Tag Archives: brain tumor

Pushing Up Daisies

27 May

I have visited my son’s grave twice now in the last 24 hours.  Yesterday Brian, Esther and I decided to drive to Miramar for Memorial Day–it seemed fitting as Cole is buried in the National Cemetery there.  And then again today, by myself on my way home from work.  I was compelled to stop by mostly to see if the flowers we left graveside were still present, after all I pass by the exit twice daily so stopping by is an easy affair.  I can report to you they are, including the floral heart on the grass at the base of his stone, created by his sister from daisy petals she plucked from the bounty.

Yesterday, in honor of Memorial Day, the cemetery was bustling with activity.  They held a service at 1:00p.m. and families were gathered a plenty in all parts.  This evening, however, I was alone.  Alone with the wind and the rows of marble headstones, one of which bears the name and details of my son.

On Sunday I actually did what I had set out to do, according to my last post, which was to “get at it.”  I ventured out and met up with a couple of friends whom I had put off for over a year.  We had a nice visit and took a small walk together around the Newport Beach back bay.  It was a lovely time and I enjoyed it.  But upon my drive home, I caught the view off to the east side of the freeway, of the orange balloon of the Great Park in Irvine.  And memories of my time with our family of 4 came flooding back.  We went together, after Cole’s surgery and when he was well and able enough to manage a slight excursion, to the Great Park and together braved the heights of the hot-air orange balloon.  Seeing the ball suspended as is its custom, and feeling the loneliness which instantly was upon me due to the vacancy of the passenger seat to my right, my longing for my son returned anew and my previous resolve to get a move-on in life, away from my grief, flew out the window and more than likely landed-SPLAT-on the large orange sphere.

So today when alone, alongside the marker on the green, I couldn’t help but want this undeniable truth to go away.  All of me wants to dig him up and out of his silent grave.  Not because I wish him back to a place of continual and constant suffering, but because I miss him.  I miss my son.  And I’m not ready to let go of that just yet.  I still want to live out the fantasy that he will return.  Or the preposterous idea that the reality which I face does not, in fact, belong to me.

Do you know that it is more natural for me to drive in the carpool lane than it is not?  I had the honor of caring for my son the last two years of his life and as result I was always, “two or more.”  I find myself on auto-pilot, engaging my blinker and maneuvering toward the carpool lane entrance until I, at just the last minute, catch myself and pull out.

Yes, I pray daily for strength.  And yes, I have a goal to “get at it” for the sake of others and to honor, in my living, my Heavenly Father as well as my son.  But for right now I’m just not ready.  I am not assimilated to this new reality, more time is required apparently.  Now I can tell you that The Bent 3 are ever committed to living life without being ruled by fear.  And I can also tell you that this is no easy task.  Especially after a difficult loss.  For it is common place to want to cling tighter to those around you, fearful of loosing even more of that which you hold dear.  But we know too well, if we give fear even an inch, it will take over, and a paralyzed and ineffective life is what remains from its admittance.  So we press on, even as fear attempts to coerce our attentions, we press on.  And I assure you, I am pressing on.  But…

There is no timeline in grief.  Yes, I would like it to magically be one year.  And yes, the first year is most difficult because every celebration and/or significant date on the calendar reminds of memories past which previously were shared with the loved one lost.  And yes, as the second year comes around there are different memories to focus on.  But to think and to strive to adhere to the one year rule is not realistic.  Not today; though on Sunday a glimpse of progress shone through.

Blue dyed daisy petals, shaped into a heart, lie at the base of a headstone…there is no getting over it.

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

This Side of Crazy

20 May

I don’t mean to be a broken record, or beat a dead horse, or spin my wheels, or as all of the idioms suggest, repeat myself until my listener tires of the message; But–these past several years I have been much occupied with my familial affairs.  First caring for my son, assisting him in his recovery from surgery and all aspects of his militarily connected life, to wading through this past year of grief for myself, my husband and our daughter.  Thus my time, since about March 12, 2011, has been allocated to most things Bent!  As result, I have many friends who endearingly tell me, I am missed.

The problem is, I miss me too.

I feel as if I am in a quasi rendition of a “Where’s Waldo?” book.  Only my title reads, “Where’s Rivka?!”  I vacillate so frequently in my position on things, I hardly recognize my own opinion!  One day I’m aching to have a vacation away, then when the opportunity presents, I have no desire.  I know I love sushi, but when faced with pangs of hunger I cannot decide for what it is I crave.  I used to find a therapeutic remedy in my exploration of culinary arts, now I settle for a bowl of cereal.  I have many friends with whom I would often visit, and now I prefer solitude.  “Where’s Rivka??”  I honestly miss her!!

Not only do I want her back, I need her back.  She has work to do…she has an entire VA system to fight and reform– with veterans in need of compassionate advocacy.  She has friends she loves who were previously surviving on her sloppy seconds.  She has interests left waiting for her return.  “Where’s Rivka?”

Well folks, regardless of where she is (where I am) and whether we shall ever truly see her again, she must resume her place in life.  A year of mourning has, this past weekend, been fulfilled.  The time is upon her to gain ground and “get at it.”  I hope the next series of posts will be reflective of that attempt.  The attempt to find my place within a world that is different, and with a person who is altered–me.

**Note: This post is written with the sole purpose of exposing the melancholy within a grief stricken soul.  It is sometimes helpful for others to know that sentiments of grief manifest within the realm of crazy.  And within that state, a functioning being exists.  

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

the Queen Mother

18 Apr

For the majority (if not all) of my adult life, when asked the question(s), “What do you do?” Or, “What is your title?”  My answer has remained the same, “I am a mom and a wife.”  This response comes as result of what I have found to be most fulfilling for me.  Ironically, what my parents considered to be an insignificant station in life, has been my most joyful experience.  In fact, when I became engaged to my, now husband, my father was terrified that I would be “stuck in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant!”  It was not a path encouraged, to be sure.  And truly I had no intentions of beginning my life into motherhood as early as I did, though am grateful Providence crowned me “mom” at a young age.  And so despite my upbringing having given me a different impression, I quickly discovered for me, motherhood was in and of itself my best reward.

I found myself, through the years, speaking to my earthly father (though he departed quickly to Heaven just one month before my son was born) out-loud, “Dad, you were wrong.  I am not ‘stuck’ in the kitchen.  The kitchen is my most favorite laboratory, and I am grateful to be here!”  Now pregnancy, that is another story altogether.  I seem to be allergic to pregnancy for I remained very ill until childbirth, with complications requiring bed-rest beginning at 19 weeks.  And though prior to ever having conceived I had hoped to have my ‘quiver very full’ with little blessings, my two pregnancies were quite enough–hands down!

So G-d blessed Brian and I with two lovely children.  Pains in the neck, at times, but genuinely enjoyable people.  Nice people, funny and quirky people.  Adventurous little humans, inquisitive, smart, engaging, wise, free spirited and loving.  And so being the mother of two was title sufficient for me.  Being a unit of 4, bliss–fun and full of abundance.

Which brings me to my present difficulty–relinquishing the crown.  I have been a mother of two for more years than not.  My experiences in life viewed through the lens of having two children–illnesses, education, relationships, sports, arts–the list goes on!  And now that I am down one, with the loss of my son, I still do not know how to navigate conversation or situations without wearing the crown most familiar.  Yet my heart is so achingly sorrowful that I wish not to touch upon the subject of our familial loss, though how can I avoid it?  But avoid it I must.

My writing has slowed down this past year, as has my sociability–or ability to casually converse.  My slowdown is due to fact I am keeping fast paced in the land of distractions.  That is correct, down time and thoughtful contemplation is not for me, not right now.  I use work, I use the comedy radio station, I use solitaire, I use the present, I live in the moment and I use music from my own childhood which connects me only to pre-children Rivka.  If not well versed at letting go my station, I am very keen at keeping distracted.

Do you have children? Yes, I have two.  How old?  My son 23 and my daughter 18 (yes, I’ve allowed Cole to age).  Oh, are they in school?  My son is a Marine and my daughter will transfer to a university in the fall.–Now here is where strategy, BentRivka style is implemented—  

I always lead with my son’s information and follow with my daughter’s so I may distract my present company by weighting her circumstance more heavily, which allows for the perfect transition to the general topic of education/academia.  Voilà, the conversation moves from the personal to the general.  And hopefully NEVER circles back to the subject of my son.

You see, I can’t.  I am still the wearer of the crown.  I am still queen of my castle and I remain ever devoted to my station.  I will go down with my ship and I will not abdicate the throne.  Sadly, I don’t know how.  And every time I try to wrap my mind around the possibility, the disbelief of my new reality envelops and its well of sorrow too profound to draw from.  Engage distraction #1…etc.  Aaaah, the sweet smell of survival!

So being my literary well is presently lacking, I invite you to a little piece written while in the land of the living, back in December 2012.  It was during a time of difficulty, to be sure, though definitely not a time of distractions.  Bon appétit!

Continue reading →

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →