I feel like I've finally hit the wall. I've run out of bright sides to look on, positive things to think and ways to make sense of this. Though I could still come up with ten things to be thankful for, none of it really matters. I've reached the point where nothing makes sense without them.
While I was taking a shower this morning I noticed that Peter's bath toys, which were still perched on the side of the tub, were starting to get moldy. They haven't been used in almost a year so why wouldn't they be moldy? I could've cleaned them and put them back, but what's the point? He's not coming back. He's not going to use them anymore. Keeping them doesn't make me feel any closer to him. So I threw them out.
I still can't stomach the idea that my kids are dead. I say it out loud sometimes and I just don't believe it. And lately I've gotten really good at believing that they're not dead and gone, but alive in another dimension. But today I just don't care. That doesn't cut it. I want them to be here with me.
I know that at some point I'll feel better. It's a good thing grief comes in waves because if it felt this bad all the time no one would survive it. So I will survive and surely live many more days without them. Fabulous.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
on a slightly better note...
I went back to cleaning and found a necklace I've been trying to find for a long time.
A couple of years ago I bought a set of simple heart necklaces from Claire's boutique. One had a solid heart and the other had an outline of a heart (pictured above)...and the hearts fit together. I bought these to help Kate with some separation anxiety she was experiencing at school. We each wore one of them for awhile until she felt better about going to school. Then she moved onto other, more fashionable jewelry and we put our necklaces in our respective jewelry boxes.
A couple of weeks before the accident Kate started wearing hers again and asked me to wear mine. She was wearing it when she died.
I wore my necklace every day for a couple of months, but would always take it off before getting in the shower. One day in June I misplaced it and hadn't seen it since. Until tonight. :)
A couple of weeks before the accident Kate started wearing hers again and asked me to wear mine. She was wearing it when she died.
I wore my necklace every day for a couple of months, but would always take it off before getting in the shower. One day in June I misplaced it and hadn't seen it since. Until tonight. :)
still surreal...
I am a woman on a mission with this cleaning and organizing business. Seriously. I don't care how difficult it is, I feel compelled to make my house more livable. But I do need to tell you, it is bordering on torturous.
Right now I'm trying desperately to clean my room. I have a desk that is piled so high with papers most people don't even know there's a desk there. (am I writing out loud? can't believe I'm admitting to all this) Anyway, I was just going through each item one by one, deciding whether to throw it out, recycle it, file it or find another place to put it. I've found bills, Kate's homework assignments, magazines, drawings Kate and Peter created, old junk mail, etc.
The last three things I found were, in order:
a picture of the two of them taken in 2006 when they were 4 and 2 years old:
a small art project of Peter's from school last year:
and the post-it note where I wrote down Steve's license plate number, car description and the number of the State Police last April 6th when I was trying to find them:
I'm not exactly sure why I'm writing and telling everyone about this experience except that it seems so surreal I almost feel like I need to document it to prove it really happened, and that this is really happening and that this is really my life. Seriously. WTF?
I guess I'm also writing this because I said way back in the beginning of this blog that I was going to tell it like it is and not censor myself. And this is how it is. And I will get through it and have a better day sometime, but for now this is it.
How do I go back to cleaning after that? How do I do anything after that? I'm not exactly sure...but, again, what choice do I have. I have to do something.
Right now I'm trying desperately to clean my room. I have a desk that is piled so high with papers most people don't even know there's a desk there. (am I writing out loud? can't believe I'm admitting to all this) Anyway, I was just going through each item one by one, deciding whether to throw it out, recycle it, file it or find another place to put it. I've found bills, Kate's homework assignments, magazines, drawings Kate and Peter created, old junk mail, etc.
The last three things I found were, in order:
a picture of the two of them taken in 2006 when they were 4 and 2 years old:
a small art project of Peter's from school last year:
and the post-it note where I wrote down Steve's license plate number, car description and the number of the State Police last April 6th when I was trying to find them:
I'm not exactly sure why I'm writing and telling everyone about this experience except that it seems so surreal I almost feel like I need to document it to prove it really happened, and that this is really happening and that this is really my life. Seriously. WTF?
I guess I'm also writing this because I said way back in the beginning of this blog that I was going to tell it like it is and not censor myself. And this is how it is. And I will get through it and have a better day sometime, but for now this is it.
How do I go back to cleaning after that? How do I do anything after that? I'm not exactly sure...but, again, what choice do I have. I have to do something.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
cleaning out my closet...
I'm honestly feeling quite motivated to organize my house, get rid of clutter and get ready to move forward with my life but it's so unbelievably hard to do. My house is beyond cluttered (I may soon be a candidate for that show "hoarders") so today I decided I'd start with something small - the hall closet.
I keep mostly towels and sheets stored in that closet with a couple of shelves dedicated to things like first-aid supplies and toiletries. I thought it would be the easiest place to begin, the place with the least emotional attachment. Notsomuch. Who would've thought the hall closet would bring me to tears.
First I found the giant Spongebob band-aids I bought for Peter when he fell and scraped his knee at a playground. I can't quite possibly get rid of those...and I guess I don't really have to. Then I found the unopened bottle of kids' shampoo I must have bought right before they died. Guess I don't need that anymore.
Next I found a partially used bottle of Zofran, an antimedic that was prescribed for Peter exactly one year ago today. He had a very bad gastrointestinal illness last year. I had to take him to the ER at Children's Hospital twice and he missed a full week of school. It's not a good memory, but at least it's a memory. Even if he was really sick, he was still here.
This picture Kate made for Peter when he was sick is still hanging on my wall where she taped it:
She sure loves him!
Then I found the Vicks VapoRub that I used to put on Kate's feet before bed when she had a bad cold and cough (yes I said FEET and really, it works for the cough! ). Again, a memory of having a sick kid, but also a memory of putting her in bed at night, hugging her, telling her I loved her, and knowing she was safe and sound in her bed.
So now instead of cleaning and organizing I'm crying and writing. At this rate my house will be organized sometime in 2016...maybe. I know I need to take my time and I know I need to cry, but it sucks...and hurts.
I keep mostly towels and sheets stored in that closet with a couple of shelves dedicated to things like first-aid supplies and toiletries. I thought it would be the easiest place to begin, the place with the least emotional attachment. Notsomuch. Who would've thought the hall closet would bring me to tears.
First I found the giant Spongebob band-aids I bought for Peter when he fell and scraped his knee at a playground. I can't quite possibly get rid of those...and I guess I don't really have to. Then I found the unopened bottle of kids' shampoo I must have bought right before they died. Guess I don't need that anymore.
Next I found a partially used bottle of Zofran, an antimedic that was prescribed for Peter exactly one year ago today. He had a very bad gastrointestinal illness last year. I had to take him to the ER at Children's Hospital twice and he missed a full week of school. It's not a good memory, but at least it's a memory. Even if he was really sick, he was still here.
This picture Kate made for Peter when he was sick is still hanging on my wall where she taped it:
Then I found the Vicks VapoRub that I used to put on Kate's feet before bed when she had a bad cold and cough (yes I said FEET and really, it works for the cough! ). Again, a memory of having a sick kid, but also a memory of putting her in bed at night, hugging her, telling her I loved her, and knowing she was safe and sound in her bed.
So now instead of cleaning and organizing I'm crying and writing. At this rate my house will be organized sometime in 2016...maybe. I know I need to take my time and I know I need to cry, but it sucks...and hurts.
Monday, January 25, 2010
a little something from my kids...
I’m home from my adventures at sea. It’s nice to be home and though I had some sort of flu-like illness for the first few days of my cruise, I was still able to enjoy a nice relaxing vacation.
Given that I’ve been away from home and, for the most part, away from my blog for the past twelve days I have experienced a whole range of emotions since my last post. I would like to report that I did spend some time releasing my anger using a tennis racquet and pillows - ok, it was more like an exorcism than a release. It was quite cathartic and I felt much better after doing so. I thank you all for your suggested anger-releasing techniques and plan to give some of them a try for what I’m sure will be many upcoming episodes of anger.
There were so many things I considered writing about while on vacation, but due to my sheer lack of motivation from being sick and the ridiculous price of on-board wi-fi I haven’t written anything yet. I have much to sort through in my brain before writing anything coherent, however there is one occurrence I’d like to quickly share.
As you may know if you’ve read my blog in the past I still talk to my kids quite frequently and occasionally “hear” from them. While sitting in the sun one particularly sad day last week I was talking to my kids saying, “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you and I miss you so much. It would be so helpful if you could give me a little something, some kind of sign to let me know you’re still there and that you’re ok.”
Immediately after “saying” that (I didn’t really say it out loud, but was talking to them in my head) I was playing with my phone, as I so often do. I was sending text messages from the middle of the ocean (also not cheap) when I noticed I had about 30 unfinished messages in my “drafts” folder. Those of you who text will understand that when I’m in the middle of composing a text message and my phone rings the partial message automatically gets saved to my drafts folder. I typically forget that the folder exists and retype the message when I hang up the call. I had a bunch of messages that looked like this:
To: Jen
Message: what time di
To: Janis
Message: do u
To: Ken
Message: call m
I went through reading and deleting each message until I got to one that looked like this:
To: (no recipients)
Message: The kids are all right
I have absolutely no clue where this message came from. I know for sure that I didn’t write it for a few different reasons:
1. There was no recipient.
2. I got this particular phone after my kids died so I don’t know who I would’ve been texting about
3. If I had written a message such as this I would have used the word “alright” instead of the words “all right” which leads me to believe it may have been written by a certain little girl who loved to text (see picture below), but wouldn’t understand the grammatical difference.
I don’t know how it’s possible, I only know that after reading it I felt an overwhelming sense of peace knowing my kids are still around and able to communicate with me. I know it sounds crazy, and after reading this you may think I need medication, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Maybe where they are, they were able to find a cell phone provider with inter-dimensional service. Whatever the explanation, I’m just thankful. Thank you, Kate and Peter.
Given that I’ve been away from home and, for the most part, away from my blog for the past twelve days I have experienced a whole range of emotions since my last post. I would like to report that I did spend some time releasing my anger using a tennis racquet and pillows - ok, it was more like an exorcism than a release. It was quite cathartic and I felt much better after doing so. I thank you all for your suggested anger-releasing techniques and plan to give some of them a try for what I’m sure will be many upcoming episodes of anger.
There were so many things I considered writing about while on vacation, but due to my sheer lack of motivation from being sick and the ridiculous price of on-board wi-fi I haven’t written anything yet. I have much to sort through in my brain before writing anything coherent, however there is one occurrence I’d like to quickly share.
As you may know if you’ve read my blog in the past I still talk to my kids quite frequently and occasionally “hear” from them. While sitting in the sun one particularly sad day last week I was talking to my kids saying, “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you and I miss you so much. It would be so helpful if you could give me a little something, some kind of sign to let me know you’re still there and that you’re ok.”
Immediately after “saying” that (I didn’t really say it out loud, but was talking to them in my head) I was playing with my phone, as I so often do. I was sending text messages from the middle of the ocean (also not cheap) when I noticed I had about 30 unfinished messages in my “drafts” folder. Those of you who text will understand that when I’m in the middle of composing a text message and my phone rings the partial message automatically gets saved to my drafts folder. I typically forget that the folder exists and retype the message when I hang up the call. I had a bunch of messages that looked like this:
To: Jen
Message: what time di
To: Janis
Message: do u
To: Ken
Message: call m
I went through reading and deleting each message until I got to one that looked like this:
To: (no recipients)
Message: The kids are all right
I have absolutely no clue where this message came from. I know for sure that I didn’t write it for a few different reasons:
1. There was no recipient.
2. I got this particular phone after my kids died so I don’t know who I would’ve been texting about
3. If I had written a message such as this I would have used the word “alright” instead of the words “all right” which leads me to believe it may have been written by a certain little girl who loved to text (see picture below), but wouldn’t understand the grammatical difference.
I don’t know how it’s possible, I only know that after reading it I felt an overwhelming sense of peace knowing my kids are still around and able to communicate with me. I know it sounds crazy, and after reading this you may think I need medication, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Maybe where they are, they were able to find a cell phone provider with inter-dimensional service. Whatever the explanation, I’m just thankful. Thank you, Kate and Peter.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
a quick update...
I'm currently out of the country...more specifically, on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean (I can't believe I have wifi!). Unfortunately for me and everyone else on the ship they had a significant outbreak of norovirus during the last sailing. So I'm not feeling so well, but I will try to update my blog when I can.
More importantly, I urge you all to check out That's Church, if you haven't already. Virginia Montanez, the writer of the blog, has been following and trying to help one of the many difficult situations in Haiti:
Two amazing women from Pittsburgh run an orphanage in Haiti that was destroyed by the earthquake. They, along with many back in the U. S., are doing what they can to get the children from the orphanage out of danger and back to the U.S. or somewhere safe. If there is anything you can do to help, please do. The situation is extremely serious.
More importantly, I urge you all to check out That's Church, if you haven't already. Virginia Montanez, the writer of the blog, has been following and trying to help one of the many difficult situations in Haiti:
Two amazing women from Pittsburgh run an orphanage in Haiti that was destroyed by the earthquake. They, along with many back in the U. S., are doing what they can to get the children from the orphanage out of danger and back to the U.S. or somewhere safe. If there is anything you can do to help, please do. The situation is extremely serious.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
GRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!
In my recent attempts to slow down a little and find balance in my life I have definitely become aware of many strong emotions and, let me just say, I'm not enjoying it. It's been hard to write for the past few days because I have so much going on in my brain and my heart and my soul that it's hard to sort it out into anything explainable or understandable.
I have noticed two prominent emotions, however, so I'll try to describe those. Maybe that way I can begin to understand them. It is weird how sometimes when I write things down they make more sense than they do when they're floating around in my head. Anyway...
The first emotion is defeat, if you can call that an emotion. The more I understand the reality of my kids' deaths, the more I feel completely defeated and helpless. It's nearly impossible for me to comprehend or accept that my kids have died and that there's nothing I can do about it.
This feeling of helplessness has been very apparent in my dreams over the past few nights. Twice I dreamt that my kids were alive, but living in other cities with other people. In both dreams I visited my kids (which was wonderful, don't get me wrong) but found out that there was nothing I could do to get them back. It didn't matter what I tried, I was helpless, frustrated and defeated. Which leads me to the next emotion I've noticed...
I'm pretty effin' angry. I'm not talkin ticked-off or annoyed or miffed. I'm talkin heavy breathing, fist-clenching, vein-popping out of my forehead, I want to smash a car with a sledgehammer angry!
I'm angry that they're gone and I can't hug them or take them to school or play games with them or tell them to clean up their rooms and stop fighting. I'm angry that Kate didn't get to grow up to be an artist or a gymnast or a doctor or a singer. I'm angry that Peter didn't even make it to his fifth birthday party or get to go to kindergarten or grow up to change the world, which I always thought he would.
I'm angry that I don't get to be a parent anymore. I'm angry that my identity as a mom has been stripped from me. I'm angry that they were just taken away one day and that I didn't have a choice and that there's nothing I can do about it. I'm angry that I didn't get to say goodbye! And I'm angry that I don't even have anyone to be angry with!!!
I know I need to do something with this anger because it's become so overwhelming it's immobilizing. And to think that a week ago I didn't even realize I was angry.
I remember hearing once that depression is anger turned inward. From what I've experienced recently I completely agree. For the past few days I've felt so angry that all I want to do is sleep, which I realize is a symptom of depression. Unfortunately, I can't even do that very well.
The other night, before I realized the extent of my anger, I was laying in bed, unable to sleep. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling I realized my jaw was clenched and every muscle in my body was tensed. I swear I felt my kids whisper to me, "You have to deal with your anger, Mama. It's blocking you." I'm not sure what exactly it's blocking, but I'm pretty sure they're right.
So I do need to find a way to express all this rage. My therapist suggested punching pillows or hitting them with a tennis racquet. That would probably help, but I feel pretty stupid doing it. Not that it really matters.
The honest-to-God truth is that I'm afraid to let it out. I know from past experiences that when I start yelling or punching pillows the anger that comes out brings with it ALL of the sadness. I'm afraid that the amount of sadness within me is more than I can handle. Seriously. I don't know if can do it. Everyone tells me I'm strong, but I don't know if I'm that strong.
But what choice do I have really? I can hold it all in and feel miserable and not want to do anything or I can try to let it out. I guess I just need to face it. Maybe not this minute, but sometime soon. I'll let you know how it goes.
I have noticed two prominent emotions, however, so I'll try to describe those. Maybe that way I can begin to understand them. It is weird how sometimes when I write things down they make more sense than they do when they're floating around in my head. Anyway...
The first emotion is defeat, if you can call that an emotion. The more I understand the reality of my kids' deaths, the more I feel completely defeated and helpless. It's nearly impossible for me to comprehend or accept that my kids have died and that there's nothing I can do about it.
This feeling of helplessness has been very apparent in my dreams over the past few nights. Twice I dreamt that my kids were alive, but living in other cities with other people. In both dreams I visited my kids (which was wonderful, don't get me wrong) but found out that there was nothing I could do to get them back. It didn't matter what I tried, I was helpless, frustrated and defeated. Which leads me to the next emotion I've noticed...
I'm pretty effin' angry. I'm not talkin ticked-off or annoyed or miffed. I'm talkin heavy breathing, fist-clenching, vein-popping out of my forehead, I want to smash a car with a sledgehammer angry!
I'm angry that they're gone and I can't hug them or take them to school or play games with them or tell them to clean up their rooms and stop fighting. I'm angry that Kate didn't get to grow up to be an artist or a gymnast or a doctor or a singer. I'm angry that Peter didn't even make it to his fifth birthday party or get to go to kindergarten or grow up to change the world, which I always thought he would.
I'm angry that I don't get to be a parent anymore. I'm angry that my identity as a mom has been stripped from me. I'm angry that they were just taken away one day and that I didn't have a choice and that there's nothing I can do about it. I'm angry that I didn't get to say goodbye! And I'm angry that I don't even have anyone to be angry with!!!
I know I need to do something with this anger because it's become so overwhelming it's immobilizing. And to think that a week ago I didn't even realize I was angry.
I remember hearing once that depression is anger turned inward. From what I've experienced recently I completely agree. For the past few days I've felt so angry that all I want to do is sleep, which I realize is a symptom of depression. Unfortunately, I can't even do that very well.
The other night, before I realized the extent of my anger, I was laying in bed, unable to sleep. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling I realized my jaw was clenched and every muscle in my body was tensed. I swear I felt my kids whisper to me, "You have to deal with your anger, Mama. It's blocking you." I'm not sure what exactly it's blocking, but I'm pretty sure they're right.
So I do need to find a way to express all this rage. My therapist suggested punching pillows or hitting them with a tennis racquet. That would probably help, but I feel pretty stupid doing it. Not that it really matters.
The honest-to-God truth is that I'm afraid to let it out. I know from past experiences that when I start yelling or punching pillows the anger that comes out brings with it ALL of the sadness. I'm afraid that the amount of sadness within me is more than I can handle. Seriously. I don't know if can do it. Everyone tells me I'm strong, but I don't know if I'm that strong.
But what choice do I have really? I can hold it all in and feel miserable and not want to do anything or I can try to let it out. I guess I just need to face it. Maybe not this minute, but sometime soon. I'll let you know how it goes.
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