Oh Good Grief

There are things that no one ever tells you. They just leave you to figure it out on your own. Some things, you find out by accident. Like, if you need to iron a shirt, make sure you are wearing one or you run the risk of accidentally burning a line across your mid-section. I found that out from a friend. You should also never iron a shirt while wearing it. Again, learned from some elses misfortune. One should also not build underwear, specifically a bra, out of duct tape. While very supportive, the removal process is most unpleasant. Learned that from a relative.
One big issue that no one ever seems to talk about though is Grief. Let's face it, everyone at some point in their life will have something to grieve over. Grief is not partial to any person, it will find you. Whether you acknowledge it or not does not matter. You can not control it, it can, however, control you. Most people are unaware that grief is almost a chemical, or biological, response to external forces. Grief can be triggered by numerous types of losses or events. For a child, losing a pet can trigger a grief response in the brain. An adult losing their job can get the same response. The end of any relationship through any means can also bring these emotions to the surface. Impending or perceived loss can also send you into the grief stages. Nasty business, that grief. It'll get ya'.
So here I was, going through this business of grieving but I didn't know it. No one said, "hey, look out, you are about to go through some weird emotional stuff." Why would they? We don't talk about those unpleasant things, right? It, grief that is, can make you think you are losing your mind. It can make you irrational, angry, impulsive, emotional, susceptible to things you would not normally do. And if you are unaware of what is coming, it can do serious damage. I didn't know any of this.
I opted to not "deal" directly with what had happened. It was easy to take that route. At least at first. I rationalized in my mind that this was all part of a bigger plan. It's not like we had broken up and would possibly get back together. He was gone and not coming back so why dwell on it. Just move on. This wonderful new guy had been dropped in my lap, obviously part of the bigger plan, so don't over think it. Just go with it. Everyone else had also made comments to the same affect, they couldn't all be wrong. My parents had even said, though not in those specific words, that it was obvious we were supposed to be together. Who cared that it had only been six weeks since the accident. Not me.
It did bother me a little that my former in-laws were hurt by it. I rationalized that too. They could not replace a son but they could not expect me to not re-marry at some point. Not that I could "replace" a husband, but....well, you know. It bothered me that some people also thought that there must have already been something going on between us for things to happen that fast. That part was difficult because I still can not explain how it happened the way that it did. I don't even understand it. But there was nothing going on, I barely knew the guy.
Anyway...back to the grief part. So, there I was, all of 19 years old, and in emotional dysfunction. Except, I didn't know it. There are essentially five stages of grief. They are denial, guilt, anger, depression, and acceptance. Some people have extended them to seven stages. I prefer to lump them since there are actually many sub-categories. Plus, you feel like you are making more progress if there are only five. Get in, get out...so to speak. Here is the kicker... you can go through them in different orders, at different times and at different stages. AND, you can get stuck in one or by-pass one all together. No rhyme or reason.
I think I tried to get through the denial and the acceptance all at the same time. Keep in mind that I wasn't talking to anyone about this. My friends didn't understand, most of them were just starting to think about long-term serious relationships and I was a widow. My family was only offering suggestions on what I should do with my life now. New job, go back to school, buy a house...all thoughts that were over-whelming. I talked to my dog. She understood and said I would be fine. So, I went with it, just roll along with whatever is coming at you. After all, we don't really have any control over what happens to us right? We're just some sort of game that God plays, right? Yeah, I know, not the best way to look at things. But at the time, that was all I had. I didn't even talk to my new "husband to be" about what was going on in my head. I didn't want him to think I was nuts, I didn't think he would really understand and I didn't want him to think that I didn't I had doubts because I didn't.
Being alone in your own head is a very, very dangerous place to be...

Ahh..Romance

A few weeks after the accident, my dad helped me move my stuff out of the apartment and into storage. I then moved back into my parents house, back into my old room and, oddly enough, back into bed with my sister.

I do not remember the details of how that happened or why it seemed like a good idea at the time, but we set up the waterbed. This meant only one bed in the bedroom that we were once again sharing. It was like coming back full circle and getting a "do-over". At least we didn't roll over each other like we used too. When we had shared a bed the first time around, I could go to sleep on one side and wake up on the other. Neither of us ever had any idea how or when the swap would take place.

So there I was, back at home. Six weeks went by really quick and it was time for my safety net to be out of the Navy. The morning he left, he came into the bedroom to tell me he was leaving. It was ridiculously early and I am not a morning person. He nudged me awake and said he was leaving. There was the usual exchange of "drive carefuls" and "call when you get theres". I did not bother to get out of bed. "Ok, I'm leaving now." Ok, well...go...I'll miss you...I'll go back to sleep. My sister was snoozing away next to me. He left the room. He came back into the room.
"I was going to wait and do this later but I can't wait." He was crouched down next to the bed.

Everyone has heard of those super romantic proposals. The ones you see on TV, or on the jumbo-tron at a professional sporting event. This was not one of those proposals.

"Oh no he didn't", you say. Oh yes, he did.
I re-opened my eyes and peeked over at him because I still had not bothered to get up. He had the ring in the box right about eyeball level with the side of the bed.
Did I mention that I am not a morning person? For the life of me, I still, to this day, have no idea what he said. I have the ring so I know I was agreeable, which frankly is not always the case first thing in the morning.
And, I still never bothered to get out of bed.
We said our second round of "goodbye's". I think my sister may have woken up at some point and I showed her the ring but she didn't bother to get up either.

At the time, everything seemed to make sense, fall into place. When I think back on it now, the enormity of it, that entire part of my life, is overwhelming. Because everything "made sense" it felt like God was just dragging me through it, letting me know it was ok and that He had a plan. I don't know if anyone else understood that.
There were a lot of mixed emotions from outsiders about the decisions I was making. There were a lot of things happening with me that I did not understand at the time too. I can not put into words what that time felt like. To say "overwhelming" is an understatement. But there was a sense of peace too. It was this feeling of peace that I would go looking for when things got ugly later in life. Except then, the peace didn't come.

Not All Knights Wear Armor

Every Fairy Tale needs certain elements to make it work.
First, you need some sort of impossible situation or tragic event to put some poor damsel in distress. Check
A reluctant hero or dashing Prince will be needed next. Either option is acceptable. Check
A white steed is nice. Or... a white Camaro will do in a pinch. Check again
Armor is optional.

Your hero must be sent on some noble quest to save the day, restore peace, save a village, or some other equally challenging notion like saving the sanity of previously mentioned damsel. If he can make it appear that some sort of Divine intervention is also at work, well, that's even better. Words like "star crossed" or "nearly missed" make the story so much better and all the more amazing. If you catch a glimpse of the damsel looking at the hero with a profound sense of "where did you come from and how did you find me?" then it's just about perfect...

Little events leading up to the accident, circumstances surrounding the event itself, the fact that I asked that a near total stranger be one of the people sent to my apartment, added up to things in my mind that made no sense. The conversations that had taken place. This guy that came out of no where to make sure that I was being taken care of because he cared for his lost friend. It was like a tragic Fairy Tale. No evil Step-mother's needed.
Everything that was happening was beyond my comprehension. I wasn't looking for anything yet it was being thrown into my lap. I remember the Sunday after the funeral. We all went to church, my family and all the guys that were still staying at my parents house with me. I was struck by the fact that this person sitting next to me, that I had hardly known just days earlier, knew the words to the songs being sung. I don't know why that struck me as "attractive". It wasn't something that I think I would have normally noticed. He had come a long way from that first impression. He, as my parents would point out, was not someone that I would have dated in high school. In fact, I may not have even talked to him in high school. He was, though, someone that my parents would like. And were already starting to like.
This wonderful guy that had come out of nowhere was going to be gone in just a few weeks. He was getting out of the Navy and going back home. He was going to have to pick up the pace. Hero's working within a deadline can get creative. He called regularly and visited every weekend that he could. I went up to move out of my apartment, he was there. I went back to kind of say goodbye to all my friends the weekend that he left the Navy. He drove me back to my parents house and then planned to leave from there the next morning.
At least that was the plan as I knew it...

The Babysitter

"Do you care if someone uses our apartment this weekend?"

When you are in the military and you are presented with this question, your mind very rapidly runs through the possibilities of what could go wrong. This is not the question females across the planet long to hear.
"What? Who? Why?"
The response to the "who" and the "why" are critical.
"Oh, uhm, well one of the guys wants to watch a golf tournament that is on this weekend and the only way he will be able to see it is if he watches it at our place."
"Uh-huh...People actually watch golf?"
I am looking at him sideways at this point because he expects me to believe that some guy, some single guy in the Navy, has nothing better to do than to sit alone in our apartment watching golf. Right.
"Yes, people watch golf. It's some big Tournament thing but no one else is going to want to watch it and he really wants to see it."
"And who else will be there watching it with him?"
I did not want my home turned into some creepy love shack while I was gone. Most of what you hear about sailors is true. Sadly. It does make for some entertaining stories but you do not want any of those stories to start out with "remember that time we had the party at your house while you were gone?".
"Who?"
He gave me a name.
Now, I knew quite a few of the guys in his division. They came over, we hung out, I cooked for them. (shocking, I know. That only happened a few times) But the name he gave me did not instantly ring a bell.
"Who's that again?"
"Do you remember the guy from that party right before we left?..."
"Oh, THAT guy."

Shortly before the ship left for their 6 month cruise, there had been a birthday party for someone. I say someone because I still have no idea who the guy was. Just someone.
Once we were on base, we were driving towards the base housing and come across three guys walking. I only knew one of them but I guess all three were in my husbands division. He offered them a ride. As soon as we arrived at the party, my husband ditched me. When I say ditched, I mean, see ya' I'm going over there. Well I had no desire to go "over there" as it was to hang out with people that I did not know drinking things I was not the least interested in (beer, gross). So, I was left with the one other person there that I knew and this other guy. The mystery third guy had already disappeared.
I have had a hard time trying to decide how much information to divulge at this point. I keep writing things over and over in my mind and have come to the conclusion that I will just have to be honest. So...
I, at times, felt like a bit of a parlor trick. Any time a new person was introduced into our group of friends, the guys that had known me for awhile would have to demonstrate to them my abilities. Those abilities being the fact that I could drink several of them under the table. Do you remember the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, where we meet Marion for the first time and she's in her bar having a drinking contest with that guy? Well, it wasn't exactly like that, but kinda. Anyway... I would like to believe that I didn't actually drink that much it was just that I was smarter than them, knew my limits and when to stop while watching them continue on all the while thinking that I am keeping pace with them. Truthfully, that was the real trick.
So, here I am hanging out with the one person that I know and this other guy when my friend says "let's go". The wife of the birthday person had set up the "better" liquor (basically, the hard stuff) on this cute little cart. We walked over and stood in front of it. My friend explained to the other guy how good I was at this, and the challenge was on. I matched them shot for shot. We were there for quite awhile before the hostess came over and got mad at us for wiping her out. That stuff isn't cheap.
The evening goes on and eventually I am trying to help this other guy "walk it off" as I was in much better shape than he was. Not having much luck though as he wasn't standing well. He is fairly nice and isn't unfortunate looking so I get out my wallet and start showing him pictures of friends that I could set him up with. He does not seem that interested in anyone I have shown him. He has the most interesting blue eyes though so I keep trying. He was getting a bit flirty. I had a tendency to be flirty myself much to the occasional amusement and occasional irritation (depending on the person and his mood) of my husband. When it is finally time to leave, my husband decides that other guy will never make it up all the stairs to get back onboard the ship. So, kind of like a stray puppy, we take him home. He sleeps on the couch, they leave in the morning, I don't recall seeing him again after that. Then they left for six months.
Now, he wants to watch golf in my apartment while we are out of town.
"Look, I really like this guy. We have become really good friends. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust him completely. I trust him more than anyone else on this boat." Those words would stick with me.
"Really, you trust him? He's not going to have people over or do anything stupid?"
"No, I trust him."
I could tell he was being sincere, so I said ok.
We were on the ship when this conversation took place. The rules are civilians can not be left un-attended while onboard. This means you have to have someone with you at all times. It was at this point that he needed to go get changed which meant he would have to find someone to stay with me in his absence. There were quite a few people that I knew and he could have sent out any of them, but he went into this room and sent out that guy. We typically referred to whoever he left me with as my babysitter. So, here I was, just me and the babysitter. Since I had not seen him since that night, it was a bit awkward.
"He told me that you said it would be ok for me to watch your TV."
"Yeah. Golf, huh?" I probably wasn't looking terribly impressed. I added, "There's not much to eat but you can help yourself to what ever you want. It's only going to be you, right?"
"I'm not even going to tell anyone where I am going so that they won't just show up. And I won't stay there. I'll just go and watch it while it is on and then leave.I won't eat anything either."
"That's dumb. You can stay there, it's ok."
"No, I don't want to intrude." He may not have actually used the word intrude, but he was genuinely thankful and a bit shy about the whole thing. I'm not sure what he had remembered about the party so I was not sure if he was embarrassed or what to bring up. It was just small talk and then, my husband was back and that was that.

Three days later, that guy and my other friend from the party would be driving me to meet my dad and my in-laws so that they could take me the rest of the way home. A few days after that, that guy would be volunteering to escort my husbands body from the Bay Area to the valley for his funeral. He would also be helping to make arrangements for things on that end, with the ship, etc. I didn't find that out until later. That guy would be the one standing at attention at the head of the casket during services. That guy would be the one that, even though several of the guys had come down to stay with me at my parent's house for the days leading up to and the days immediately after the funeral, would notice when I just needed to get out of the house and walk around the block with me. Even though it was February, cold and 11pm. And that guy would be the one to walk out the front door at the exact moment my friend was telling me "I know it is early, but you will find someone again someday and I believe that it will be someone that your husband would have liked and approved of. Oh... like him"

The Clarity I Was Looking For

I was a wreck. At least I felt like a wreck. I didn't want to sleep because I didn't want to wake up. To wake up was to re-live it again. I was exhausted even when I was getting sleep. The first few days were a blur.

I remember pieces of planning the funeral, but only pieces. The funeral itself is fuzzy. I remember being there, I remember being in the car, I remember the pastor getting the name of the town wrong (weird that I remember that) and I remember the Honor Guard at the cemetery. There are other little details here and there that I remember but that's all the big stuff.

The other thing I remember is putting the pieces of this giant "mind puzzle" together. When bad things happen, some people instantly start looking for answers, reasons, as to why it happened. That's me. And I am relentless. Things came together fairly easily for me on this one though.

He had been able to go places and see and do things that people twice his age had never done. He was able to see his very good friends before he left. He had made a point to talk to our former pastors widow that morning because he really felt the need to speak to her. He had even kind of gone out his way to do it. He had been back from deployment and we were able to spend 30 days together. He had seen his family too. If he had been in an accident while he had been gone, it would have been even harder on me and his family.

I also knew that, while I missed him terribly and my heart was broken, that I would see him again someday. I had that assurance, that guarantee, because of my faith, and his. While neither of us acted it most of the time, we had both accepted Christ, me-when I was younger, and he just in the last few years when he was a teenager. I am glad that God doesn't treat us like we treat Him most of the time.

Things that had been important to him also fell into place. Some of these things did not come to me right away but over a period of days and weeks. Before we got the truck, he had mentioned possibly getting another motorcycle instead. We debated cost vs. safety. He had already crashed one bike. The decision was made to not get the bike because if something should happen, he wouldn't want me to see him like that. Whether it be disfigured, paralyzed or worse. So...we went with the truck. The night of the accident, I should have seen him lying in the road. He had been ejected and was lying in plain view. However, as you may recall, I was distracted by someone that looked like him walking up the off ramp. I believe this person was an angel, you can believe whatever you want. Because I was distracted, I pulled up past where I could see him, the truck was then blocking my view. I did get out of the car the one time but something inside me told me to get back in. Because I remembered the motorcycle/truck debate, I did not go to the visitation before the funeral and both sides of the family made sure the casket was closed for the funeral.

All these little things just made sense to me that, for whatever reason, all of this...the accident...everything was part of something bigger and I just needed to be ok with it

Unaware to me at the time, he had also put something else into motion...

Blame the Parents

In order for what comes next to make sense, you have to know what came in the 19 years prior. To be honest, a lot of people just didn't get it and I believe it led to confusion, accusations and hurt feelings. Hopefully, this will make sense to some of you.

The first Sunday after I was born and home from the hospital, I was in church. At least that's what they tell me because I don't remember. I know that was the case with my siblings so, based on that, it is true. We were there every Sunday, minimum. Sometimes also Sunday night and Wednesday night. I have never considered my family particularly religious. That's probably because "church" was the norm, that's what we did, that's what I knew. My family, including my grandparents, aunts and uncles, went to church. Never thought twice about it, never even thought to ask to stay home.

When I was in the fourth grade, we moved. The new church that we decided to go to was about 30 minutes, or so, away. There were churches closer, but that was the one we liked. Our old church had seemed really big to me. Of course, I wasn't that old and things tend to look bigger when your smaller. For instance, we had a poodle when I was very little. When I remembered her later, as I got a little older, I thought she had been this really big dog. Then, I saw pictures. She was not that big, I was just very small.

Anyway, the church we had left seemed big. There had been lots of kids my age that I was friends with. The new church was small and not as many kids in my immediate age group. But, we really liked it and really liked the people.

So, we went. Everything was good... right up to the point where I became a teenager.

Some things to note here would be that I was not the perfect child. Not even close. If a button could be pushed, I liked to push it. Cut class? Oh, yeah. Drive with out a license in someone elses car? That too. Smoke, drink and run around? In varying combinations, yes. Question religion? Been there, done that, made my mom cry.

That being said, I still never once, that I can recall, ever, EVER, tried to get out of going to church. I knew better. My parents house, my parents rules. I can also say here, thank God. There were Sundays that I hated being there. Hated it. I would look for every hypocrisy I could find. But, I still had to go and sit through it. Unless you have been there, you may not understand this part. I don't know how that preacher knew, and it didn't matter who the preacher was, but he knew every time what I had done the night before and let me have it. At least that's what it felt like. He really didn't know. Didn't have a clue. Truth is, he didn't need to know. I did. And God did. The guilt alone was enough to keep me out of what I considered "real trouble". Basically, while I wasn't a "good" kid, I had the potential to be worse.

I never blamed my parents for any of my behavior. I looked for excuses for it, but not blame for it. I tried to make the excuse that there had not been a youth group for me. There were, though, kids my age at church involved in activities. I just had no interest. Even when I could drive, I never drove there.

There was a day at school, my Junior or Senior year, when I came across a conversation in the hallway. A group of guys were having a conversation about church and God. Two of them were basically witnessing to the other two. I stopped and listened. Not really saying anything. When the two being witnessed to left, the other two looked at me and said "you probably think we are really lame, don't you?". I told them that I did not think that they were lame and that I had actually admired and respected what they were doing. The look of surprise and shock spoke volumes. They went on to say that they had no idea I, of all people, would feel that way. I told them that I went to church every Sunday. More shock and disbelief. Not one of the best days of my life. At that point I felt the need to prove to them that I did know something. I talked to them for awhile, they were impressed with my knowledge. While I would not forget this encounter, I didn't do much to change anything.

Every kid at some point plays the "it's not fair" or "you gave different attention to this sibling or that" or "they had different opportunities to do..." cards. But, things were fairly even in the treatment department. As my sister became more of a teenager, I began to, well...not sure what the word would be, but it was somewhere between resent and respect, her for the teenager she was. She was "good". Balanced, normal, stayed out of trouble, did well in school, friends, activities, youth group...You get the picture. I began to look for reasons that I didn't turn out like that. Excuses. We had virtually the same opportunities. I CHOSE to be the way I was. Coming to that realization later on was a tough pill to swallow.

Even while I was Choosing to be the way I was, my parents hung in there. It may have been easier to just throw your hands up and say "fine, stay home". They could have taken the "well, when she is older she can make a decision as to what she wants to do, we're not going to force anything on her right now" route. But they didn't. And I am grateful.

I would have to say that my whole "question it" phase really only lasted a short time. It also really only existed because I didn't want to be accountable for my behavior. If there is no one to answer to, there is no trouble.

If a child is never given a set of standards, and not parent imposed standards because kids, as they get to be teenagers, will look for holes in everything you tell them, how will they know what things should measure up to? Children have incredible faith on their own. Give them something bigger than you to have faith, real faith, in. Give them something to use as a measuring stick for life. If you don't, they may never fully measure up to anything. Because my parents chose to not bend because I was choosing to be difficult, it made the situation I had found myself in easier to bear.

It also made me understand it, accept it and come to peace with it.

All those things I had been so ready to dispose of at one point, were right there when I needed them. If you are upset with my rationalization of everything and what was happening next...well...you can blame my parents. The faith I had was because of them.

Definitions

I want to stop right here for a moment and explain some things. This is not a pity party. Never has been. And its not me shopping for your sympathy. Was it a horrible thing that happened? Yes, and you can feel that way because it was. But don't do the "you poor thing" routine.

Was it hard? Yes.

Did it change me? Yes, but it changed everybody, not just me.

Was it a defining moment in my life? Yes, but it was "A" defining moment, not "THE" defining moment.



Pick up any dictionary and look up virtually any word. What do you find? Various uses and definitions. Change the context or the language and the definition changes. My point is, we are not "one definition" beings. At least we shouldn't be. People should have many defining moments in their lives. That's what helps us change and grow. If you are stuck with just one definition of who you are, you might want to re-evaluate some things. If you are that same teenager or little kid that you use to be, you're not growing. If you are the same parent that you were when your child was born and now your kids are grown, you're not growing. If your relationships with people are exactly the same as they were when they were new, you're not growing.

This is even more true for Christians. If you are the same exact "Christian" you were the moment you became one, you're not growing.

Don't get me wrong, you're "definitions", if you will, stay with you. How often you choose to use them, in what context you use and why you use a particular one is up to you. If you choose to use the same one over and over again, no matter the situation, it's not always going to work out the best. In other words, don't use them as excuses. They may help explain why you are a particular way in certain circumstances but don't use them as excuses for your behavior.



What makes a defining moment? It can be anything that changes your perspective, your attitude, your well being, anything. This moment changed my perspective. I saw people differently. In fact, in some instances, I saw people, really saw them, for the first time. This was true with my family.



My dad was, well...strict? stern? not sure how to some it up. Let's just say he wasn't one of those touchy-feely people. Not that we didn't know that he loved us, he did and we knew it. You just always approached him with cautious respect when you were in trouble. He was (and still is) fairly funny though you can't encourage that kind of behavior, especially when you are a teenager because parents just look for ways to embarrass you. I don't know about my siblings but I thought he was kind of tough too. You know, like that whole "my dad can beat up your dad" thing. I remember listening to him sing in church one time and thinking, "I've never heard John Wayne sing, but I'll bet that's what it would sound like." Ok, that's probably not a compliment to his singing voice but you get the idea.

Anyway... up to this point I can only remember ever seeing my dad cry one time, when my great-grandma died. I was in my full teenager mode when it happened, cynical, not fond of most adults and questioning everything that I could. I remember it struck me as strange. The two of them, at least from my perspective, had fought, a lot. Maybe "fought" is too strong a word but I always thought he was kind of hard on her. If she had frustrated him so much, why is he so upset now? Of course I would understand later that he had, in fact, loved her tremendously. He was just honest with her, wouldn't get sucked into her "woe's me" drama and tried to push her to be better.

My dad cried after the accident and seeing him cry was hard because I felt responsible. He stepped up and took care of some things that my in-laws couldn't face. He didn't have to do that, but he did. I saw him differently after that. He wasn't just the wall you had to get through to get what you wanted. He was vulnerable.



I saw my sister a little differently too. The nosy, always in my business, little sister that cried if you looked at her sideways stepped up. She knew who my friends were and took on the task of calling them to let them know what happened. That's a serious job, having to tell the story over and over again. He had adored her, maybe he had seen some of this before that I had ignored because she was "just the little sister".

I don't remember much about the first few days after the accident. Just little pieces here and there. I remember sitting on the bed, my brother and sister sitting there too. I don't remember any body saying anything. Just sitting. I don't remember if I was crying or if I was in between bouts, but we just sat there, not saying anything. There was nothing to say and nothing that needed to be said. I can not think of a time when the three of us had ever sat together like that. I saw them not just as the brat and the twerp. They were people.

They were family. They were there.



Sometimes there are defining moments within defining moments. Little, extra bonuses that can be good or bad. I would love to say that everything was peachy all the time after that. Nope. We were still family after all. It started a process for everyone though. I think we all saw each other and the world differently. Glimpses into who we might really be or who we might become. Priorities and plans changed. Decisions were made, either openly or sub-consciously, about what weaknesses had been exposed and what would remain so and what would have to be covered up.



If Mr. Webster himself showed up at your door to write a dictionary of your life, would it be a short visit?