Just three years ago Bryan, the boys and I visited the big island. We had an excellent trip, with lots of sun, sand and adventure. We’ve been to Hawaii a few times (we’re very spoiled) but usually Kauai or Oahu. The below picture is from an early trip to Kauai, when the boys were fairly little.

In spite of my amazing friends, it was a little bit difficult coming here this time without Bryan. He loved visiting Hawaii, loved snorkeling, diving, beachcombing, golfing, driving around the island. On one of our most memorable trips, we went scuba diving off the south shore of Kauai, in Poipu, and we were surrounded by sea turtles. We knelt on the sandy bottom while the turtles danced around us in the crystal water.

Bryan and I had a travel ritual. When we’d go places we loved, we’d try to bring home a piece of art to remind us of our trip. We have a particularly beautiful colored handmade paper lithograph over our mantel of sea turtles, symbolizing the life cycle.

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When I lost Bryan almost exactly a year ago, symbols like that became important to me. I wore a small gold turtle pendant he’d given me on a chain, circled by his wedding band, on a gold chain for months.

One of the rituals I did to mark his passing was get a tattoo. It was my first one. (My only one!) I chose to take the piece of art we’d brought home from Hawaii, and have it translated to body art. I’m proud to wear it not only to honor Bryan, but also as a reminder to pursue adventure and joy – to dive with the turtles when I can.

Yesterday as we wandered Waikoloa, I fell in love with a turtle pendant. I got it for myself. For Bryan. It’s the simple, graceful sort of thing that I can wear most of the time, and probably will.

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I’ll probably do something else to remember him while I’m here as well – toss a lei into the volcano or the sunset surf and say a few words. Still, finding and wearing the turtle necklace completed something for me.

Responsible
1 a: liable to be called to account as the primary cause, motive, or agent b: being the cause or explanation
2 a : able to answer for one’s conduct and obligations : trustworthy b : able to choose for oneself between right and wrong

In my profession, I am the responsible party, the bottom line. If a project succeeds, I give the credit to my team, but if there are issues, I’m the “single throat to choke”. And personally, as single parent to two, and foster parent to a third, I’m also the responsible one, even if the boys pretty much adults.

I’m going to try to talk about the concept of responsibility without sharing the details behind the issue; the detailed story is someone else’s and I don’t have permission to share, and when I’m frustrated with a person or people I prefer not to name names.

I’m struggling mightily with someone else’s strange, complete disconnect with responsibility. This deficit is not new to me, I’ve known about it for years. Still, it’s bizarre and puzzling to that someone can simply decide that responsibility that is legally, morally and ethically theirs can simply be ducked, with a shrug and maybe even a little bit of blame game, just because they don’t want it.

I talked about this with a good friend last night, one who is always direct and honest with me. (All my good friends are that way – I’m very blessed!) This friend said, “You are all adults now. Being an adult has responsibilities. That is the hardest thing to learn. And you are trying to solve all of their problems, and you cannot.”

Ouch. This bears reflection, because it is so very true. If I can’t be helpful and supportive in a family relationship or a friendship, I often wonder what value I bring to the table. I do tend to be a fix-it kind of gal, although I’m ok with just listening too. Still, what if the best and most constructive thing I can do for someone I love is to require them to stand on their own two feet and learn to solve their own problems?

This brings to mind another definition:

Enabler
1 a: one that enables another to achieve an end; b: one who enables another to persist in self-destructive behavior (as substance abuse) by providing excuses or by making it possible to avoid the consequences of such behavior

Am I acting as an enabler, because I do too much, want too much to be helpful? It’s quite possible.

The questions here, the murky areas, are related to mental illness, an adult de-facto dependent with a significant degree of mental health impairment and mood disorder.

• What additional support is required?

• What logical consequences are appropriate or even comprehensible?
• What level of expectations are appropriate?
• How can I, as caregiver, live my own life?

I don’t know of any hard and fast guidelines – suggestions range from a completely supported lifelong live-in model to a tough love, sink-or-swim model.

Actually somewhat applicable here, the classic and actually very infrequently used insanity defense is based upon an evaluation that the accused was incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong and that he/she was unable to control his or her behavior at the time of the offense.

None of this answers the question of how I deal with people in my life who are unable to comprehend or accept responsibility at all. Unfortunately it can’t be externally applied, via flog, spur or carrot-on-a-stick. I guess where I’m arriving at with this rambling essay is that compensating for them by taking the responsibility on myself helps no one, least of all myself.

Yes, it’s been a hard year, a year of terrible loss, grief and pain. But it’s also been a year of rebuilding, of adventure, and of the most wonderful inpouring of love I’ve ever experienced from my family and friends. I could not have gotten through this year without those I cherish, and this Thanksgiving, I think of them.

My awesome sons and I are healthy, thriving, and successful in our chosen endeavors. We have become closer and more supportive of each other, and they have helped me out with running our household and matured beautifully. I’m very, very proud of them.

We have a beautiful, comfortable house, reliable cars, and everything we need in our pantry and our closets, and can share that with friends when we see need. We also have both preventive and acute medical and dental care when necessary.

We have high speed Internet and more technology toys than we should; we’re all geeks. At the touch of a finger I can research pygmy marmosets, order flowers for a hurting friend, or watch the news from Afghanistan.

Those, though, are only material things. What we no longer have in our home is a father and a husband. While I miss Bryan intensely at times like this, I’m coming to terms with his loss. He’s in a better place, whatever that is, and he’s with us in spirit on Thanksgiving and every day. While I’d planned to grow old with him, I’m still so very, very grateful I had twelve beautiful years by his side; he loved us very much.

I also remember my father each Thanksgiving with love and honor. He left us ten years ago, 1999, on Thanksgiving day, and the world is a smaller, drearier place without his ideas, intelligence and integrity.

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance
      ~Garth Brooks, “The Dance”

I’m thankful for the dance: the precious years with Bryan, but also for the unmarked future, on my own but surrounded, supported by so many I love.

I wish you all a peaceful and meaningful Thanksgiving, filled with love and laughter.

It grew by leaps and bounds from “a few friends” to SEVENTEEN teens at my house for a sit down dinner. I am a big believer in the more, the merrier, and this used both my dining table and my big patio table as well as every plate I had in the house.

I actually really enjoy cooking for company, I find it enjoyable and relaxing. We had chips, salsa and guacamole for an appetizer, while the early arrivals played Rock Band and Guitar Hero. I made enough food for a medium army: smoked, spice rubbed brisket, grilled silver salmon, mashed garlic potatoes, rice pilaf, baby peas, a ranch salad and sourdough rolls, with different varieties of sparkling and fresh pressed apple cider in wine glasses with dinner. For dessert, a couple of moms brought brownies, pumpkin pie, and a fruit bowl.

My master bedroom and bathroom were taken over by the girls who were getting ready at my house. I don’t have daughters – this was foreign territory to me, and quite fun! With some combination of twelve girls prepping for a semiformal dance, I think my bedroom was drawing enough power to brown out my region of Poulsbo.

The kids – young adults, really – were awesome guests, polite, thankful, positive, articulate and affectionate and supportive with each other. They toasted both Zach and me for hosting the event, which was very sweet.

Zach and Emilie clean up very well, and looked adorable together, as usual.

I’d like to thank Brandi and Ann, fellow moms, who stayed the whole time. Not only were they great company, they shared my serving and cider steward duties and were dishwashing heroes.

I’m grateful Zach was willing to share this milestone with me in our home – it was great fun and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

This year you traveled the Caribbean and the US, swam the Senior Olympics, continued to run agility with my four-legged black sister Sadie, and produced more quilts in a year than most people do in a decade. May your rocking chair continue to gather dust for many years to come!

Thank you for all the love and support. I wish you much joy and happiness – with much love.

It is permanently etched in my memory. It was March 19, 2009 at 10:10am. I was working at home that morning, and I’d been lazy and hadn’t changed out of my pajamas. I’d thrown on a sweatjacket to go to the door, and the dogs were barking in the background.

It was two men in plain clothes. They said they were with the police. The things that go through your mind at that point… Car accident? Past due parking tickets? Certainly couldn’t be a criminal investigation. I offered to step outside to talk to them in peace, but they suggested we go inside where I would be comfortable. I asked for ID, and my heart broke when the lead gentleman flashed his, identifying him as the assistant coroner.

Ben was home too, in the office, and without argument he took the dogs so I could talk. I think he heard the panic in my voice.

I sat down, and they told me: my husband Bryan had collapsed and died that morning at the Bainbridge ferry terminal. They didn’t have many details, they only knew the basics. He’d collapsed while in line, fellow passengers including a doctor helped him immediately, ferry staff were on scene in seconds and EMTs arrived in minutes. EMTs treated him on scene for 45 minutes, closing the passenger ferry ramp, but were unable to save him. The coroner had talked with his doctor and they felt it was a sudden, massive heart attack.

The news was surreal. I didn’t cry, scream, faint, or panic. It just washed past me, like water around a rock in a stream. Sadly, strangely, all I could think of was that I was in my pajamas with no bra – I was so embarrassed. (Good lord, these men recover and examine dead bodies for a living – they certainly don’t care about pajamas!) While they went to get death certificate paperwork, I ran upstairs and put on jeans and a sweater.

After they left, I sat for a minute. Ben was upstairs in hysterics, I was numb, shocky, and still felt like stone. After a few deep breaths, I began making the phone calls that would turn everyone’s world upside down.

Now, six months later, I’m sitting in the same family room in the same seat. I’m not in my pajamas. I’m surrounded by a group of awesome, cheerful kids who keep my heart young.

It’s been a really difficult time but we’re slowly rebuilding. I’ve had periods of numbness, storms of tears, and intermittent bouts of melancholy. I’ve made it through a fairly intense period of insomnia and anxiety, and am am on a more even keel now. We’ve had three very meaningful memorial services – one here, one in Anchorage, and one on the water, to scatter his ashes. I’ve gone through his things and organized our financial and practical picture. After careful reflection, I’ve changed my name back to my maiden name.

I’ve fallen in love with my family and friends all over again; they are the silver lining in this very dark cloud. I’ve gotten back into exercise, particularly distance and open water swimming, and it’s been great for my sanity. We’ve learned to sail, living aboard a sailboat for a week, and it was exactly the vacation we needed. We’ve adopted a psychotic kitten. I’m slowly rediscovering my creativity, although admittedly it’s been more ideas than follow-through at this point.

What’s next? I’ll always remember and love Bryan, and life will continue to remind me of how much I miss him at unexpected times. Still, I’ll continue to rebuild, to grow healthier and stronger and maintain connections to those I love. I need to get to the point where I’m happy living alone and truly enjoy my own company. I do want to sell this house and downsize to a condo; this house & yard is just too big for me to take care of on my own. I also want to see my children healthy, happy, and successfully launched into their own lives, sooner rather than later.

Beyond that? It’s an adventure – there will always be tragedy and joy – and I’ll figure it out as I travel the twisting, turning river.

For example, this weekend, an awesome teenager is coming to visit our family. Amanda is technically no relationship to me. She’s my ex-husband’s wife’s daughter – and my sons’ stepsister. I’ve been calling her my “sorta-kinda-stepdaughter” but the relationship is much more niece-ish.

I have an amicable relationship with my ex and his wife, who is a great gal. A friend of mine calls her ex’s new wife (and her friend) the “wife-in-law”. I like it! It’s catchy and completely confusing.

And I work with a really awesome gentleman that, again, is technically no relationship to me. He’s my sister-in-law’s husband’s father. I call him a “sorta-kinda-in-law”. That’s not accurate either, we don’t see that much of each other – but if he ever needs anything, I’d be there, he is family.

And what about my sons’ girlfriends, who spend an awful lot of time over here? No relation – although I like them awfully well and they’re welcome here anytime. (I’d sure rather they were here than hanging out at a picnic table in a deserted park!) I call them my “adopted daughters”. Really, though, that’s a bit twisted if you think about it, so I need a better term there too.

Any suggestions for a new, flexible taxonomy are welcome. Meanwhile, I’ll be hanging out with Amanda and the boys – we’re going to see the musical Wicked tomorrow.

She made a comment that surprised me and made me smile. “I am so glad to talk to another parent who really likes, really enjoys their kids.” She’s right!

I do really enjoy my boys. They are good company, smart, funny, solid conversationalists with great ideas, wild imaginations and interesting insights. They’re courteous, caring and goodhearted. I enjoy hanging out with them for an evening, or going out on a dinner or movie date with them

It’s not all Polyanna prismatic rainbows – there are times when I bite my tongue or lock myself in my room and count to 100. No, 1,000. Still, they’ve grown into good people I’m proud to know.

The boys are taking their first road trip south to Portland. Zach is driving. Of course I’m a nervous mom, but I’m also very proud of them – independence and flying the nest is the goal, isn’t it?

The boys have been wonderfully supportive to me since losing Bryan, patient, helpful and just plain good company. They give me hugs whenever I ask, wait up for me after business trips, adventure outdoors with me, and are willing to chat into the late hours of the night.

With them out of town, I have several options on how to handle the long holiday weekend. I can go visit family or hang out with friends. I can go to the coast, or to the mountains, for a solo lodge adventure. I can go camping.

After some reflection, I’ve decided just to hang out at home. Partially it’s because I’m cheap; I don’t want to pay for a room somewhere plus dog sitting. But more importantly, it’s because embracing being alone, making friends with my solo self, is something I need to do.

It won’t be easy. I’m sure I’ll have sad moments and anxious moments. But learning to live happily by myself is essential, now.

I’m going to try to make a mini-retreat out of it. I’ve been to retreat centers where I’ve had time to relax, re-focus, find my center, and I think I can do that here at home as well, as long as I don’t get distracted with non-essential stuff. For example, I’m going to attempt to stay offline – I may not be 100% successful, it’s a wicked habit, but it’s worth a try.

I’m going to focus on getting plenty of rest, meaningful reading (and fun reading too!), yoga, meditation, hiking and creative projects. I have a LOT of creative projects queued up – some metalsmithing, a quilting/fabric art project, writing, some redecorating, even painting. In spite of all that, I’m also going to try to stay relatively unscheduled, rather than over-commit myself.

I may blog; I may not. That would be the exception to my intention of staying disconnected. Otherwise, I will be off net.

Happy Independence Day!

Still, I’d like to think they watch over us, and I’m certain that as long as they remain in our hearts and memories they live on. I’m so thankful for the time I had with all of them, they’ve taught my boys to be excellent human beings, great boyfriends, and hopefully, someday a long time from now, really good fathers.

This picture is of my father, ca 1970, and he was probably getting ready to fly to Vietnam. Cheri’s the younger one; I’m standing, leaning on the fence. Thanks, dad – I remember you still in countless different ways.