Category: Musings

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Cemetery Gates

Dad, circa 1968

I visited my Dad’s grave alone for the first time last week. It wasn’t something I specifically went out of my way to do … I just felt compelled to go there one cold morning.

I had just dropped Hubby off at his new place of employment and had nothing on my own work schedule until a 12:00 pm meeting. And since I had been in Chicago, I hadn’t had a chance to visit Dad for the past two weeks.

I don’t know what the “etiquette” (if there is one)** for how often one should visit a loved one’s gravesite. I’ve never had to deal with a direct relative’s (let alone a parent) passing before; never had a relative buried in close proximity to where we lived.

The closest experience I had to losing someone I felt incredibly close to was well over 20 years ago. And when I look back now, I have to believe that being part of my Godmother‘s journey — especially that last year when I was a Senior in High School — is what pushed me to believe I could make a good nurse. Or at the very least, she taught me to be compassionate in the midst of pain and sorrow.

After her passing, my Mom and I made it a point to visit her at least once a month. But as I had started university that fall, I must admit that the visits started to become more scarce. In fact, the last time I visited her grave was 11 years ago during the funeral of another close family friend. Even after all those years of not visiting my Godmother, I couldn’t help but open those floodgates once I saw her gravestone.

Hubby clears a path to Dad ...

Since my Dad’s passing, I’ve made it a point to try to visit him once a week. Usually it’s on a Sunday after Mass with my Mom, followed by brunch and a trip out to the cemetery. Regardless of the weather … and believe me, there were those horrible Snow-maggedon days this past winter … I’d be at the cemetery. Hubby even went with me during the three weeks my Mom was in the Philippiness, just so that I wasn’t alone.

It’s now been close to 4 months now, since my Dad died. Every time we’ve been to the cemetery, I still feel the unexpected loss of my Dad. I might not shed a tear when I’m physically there at his grave site (perhaps to appear “strong” in front of my Mom?), but once we’re a distance from the cemetery, I still break down in tears. I still feel the intense sadness I did the first time I visited Dad’s new living quarters; which happened in the dark of night, less than a week after his burial.

This week I believe that I was compelled to go to the cemetery on my own; not because I hadn’t gone in two weeks. But rather, because I wanted to test how strong I could be; if I could survive going at it alone. I wanted to know if I could be strong enough to cry in front of him and still be able to pick myself up and drive away. After all, if it wasn’t for my Hubby during that first late-night visit, I might have spent the night on top of Dad’s grave.

So with a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee in my hand (it was 20-some degrees outside at 8:30 am, after all), I walked from my car to Dad’s grave. I told him some funny stories and told him how much I missed him. And I cried. And cried. And cried.

Afterwards, I picked myself up, said a few prayers, and walked back to my car. I sat in the car for a bit, warming myself up and drying my face off from my frozen tears. And after a few minutes, I drove away.

So now I know: I am strong enough to go to the cemetery on my own. However, I also know that I’m still raw inside; I’m still tender around my heart.

And I wonder if it’s ever going to go away***.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

** What do you think, oh Internets? Anybody who has had experience in losing a parent … how often did you visit them in the beginning? And …

*** Will the intensity of how I feel right now ever go away?

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands. EVER.

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Knot Envious of IF

I’ve been having the worst knots on my neck and shoulder muscles lately.

Okay, so that isn’t really anything new. Truth be told, I’ve always been tense in shoulders and neck; that’s where my stressors manifest itself in a physical form.

I compare it much as to how all the unhealthy foods I eat physically manifest onto my butt. After all, a moment on the lips …

See, the thing is … no matter if Hubby does manage to find the knot on my back and attempts to massage it away (he’s good to me like that), the knot always manages to find its way back within a day or two. It’s not until we manage to go to a licensed massage therapist (or hey, you physical therapists are great for this, too!), who can get all the muscle knots out in a short 1-hr session, that all the tension is released from my neck and shoulders for a longer period of time.

As a Registered Nurse, I logically know that it’s because the pain I feel on one knot is likely related to another knot elsewhere on my neck or shoulders. And in order to get rid of one knot, I need to find the original source of the pain.

In the medical world, the type of pain I feel in this situation is called referred pain. It’s much like a person who is having a heart attack can have jaw/neck/left arm pain rather than actually feeling pain in the chest, where the source of the pain originates from.  In order to “fix” the pain in the arm or neck or jaw, the physician needs to treat the problems going on with the person’s heart.

As I sat in front of my laptop today, mentally complaining about a particularly painful knot in my shoulder, I thought about referred pain can relate not only to physical pain but emotional pain, as well. In my case, I thought about the emotional pain that I’ve endured throughout my Infertility journey; of which ultimately ended in our decision to live child-free.

Contrary to popular belief, Hubby and I did not just “give up“ on our quest to have children. In a way, the option to live child-free after infertility was much like one of those knots on my back. It was an area that needed to be (and, at time still needs to be) massaged over and over again.

Next to that “Child-Free Knot” was the “Adoption Knot” … Again, another knot that kept returning despite all efforts to release that muscle tension. In a way, the Adoption Knot was the one that frequently resurfaced time and time again; especially when well-meaning friends and family would elicit their advice on how Hubby & I should “just adopt” to “cure” us from infertility. Yes … that knot was a particularly stubborn knot.

On top of the Adoption Knot (because you know how knots can have knots as well?) was the “Medical Treatment Knot.” This particular knot … although not the “sharpest” pain (at least not in my situation**) … was the most chronic knot. It was the knot that had lasted with me for well over 8 years, until Hubby & I consciously decided to untie that knot. Or at least massage the h*ll out of it until the Adoption Knot bubbled to the surface.

Underneath all those knots was the original knot; the reason why I kept having “knots” to begin with. You see, those knots were just “symptoms” of the underlying problem; the reason for all that referred emotional pain. Deep inside of me, I knew I had to treat all the sadness and anger that came with my diagnosis of Infertility.

I knew I had to get to the root of the problem. But when you’re in the throes of pain, the last thing you want to think of is fixing the “cause” of the pain. You just want the pain to go away – whether it’s by jumping right into the next medical treatment … or even blindly heading into the adoption process before you’re emotionally ready to do so. OR you ask for pain medication to help treat the immediate problem and leave it at that – perhaps thinking that the immediate hurt is gone so you don’t have to deal with the real issues that are actually causing the pain.

I’m here to tell you that “fixing” the immediate problem without delving deeper into the root cause of your emotional pain does NOT work … at least in the long run.

This is why it took Hubby & I years to decide to live child-free.

I won’t go into detail about how I got rid of those knots … well, at least the most intense pain that’s associated with the knots. I think you’ve all heard my story before (and if not, click here). However, know this:

It’s up to you to decide how you’ll deal with that referred pain – those knots, if you may … BUT in order to completely deal with the pain, you will have to address the underlying reason for that pain. Otherwise those d*mn knots will resurface whether you like it or not.

…..

Oh, and one more thing. Those knots won’t ever completely go away. There are those days when some “surface knots” can appear; for example: birthdays, anniversaries, other pregnancies, etc. But just so you know … the pain won’t be nearly as sharp as they were before.

You’ll just need to get one H*LL of a massage therapist to get rid of them on an ongoing basis.

As if I need another reason to go for a full-body massage …

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

** I know many IF friends who went through multiple and varied medical treatments, whose “knot” may have been the sharpest pain they’ve ever felt.

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Ticket To Ride

Almost a week without a post. Yes, I’m trying to get better at writing at least one post a week here. At least thats my goal.

As it turns out, I’m on a train heading back to Detroit from Chicago. Hubby and I drove back to Chicago in mid-March, but he had to get back to Detroit before I returned from my Boston work trip this past week. Anyway, this just means that I have a little window of opportunity to sit and write without being distracted.

Dr. Bro, LJC and me at Disneyworld

Being a “Road Warrior” for work has given me the opportunity to spend more time listening to music on my digital library. After all, many times I find myself in airports for just enough time to check my email, but not enough time respond to them. Or else I’m literally on the road driving to a location hours away from where I started. Either way, music is my constant companion at these times.

It’s refreshing for me, because music has always been part of my life. One that only recently re-entered at full force after years of focusing on a career. Or trying to get pregnant.

My parents always had music on in the house and in the car. In fact, many of those road trips we’d take as a family involved worn out cassette tapes or — gasp! — old 8-tracks.

One of my favorite memories is my first trip to Disneyworld at the age of 6. My parents packed my brother, my cousin (who would later be known as LJC) & me in our tan wood-paneled station wagon along with our two grandmothers and an uncle and drove down from Detroit to Orlando. During that trip, I believe my parents only took a handful of 8-tracks; ones that we would constantly repeat, only because we couldn’t get any radio reception when driving through the mountains.

Let’s just say that by the end of our trip, the three kids knew all the words to every Neil Sedaka song, as well as all the singing parts to the Grease soundtrack. And it’s apparently a memory that keeps on giving, because Hubby can attest that I was recently able to identify a Neil Sedaka tune!

Another 8-track that was in the wagon during that trip was one of many Beatles compilations that my Dad threw together. It was from that home-made “playlist” (created circa 1978) that I learned the words to most of the Beatles songs. And to this day, every time I hear “Ticket To Ride” I have this incredible urge to belt out the song.

The 1978 Road Warriors (minus Mom)

It’s one of those childhood memories I keep stored close to my heart. And one that usually surfaces whenever I hear any song that reminds me of road trips and spontaneous singing.

For instance: Today on the train, “Tiny Dancer” came  up in “shuffle-mode.” The first image that came to mind was my favorite scene in “Almost Famous.”

Or the other day I thought of “Harold & Kumar” when hearing Wilson Phillips “Hold On” on the radio.

Regardless of the song, each one brought me back to my own road trip memories and how much fun they were when music was thrown into the mix. And hearing each song certainly gave me the urge to break out into spontaneous singing. Loudly. And at the top of my lungs.

And, in the midst of the chaos that my life has become of late … It made me happy.

So even though I might not be an American Idol contestant, I think I might just sing aloud. At least in the privacy of my own home. Or car. Or shower.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Your turn, oh Internets … What song makes you think of road trips? Or what song makes you break out your singing voice?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Related Posts:

Emily’s Living Journal

Emily hears her Own Voice

Emily’s Pitch is a little Black

*

Oh, how I miss our old station wagon ...
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Blog O’Versary

Four years. That’s how long I’ve been blogging.

It doesn’t seem like it’s been that many years. In that span of time, I’ve come to terms with my inability to have children. And Hubby & I have come to the decision to live child-free after infertility.

Wow, writing that last paragraph appears as if I’ve reduced the past four years into two simple sentences. Except I have 423 posts that say otherwise.

So either I’m too wordy … or I have a lot of issues.

I’m betting on the latter.

Anyway, I figured the best way for me to celebrate my 4th Blog O’Versary (my little ode to St. Patty’s Day) is to do that (in)famous “Meme of Four.”

Of course there are variations of this particular meme, so since it’s my blogoversary … I decided to pick the ones I wanted to answer. So without further ado …

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Four Jobs I’ve Had

  • Whopper-Maker for “The King” (and I’m not talking about Elvis, either)
  • Broke Music Store Employee, who spent most of her paycheck on things called “tapes” and “records.”
  • Rockin’ Teacher’s Assistant at my University
  • Registered Nurse working for the “dreaded” HMO (actually, it was a rewarding job … )

.

Four places I’ve lived
(Yeah, this one was easy)

  • Metro Detroit
  • Metro Detroit
  • Chicago
  • Metro Detroit

.

Four shows I like to watch
(I have many, but these are my current faves)

  • Glee
  • The Good Wife
  • Criminal Minds
  • Fringe

.

Four movies I can watch over and over

  • 10 Things I Hate About You
  • Love, Actually
  • Notting Hill
  • Goonies

.

Four things I get cross about

  • Texting while driving
  • Selfish, self-centered people
  • Uninformed and ignorant statements
  • The lack of problem-solving skills in the world today

.

Four words/phrases I use a lot

  • Seriously?
  • Y’all (I blame it on all the time I’ve spent in the South for work lately)
  • Naughty!
  • Sorry …

.

Four websites I visit daily

  • Facebook (admittedly addicted)
  • New York Times
  • Amazon (I like to “window” shop)
  • Multiple Blogs

.

Four things I am looking forward to

  • Our 15th Wedding Anniversary (in August)
  • Traveling the world with Hubby (someday)
  • Retirement (maybe someday)
  • Growing old with Hubby (definitely … )

.

Four things I’ve learned from the past

  • There are things in this world that are waaay beyond our control …
    no matter what science or medicine can provide
  • It really does take a huge leap of faith in order to move forward from loss
  • As Mick says, “You can’t always get what you want”
  • FAMILY:
    • can include every single aunt, uncle, and cousin you’ve become close to
    • It can also include those people that have touched your life in some way or another
    • AND most importantly, it can also mean just Hubby and me

.

Four things I want to do before I die

  • Spend a month traveling Europe
  • Write a novel and publish it
  • Move to the Pacific Northwest
  • Spend an entire week somewhere on any tropical beach, reading and soaking up the sun

.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~

Thank you to all who’ve still kept me on your blog reader. Even though I haven’t been the best of bloggers lately. Your words and your support (both here on my blog and on Facebook) mean the world to me … and have certainly been my light during those times of darkness. You guys rock!

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Home = Heart

In the midst of traveling between Chicago and Detroit, I wrote a quick Twitter/Facebook status update:

Anybody else ever feel “homesick” even though you’re technically “home”? Because that’s how I’m feeling right about now.

~*~*~

Seattle 2010; our last trip with Dad

I made that statement mainly because I had been sorely missing my Dad at that moment. Hubby & I were back in Detroit with the intention of being available for my Mom as she began packing for a three-week trip back to the Philippines. I intended to drive her to the airport the day of the trip, but, as it turned out, I had to be out of town for work. So instead, my Hubby — the awesome man that he is — took her to the airport.

The Monday before I left for my out-of-town business, Mom and I had a chance to spend the day together. We had lunch at one of our favorite restaurants, followed by a mani/pedi at a local salon.

I should add that, while I know most women are “close” to their mothers, my Mom & and I have never really had that type of “girly-girl” relationship. My Mom was my mother;. She was the authority figure of my childhood. And even though I’m a grown up now and can make my own decisions, I do take into consideration her opinion — even though I may not always follow it.

After the funeral (and after the rest of the world returned to “normal”) I found myself wanting to be closer to Mom. Partly because I wanted to share my grief with her: I wanted to be with someone who could understand the loss of a person I loved dearly.

The other part was because I just didn’t want my Mom to feel so alone. After all, Dr. Bro had Dr. SIL and Emilia Grace. And me? I had my wonderful Hubby; the sole person that has been able to hold me up and keep me together. But my Mom now had no one. And if — God forbid — I had been the one to lose my spouse, I know that I’d be utterly devastated; completely undone.

~*~*~

Photo of the 'rents, using the QuadCamera App on my iPhone

~*~*~

So yes, that is the reason why the day before I flew out of town (and three days before my Mom left for the Philippines), we found ourselves at the salon getting our nails done. Afterwards, I helped her with some other mundane tasks around the house, all the while dreading our good bye. I knew that when I hugged and kissed her for the night, it would be the last time I’d be able to do so for the next three weeks.

Alas, the time had come and I couldn’t put it off any longer. After all, I myself still had to pack for my business trip the next day. So as I kissed and hugged her, I told her to be safe and have fun. This trip was planned months before my Dad’s passing … and it was meant to be a trip full of reunions with her high school and university classmates. And I encouraged her, as always, to call me if she needed anything.

As she hugged me back, she said, “I wish you were coming with me.” And in that instance, I really wish I was. But before either of us could get teary-eyed in front of each other, I stepped out the garage door and waved at her once more as the door began to close.

My car wasn’t even at the end of the street when I called her on my cell phone. “I’m just a phone call away,” I told her once again. And, in between her tears I could barely hear her say, “I know.”

I cried the whole 15-minute car ride back to my Detroit home.

~*~*~*~

Later that evening, I thought about what it was like to be back in Detroit: back “home”, where I met and married Hubby. The same place where we bought our first home; where we suffered through more than 10 years of infertility.

And I thought about where I had been earlier today: my childhood home. The backyard where I learned to climb trees. The driveway where I learned to ride a bike. And I thought about my childhood bedroom (which is now my Mom’s “computer room”) and the countless memories I had growing up in that house.

And I felt absolutely homesick.

Picture of our 1st Home with Dad and Kozzy as a pup

I wanted to be that child again. I wanted to be at that home, babysitting my younger cousins; playing hide and seek in our 70’s-decorated, finished basement. I wanted to break out my old turn-table and blast out some ’80’s 12-inch vinyl remixes and just dance to my heart’s content. I wanted to play the piano again and pretend I could still be a member of some world-famous rock band. I wanted to be under a blanket on the couch reading a silly book I had checked out of the library.

Most of all, what I wanted was to be under the same roof as my Mom. And my Dad.

I know that’s no longer possible. My Mom … well, despite being worse for wear (what, with the loss of her spouse and all) truly needs her own space to grieve. She no longer needs to “take care” of her adult kids.

And my Dad … well, he’s simply no longer here on this earth.

But my Husband is here; and he’s been here for me through everything that I’ve been through for (close to) 15 years. And in reality, I know that — regardless of whether we’re in Chicago or Detroit — Hubby is my home.

And I couldn’t be more grateful.