to use their voice. Loud and often!

Donald Trump is going to be our president.

And as Secretary Hillary Clinton said this morning in her concession speech, “we owe him an open mind and the chance to lead”.

This is really happening.

And it will be interesting to say the very least.

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The following is from The Huffington Post article, America Elected A Man Who Said ‘Grab Them By The P***y’ Over The First Female President:

Donald Trump openly bragged about using his celebrity status to sexually assault women. And multiple women accused him of actually doing so.

He said he was in favor of banning people from entering the United States based on their religion.

He believes that women he finds physically unattractive or overweight are lesser people.

He thinks that many Mexican immigrants are rapists.

He mocked people with disabilities.

He encouraged violence against protesters at his political rallies.

Happily Ever After

Posted on July 27, 2016 Written by Tonya

This is a very exciting time in our family and most definitely in my sister’s life.

It has been months of preparation, list creating and guest building, taste testing and over analyzing, decision making and expenses and much celebration.

One month from today my little sister is getting married!

Because our parents are both deceased, I have been given the distinct honor of walking Leah down the aisle.

She chose me to give her away.

I don’t know if I can do it.

I’m honored. And there is no one else. Really.

It should be my job, but this is a position I never dreamed I’d have and one I know she never thought she have to ask me to take.

Just as most little girls daydream, it should be our father by her side. Not her older sister.

The Father of the Bride is an iconic role and such a huge part of a wedding.

How can I measure up? How can I channel my father and bestow his wisdom on life and love onto my sister and her new husband? How can I be a substitute for the greatest man either of us have ever known? How can I be equal parts serious and witty like he so effortlessly could? How do I keep from crumbling in what is sure to be a pivotal moment in my life?

I am already starting to use visualization techniques to make through what is going to be an incredibly emotional day.

This will mark yet another milestone event that my parents will miss.

One month from today Leah will say “I do” in front of all of the most important people in her and her finance’s life and the two people that are meant to be there the most, won’t be.

And yet, like we have for the past almost nine years, we will endure.

We will muddle through. We will cry and muster our bravest faces. We will get through the days leading up to this monumental day, my sister’s wedding day, and all the days after.

Happily ever after.

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The Last Email

Posted on December 29, 2015 Written by Tonya

My In Box is always a disaster.

Several years ago, in an effort to help out Mother Nature, I sat with a enormous pile of paper catalogs and called each and every company and asked them to remove me from their snail mail list and send me e-mails instead. I’m now on all of their email lists.

Each morning I easily wake up to 50+ e-mails. Most of them I delete right away, others I save to read later in folders I have painstakingly made over the years, occasionally I am sent something that truly requires my attention or captures my interest or I’ll need for a later date.

I receive daily parenting tips and a quote of the day, my husband’s travel itineraries, notifications from my son’s school and his teacher, new blog post alerts from my favorite writers, notes pertaining to Avery and Austin and committees I am on, and tips and tricks from social media marketing experts to help me do my job more efficiently. Rarely there will be a note from a friend, but most reach out through Facebook nowadays. I try to be good about filing and organizing but sometimes I get behind. Way behind!

Case and point:

Needless to say, my In Box causes me a lot of anxiety.

I always found comfort knowing if I scrolled all the way down to the very bottom, there was the last email my father ever sent me.

The subject line is: sox and addresses and it is dated Thursday, October 11, 2007.

The Boston Red Sox were in the playoffs that year (they went on to win the World Series) and because of where my parents lived and worked at the time, in Tunis, Tunisia, they were unable to watch the games live so Todd and I recorded them and mailed them. Not the same as watching the games live as they were happening, but for a die hard Red Sox fan, my father was very appreciative. His message reflected that. He also shared that he and my mother had notified the school board that the 2007-08 school year would be their last in Tunis. Come June, they would be moving stateside!

He and my mother died four days after he sent the email.

The email itself is totally mundane but it meant a lot to me to see it at the bottom of my In Box and I loved knowing it was there.

Recently (sometime before December 15 to be exact), Lola had my phone and has savvy as I believe she already is with electronics, somehow she managed to delete every e-mail in my In Box. Not a big deal when I discovered it because I just moved all of the e-mails from the trash back to the In Box to sort through later.

Unfortunately, the transfer didn’t happen and all the emails remained in my trash folder.

Unbeknownst to me, I deleted my trash the next time I was on my lap top.

I am devastated over this realization. I lost several important items, most important, my dad’s e-mail.

I’m also grateful Todd made a PDF of dad’s last email a few ago when I thought I had accidentally deleted it. It’s not the same, but at least I have it.

This year I lost two things that deeply connected me to my parents, in July it was a pair of treasured earrings that were my mothers. I wore them almost daily and can’t go in to details without feeling sick over it and now this e-mail. I can’t help but wonder if these are signs. Signs of growth and peace. Or perhaps a way for the universe to see how I would respond.

Whatever it is, the losses hurt.

Now and always.

Today

Posted on October 15, 2015 Written by Tonya

Today.

This godforsaken day.

It comes every year.

Just as it is supposed to.

All the days in between are tough enough, but this day?

This day is the worst.

Eight years ago today I lost both my parents.

Both of them.

At the same time.

Most people who know me or who have been reading Letters For Lucas for any length of time know the story, but in case you don’t, they died of carbon monoxide poisoning in their home while living and working in Tunisia. You can read more here.

I hate this day.

I’m more raw, irritable and melancholy than usual on the anniversary.

I swore to myself I wasn’t going to write or post anything today but I had to because, this day.

If I didn’t acknowledge today, I’d feel like I was doing my parents a disservice, as strange as that sounds. I know I don’t need to prove to anyone how much I miss them, how my heart aches that they will never know my children, how every single time I look into my son’s eyes, I see my father, that I wish I could hear their laughter again and feel their arms around me.

Grief is such a bitch. It knows how to turn you completely inside outside every chance it gets. Especially on days like today.

I thought I knew what a broken heart was last year and the year before that and the year before that, how it felt and what it looked like. I didn’t know anything.

After eight years it still hurts.

Deeply.

The Woman In The Photo

Posted on May 9, 2015 Written by Tonya

She was a first time mother at the age of 23.

The year was 1972.

I can’t even imagine.

I became a mother at 36.

Not that I knew any more than she did. But the 13 years I waited to start a family I believe gave me a greater sense of self, not to mention over a decade more life experience.

Having a child changes everything, no mater what age you are.

I love this photo.

There’s so much I wish I could ask this young woman. Deep mysteries and trivial information I would have loved for her to reveal to me.

Was she happy? Was she worried about being a good mother? Did she have close girlfriends to confide in? Was her mother helpful after I was born? How did she feel when her father held me for the first time? What made her feel special? What book was she reading? Where did she like to shop for clothes? What did she have breakfast? What was her favorite flower?

The questions are endless.

The look on her face in this photograph has always intrigued me. It’s equal parts exhaustion, bewilderment, adoration and indifference. Sums up motherhood pretty well, especially in those early newborn days. There is a lot going on behind those Mona Lisa eyes.

I’ve stared at this photograph for hours over the years and the longer I look at it, the more I see myself. Not 23 or 36 year old me, but me today.

I want to be a different mother to my children than my mother was to me, more open, more involved, a reflection of her best characteristics. Like she, I’m flawed in my own ways.

I learned many valuable lessons from my mother; the importance of sending thank you cards, how to celebrate holidays, the pure joy that can be found in a chocolate chip cookie and how to relax.

There are still so many questions for the women in the photo.

I miss her.

I miss a relationship I never had with her. I miss a relationship I could have had with her.

I think our relationship would have bloomed once I became a mother. I would have turned to her like I never was able to as a child.

Luckily, we all have two opportunities to have that mother/daughter bond. Once as a child when we have absolutely no control and again as mothers ourselves. If Mother’s Day is difficult for you too, please remember that.

If you have a difficult relationship with your mother, if your mother is gone, or you are struggling to became a mother, you are not alone.

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Family Tree

Posted on November 18, 2014 Written by Tonya

Just like I knew they would, my eyes fill with tears as I tell Lucas the photos we are carefully pasting to the page are the last ones taken of my parents. It was my wedding day, seven years ago.

I thought we’d have a couple more years before Lucas had a Family Tree project.

It’s basic, immediate family only, no research required and a few fun questions about our family including, who is the oldest member of our family and who has the longest eyelashes.

I’m worried.

Lucas has been known to tell complete strangers that my parents are dead. Just like that, he’ll blurt out to anyone who’ll listen, “My mom’s parents are dead.” It was shocking the first couple of times but, I expect it now. I’m ready when the cashier at the supermarket looks at me with a blank stare on her face unsure what to say next. “It’s okay.” I say. Of course, it’s anything but okay, but she doesn’t want to hear a sob story and I’m just trying to buy dinner.

Death is a regular topic in our home. I have shared here before the many conversations we have had as a family, the questions my five-year-old so inquisitively asks and the delicate way in which we attempt to ease his precious heart and mind by responding the best way we know how, with the truth.

For us, it is normal. I realize this is not the case in other homes and assume most of his classmates have two sets of living grandparents, maybe more.

Lucas only has one set of grandparents and they are kind and loving and a very big part of our lives. I am grateful for them every day.

I could argue that my parents are a big part of our lives too, as they come up in regular conversation, there are lots of photos of them in our house and many stories and memories to share. But are my parents no longer my children’s grandparents because they are not here physically or because they never had the chance to meet my children? We refer to them as Grandma and Grandpa Adams. In my mind that’s what they are. Right? I don’t have the answers. All I know is, their lives were cut short and were they here, they’d love Lucas and Lola to pieces.

I’m not worried about what Lucas will say when it is his turn to present his family to his class, he’ll no doubt share what details he knows, however, I am concerned about how the other children may respond.

I gave Lucas’s teacher a head’s up and she was grateful and reassured me that no two families are alike and that she would create a sensitive environment for whatever the children what to discuss.

Especially In October

Posted on October 7, 2014 Written by Tonya

An audible groan escapes my body as I turn the page on the calendar.

You’d never know it was Fall in Southern California based on the heat we have been experiencing. That coupled with the heavy emotion that accompanies October, it is has become my least favorite month of the year.

The anniversary of my parents deaths always evokes powerful memories of the feelings and events surrounding the early morning hours of October 15, 2007 and the days that followed. I can recall in great detail where I was, what I was doing and even what I was wearing the night my sister called to tell me they had died. Although I have never worn them again, I still own those pajamas. I can’t seem to part with them.

I remember being grateful for all the tasks at hand so that I wouldn’t just sit and cry. There were many scheduled overseas phone calls, the repatriation of my parents bodies, obtaining toxicology reports and death certificates. Not only did I feel like I was in the middle of my worst nightmare, but the pages of a crime novel.

We had to locate their will to ensure their wishes were met, contact and meet with a funeral home, write two obituaries, read through countless condolence e-mails and field questions from family and friends. There was so much to do and I had never felt that level of exhaustion before.

I also remember waking up for days with tear stained cheeks and also not really being able to look anyone in the eye for fear of completely losing it.

Seven years later, it is still hard to speak of my mom and dad in the past tense. There are things about them that have grown fuzzy and many I’ll never forget. Bittersweet memories have become part of my life, they are woven into the very marrow of my being and the sadness is permanent and irrevocable.

I’m grateful it is not the first thing on my mind when I wake up in the morning anymore. And yet, at least a dozen times a day it crosses my mind. More so in October.

I find ways of working them into conversations as I attempt to hold on to them and to help my son know them as I did. Of course, I realize that will be my lifelong struggle. And now that I’m a parent, I wonder if I ever really knew them myself. I always miss them.

Grief gets better, more manageable over time. I have learned to live with it as it comes and goes and I know the path toward healing and finding peace is a long one.

Especially in October.

Loss Is Loss Is Loss: A Book Review Of Rare Bird

Posted on September 30, 2014 Written by Tonya

As soon as Anna Whiston-Donaldson’s book, Rare Bird: A Memoir of Loss and Love arrived in my mailbox I started reading it. I literally ripped it out of the manila envelope it arrived in as I walked up to my house and started with chapter one entitled, You’re Braver than You Think.

Something stopped me.

I knew full well what the book was about; Anna’s son Jack died in a flash flood while playing with neighborhood friends in the rain. It is a tragedy that is almost inconceivable to consider. Parents should never have to bury their children. Ever.

There was a part of me that wondered if maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to begin such a heavy story, one that was sure to cause me to draw parallels to my own grief and loss and pull me into a depression I didn’t have either the time or inclination to revisit. I wasn’t ready to go to that place in that moment.

That was the end of July.

By September, I had somehow successfully managed to avoid reading any reviews on Rare Bird or discussing the book with anyone who had already read it.

I picked it up again and finished two days later, on the third anniversary of Jack’s death. Ironic, right? I e-mailed Anna immediately to tell her how much I loved her memoir, how much I appreciated her tender words, full of wisdom and grace, beauty, love, pain and hope.

I wanted her to know that I learned something about grief by reading Rare Bird. I realized that the thing about grief is once you’ve experienced that kind of loss it’s always with you and takes very little to conjure. It could be a quote, a piece of music, a passage in a book, walking by a stranger in the supermarket that smells like someone you lost or simply sharing your grief story with others. It can happen at any time and without any warning.

Through my personal grief journey I have discovered that grief is a tricky beast and everyone experiences it differently. So much of what Anna shares I felt when I lost my parents in a tragic, fluke accident way too soon. As Anna says, “loss is loss is loss”.

Rare Bird isn’t just a memoir. It is a beautifully written handbook for anyone who is grieving, who will grieve, or who will be there for someone who is grieving, but don’t just take my word for it, her book has already been praised by The Washington Post and Publishers Weekly.

Listen to Anna tell you about her book in her own words:

Disclaimer: I received a copy of Rare Bird: A Memoir of Loss and Love to assist in my review. No other compensation was received. All opinions expressed are my own.

Heaven

Posted on September 17, 2014 Written by Tonya

Always when I’m most exacerbated, it’s 100 degrees outside and I’ve made three trips to and from the car with arms full of necessities, Lola is screaming in her car seat, my phone starts to buzz and we are hitting nothing but red lights already late for karate, when his sweet voice from the backseat asks, “Are your eyes open or closed in heaven?”

Where did that come from? I was just yelling at him to put on his shoes. It’s feel as if at that very moment in time someone out there knows I need perspective. Two someones, my angels, my parents. They are urging me to stop and remember.

I take a deep inhale before I respond, “I don’t know, Lucas. I would think open.”

“Because heaven is whatever you want it to be, right?”, he asks shyly.

“Yes.” I can feel my belly tighten but I’m relieved he remembers this from previous conversations.

“But you’re really still, aren’t you?”

“No, I imagine you can dance and sing and ride your skateboard and eat your favorite desserts and build Lego all day long. You could even learn how to play golf!”

“Really?!”

“Yeah! You get to do whatever you want with anyone who has already died.”

“Like your mom and dad? Could I touch them? I’d like to hug them.”

With tears now running down my face certain of where this was headed, “They would like that very much.”

“So wait, there are stores in heaven?”

Knowing full well that the thought of Lego in heaven would peak his interest. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then where do the Lego come from?”

“If that is what your idea of heaven is, playing with Lego then they are just there, ready for you. Boxes and boxes of Lego all lined up.”

Now I’m fearful I’ve just sold heaven to my five-year-old.

“What if I need help, you know how sometimes I need help putting them together? Will you and Daddy be there?”

This is getting too deep. And too hard on my heart.

“Lucas, heaven is just an idea. Some people think, I think that if you’re a good person here on earth while you’re alive, when you die you will go to heaven and when you’re there you get to see all of the people that you loved the most who died before you.”

I catch a glimpse of him in the rear view mirror craning his neck to look out the window, “Where is it? Why can’t we go there now? Is it above the clouds and the airplanes? I can’t see it.”

“No, you can’t see it and you don’t want to go until it’s your time.”

“But you’re going to die way after me right?”

“Oh no, I hope not!”

“When are you going to die?”

“Nobody knows when they’re going to die, but I’m going to be here for a very long time so you don’t need to worry about that, okay?”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, but I hope I’ll be here until you are my age.

Shocked that I could pull a number, an age out of thin air, “42? You’re going to die when I’m 42?”

“Lucas, death is very serious. It’s final. When you die, you are no longer here.”

“What would you do if I died?”

“I can’t even bear the thought. I would cry morning, noon and night. I wouldn’t be able to breathe. I would miss you so much.”

“What would you do with my toys?”

“They’d probably stay right where there are for a very long time.”

“You could give them away, Mom. I’d be okay with that.”

I love my son more than words and I sincerely hope I haven’t done irreparable damage to his innocent mind, world or faith with all my talk of a heaven I don’t know exists.

45

Posted on August 23, 2014 Written by Tonya

It’s hard to imagine my parents ever dating. Of course they did long before I existed and while I was growing up too, but I only recall babysitters not the two of them going out for the evening.

I can’t help but wonder if we’d be at their favorite restaurant tonight dining all together as a family or would my father insist on a having a “cook out” and inviting a few friends over too. Just bring yourself, he’d say when asked what could be contributed to the gathering.

Maybe with the help of me or my sister, my father would have made reservations at a hip new eatery. He’d hate every minute of the meal but would go through it with smile on his face and rise to leave as soon as the check was paid. My dad did not enjoy the restaurant dining experience in the least bit. He liked being at home and was always ready for the next thing so it left him antsy in restaurants.

I’m certain my dad would have enlisted help picking out a piece of sapphire jewelry, the classic gift given on this occasion. My mother would opt for a silly over sentimental gift for him and card that said it all because she was unable.

I bet my sister and I would have gone in on a gift together for them. For their 25th anniversary we presented them with an engraved decorative pewter plate we bought at Things Remembered. We’d have to do better than that, it has been another 20 years. A trip maybe? I always dreamed of sending them on a cruise. Why I have no idea, especially since my mother had severe motion sickness and my dad’s need for his own space.

I wish I had known my parents without children, just them, as a couple. I regret not asking them more about their early years together. I want to hear again how they met, when exactly they knew they had found The One and after all these years together, what makes their marriage work and has there ever been a time when one of them wanted to walk away. I’d like to thank them for being such great marriage role models, sticking together, sticking it out.

If they were alive, my parents would be celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary today.

I hope wherever they are, they are kissing and cuddling and toasting one another as I’ll be.

My Candidate

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