Austin's Bench

Austin became the principal and art teacher of our school when we moved to our small community in 2002. He oversaw the building of a new school building, which we moved into in 2004. He loved being an art teacher and found great fulfillment in working with children to bring out their artistic talent. So after he died I knew that I wanted something at our school to remind people of all the contributions he made to the students, staff and the building, something to remind people that he had existed. I came up with the idea of a bench with a brass plaque, where people could sit, maybe think about him and look at the school to which he gave so much of himself. He loved to work with wood but I didn't want to refinish a bench every year and my Mom found a great company who makes outside furniture from composite wood. When I went on their website, I found a bench in a style called "DaVinci". It was perfect for my Renaissance Man!

I ordered the bench in the spring and we finally got it installed last week. The process took longer than I initially realized it would, like important things always do. The plaque had to be specially designed, because I wanted a sailboat on it. Then we had to have a cement pad so the bench could be permanently attached to it. Austin was always my go-to person for everything and I couldn't do it on my own but I have great friends who stepped up to the plate and did all the hard work for me. Thank you Jim and Nancy for spearheading the project and making sure it happened. I am forever grateful!

And now the bench is in place. We still have to plant trees around it in the spring and we'll add some edging around the cement. I'd like it to be a little garden oasis eventually and I hope it is here for a long time, as a type of monument to a man who deeply cared about his students and this school. When I sit on Austin's bench, I look at our school and I am so proud of what he accomplished in the 7 years he was principal and art teacher. And I so wish he was sitting with me on the bench, admiring all his hard work.

Our Sons and St. Elmo's Fire

Hello,
It's a quiet Sunday morning and I have new photos of our sons that I thought I would post. Most of the pictures I've posted have been from when Austin was still alive and I know that the boys have changed and grown up a little (I don't want them to grow up too quickly - it's happening fast enough as it is). They approve all the pictures of them before I post them on the blog and they've made comments about how young they look (while loving that the pictures are of them and their Dad). So here are recent pictures of our sons.

Aidan is now 11

Dylan is now 13

This weekend, I rediscovered a song from the movie "St. Elmo's Fire" which really describes the relationship Austin and I had. I first loved this song the year I graduated from high school in '85. I was young and naive and the lyrics didn't really mean a whole lot to me until I broke up with my boyfriend (who wasn't even my boyfriend until the end of '86) in '91. I thought living through that break up was the worst thing that would ever happen to me. It was difficult but I survived. It took me two years for my heart to heal after it was broken in '91. In hindsight, it really wasn't broken then, just cracked a little. I never could have imagined that 18 years later I would have to bear a pain that was so much deeper and life altering.

I fell in love with Austin in '93 when I was ready to risk my heart again. It was such a great love, which I still feel, even though I'm the only one here to remember it. This time, the heartbreak is complete. My heart is shattered and if it wasn't for the two young men you see above, I wouldn't have any hope that I could go on living with this fractured heart. But they're here, and I must keep working on healing my heart so I can be the Mom they deserve. I know that this time there will be no complete healing. Austin's absence will leave giant scars on my heart forever but it is still so full of love for him and our sons that it will keep beating. But I don't think I'll ever be ready to risk my heart again...

One last thing from Wikipedia....St. Elmo's fire (also St. Elmo's light) is an electrical weather phenomenon in which luminous plasma is created by a coronal discharge originating from a grounded object in an atmospheric electric field (such as those generated by thunderstorms or thunderstorms created by a volcanic explosion).

St. Elmo's fire is named after St. Erasmus of Formiae (also called St. Elmo), the patron saint of sailors. The phenomenon sometimes appeared on ships at sea during thunderstorms, and was regarded by sailors with religious awe, accounting for the name. I should have known that this would somehow be connected to sailing....



This is a beautiful instrumental version of the song
(I'm having some issues with the embedded video so here's the site if you'd like it
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAajCPNQt7s&feature=related)




This is the original 80's version with lyrics
(I'm having some issues with the embedded video so here's the site if you'd like it
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhOT1ary32I&feature=related)

For Just a Moment (David Foster)

We laughed
Until we had to cry
And we loved
Right down to our last goodbye
We were the best
I think we'll ever be
Just you and me
For just a moment

We chased
That dream we never found
And sometimes
We let one another down
But the love we made
Made everything alright
We shone so bright
For just a moment

Time goes on
People touch and then they're gone
And you and I
Will never love again
Like we did then

Someday, when we both reminisce
We'll both say
There wasn't too much we missed
And through the tears
We'll smile when we recall
We had it all
For just a moment

Time goes on
People touch and then they're gone
But you and I
Will never really end
We'll never love again
Like we did then

We laughed until we had to cry
And we loved right down to our last goodbye

Halloween

My three pumpkin carvers in 2006

We're ready for Halloween tomorrow. We got the outside light decorations up, we decorated the door area where trick 'o treaters will come. We (the boys) carved pumpkins. We did all of this without Austin, another first. I can't believe we did it. As we were setting up outside lights in the dark (because we were away with volleyball until dark and we're away with volleyball tomorrow until supper time), my dear youngest son, who was laying on a cool lawn getting the lights working, surprised me by asking "Aren't we both mini-Austins Mom"? He broke my heart and made me smile with pride at the same time. Yes, they are both so much like their Dad, Renaissance mini-men, willing to try anything and usually able to get it working. When I think of the boys growing up without their Dad, I get overwhelmed with how much he didn't get to do with them, teach them, help them experience. Austin was an amazing man who could build or fix anything, who loved deeply and who was just as comfortable in coveralls as in a jacket and tie. But my sweet sons continue to remind me that although they have indeed lost so much by Austin dying when they were only 10 & 12, they were so lucky to have him as their amazing Dad for as many years as they did. They learned so much from him that I wasn't aware of, knowledge that maybe Austin would even be surprised the boys picked up. They spent so much time with him, watching and doing, and obviously taking it all in. So tonight through my tears, I am counting my blessings. I haven't done that in a while. Happy Halloween my friends.

Grieving on People.com

I have a confession. I like to read celebrity gossip. Nothing completely trashy but People magazine is a favorite. I can't justify spending money on it every week but at least a few times a week I check out their website (http://www.people.com/) . It keeps me up to date on celebrity news and more importantly, it gives me a few minutes of escape. It's time I don't have to think about the fact that my husband died. It usually reports on things that quite honestly are none of my business and a little voyeuristic to read. So imagine my surprise when I went to the website tonight and there was an article about grieving. It was about a woman's conference in California that Maria Shriver is hosting and today they had a round table discussion on the topic of grief. It featured Maria Shriver, Lisa Niemi (Patrick Swayze's widow), Elizabeth Edwards (whose 16 year old son died in a car accident - she has written a great book on the issue of grieving) and Susan St. James (whose son, in his teens, died in a plane crash). I wish that I had been in the audience. I thought I'd share some of the quotes from the article posted on www.people.com .

Patrick Swayze's widow Lisa Niemi spoke from the heart Tuesday about losing her husband just six weeks ago, telling a women’s conference that the loss “is like an animal all of its own” and the sadness could be felt “on a cellular level.”

"When the grief takes you, it's like your body is not your own,” Niemi, who was married to the actor for 34 years, said during a roundtable discussion on Grief, Healing and Resilience at the Women's Conference 2009 in Long Beach, Calif. “I'm just going with the flow. I know I have to go through it."

Speaking for the first time since Swayze's death, Niemi says she's relied on a close group of friends to get through some of her darker hours.

"I have a few girlfriends that are just amazing. They have made themselves available to me 24/7. They say, 'We don't care if it's 2 in the morning, call me'," says Niemi, her blond hair pulled back into a loose bun and wearing an all-black dress. "I was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack one evening ... and I picked up the phone and called one, which is really hard for me to do because I'm used to being so self-sufficient and taking care of myself, but the very act of picking the phone up to call someone helped to calm me."

Final Regret
Even though Niemi told Swayze many times every day in his last months, "I love you, I love you," and never left his side, she admits, "I've spent two thirds of my life with him. ... My regret is that I didn't tell him that I loved him enough over that entire 34 years."

"I am so grateful for what I had and my connection to him, and part of me believes that I will see him again," says Niemi, her voice breaking, "and I'm just going to have to go on until then."

Niemi was joined on-stage by Elizabeth Edwards and Susan St. James, both of whom lost children in accidents. The discussion, held before a crowd of 14,000, was moderated by California First Lady and Women's Conference host Maria Shriver, who this summer lost her mother Eunice Shriver and uncle Ted Kennedy.

Tsunami of Grief
Describing her feelings about their deaths and the "tsunami of grief" that has followed, Shriver told the crowd: "Grief cracks your heart into little pieces and that hurts, big time, big time. It's hard to concentrate, it’s hard to see, its hard to feel, it's even hard to breathe."

Despite how put-together she may appear on the outside, Shriver says, "Every minute of every day I can feel my broken heart. I tell all of those close to me, 'Don't worry, I'm fine, really, I am....' The real truth is I'm not fine. The real truth is that my mother's death has brought me to my knees."

Kelly Preston had agreed to join in the roundtable discussion and talk about the death of her son, Jett, but had to drop out. "Kelly called to say it was just too painful for her to talk about Jett," says Shriver. "She said the grief was still too debilitating for her. And I totally understood."

But for Shriver, Edwards, St. James and Niemi, the Women's Conference was the ideal forum for sharing their journey with others. "We all hope that this panel will help the grief-stricken among us to see that there is light at the end of what seems like an endless tunnel," says Shriver. "It is our hope that this conversation will give anyone out there dealing with a broken heart or a shattered soul a sense that you are not alone. Because you are not."

It is strangely comforting to know that even famous people feel the same pain of grief. No one is immune, unfortunately.

Sounds of Breathing and Body Heat

No, I don't mean the movie "Body Heat" [though I remember watching it with Austin when we were dating :) ]. I'm talking about the heat that radiates from a human body, most noticably when they are sleeping beside you. In the past 7 months I haven't felt body heat beside me and I'd forgotten what it felt like. Until last night.

My 13 year old son woke me up at 1:30 am. He couldn't sleep, He'd been thinking about his Dad and worrying about getting H1N1. Interesting combination of thoughts, I know. Thinking about Austin is obvious at any time. And we'd spent the day at our school hosting a volleyball tournament, which Austin was always a part of. He was an avid volleyball fan when our boys were playing and I know the boys have missed having their Dad in the stands cheering them on during this entire volleyball season. I'm the coach, so I'm always there. But Austin's absence is still profound. So I get it that my deep thinking, inclined to worry, sweet, new teenager would be unable to sleep with thoughts of his Dad. But H1N1??? Upon reflection, now that it's daylight, it isn't that surprising that he's thinking about H1N1 when I realize how much it's in the news, how we've been talking about it at school (posters about washing your hands, sanitizing keyboards, hand sanitizer when you can't get to soap and water etc.) and how we've even talked about it at home (cough into your elbow, wash your hands, flu shots etc.). And I know how he worries, just like his Dad. I'm so choked with myself that I didn't see his worries coming, that I didn't head them off at the proverbial pass. So at 1:30 am I told him he could crawl into bed with me, hoping he would relax enough to sleep. I talked to him softly about how strong of an immune system he has, how he's doing all he needs to do to stay healthy, and how it isn't something he needs to worry about because he's doing everything right. I talked about how all we can do is what we know to do and then we just have to have faith. I used to believe in faith, before my husband died. I hope my attempt to comfort my son doesn't come back to shatter my already broken but slightly repairing heart but I needed to give him some peace in the dark, so he could sleep. I talked to him softly about visualizing a happy place, where he didn't have anything to worry about. He said that his happy place was on an island and as I spoke softly to him he drifted off to sleep. And eventually so did I, until I woke up a couple of hours later when our old dog nudged me because she needed to go outside.

The only thing my sleepy brain zoomed in on was the fact that I could feel body heat in my bed and I could hear someone breathing. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled awake, trying to reconcile in my mind why it felt so strange and foreign to feel the warmth and hear the breaths. And then I snapped awake, comforted that my worry filled son was sleeping soundly and then realizing that it has been over 7 months since I experienced the warmth and the breathing. And as I let the dogs out I started to sob, because I realized that I've gotten used to sleeping by myself. Don't misunderstand, I don't like sleeping by myself. I arrange my extra pillows so it still feels like Austin is beside me. I tend to sleep laying on the bed diagonally, like I'm laying on his chest in the way I did every morning as he drank his coffee and I slowly wakened to the new day. So, while in a way, he's still in bed with me, I have gotten used to needing an extra blanket to stay warm as fall chills the air. I've gotten used to not having to touch his shoulder and say "roll over love, you're snoring". I've gotten used to not reaching out for him in the night. And that realization makes me so overwhelmingly sad. Progress in grieving is painful. Everything about grieving is painful. Calgon, take me away......

(Does that last sentence show my age? Does anyone else know what Calgon was?)

The good news is that my son is feeling better this morning and we had a good talk about his Dad and H1N1. The light of day has made him feel better, as light sometimes does. Hopefully when dark rolls around again tonight, we will all have a restful sleep. And tomorrow will bring a little more light for all of us.

Our youngest, sharing breath and body heat with his Dad.

Our now teenager, sharing his first breaths and body heat with his Dad (a few hours old)

31 Weeks Later, I Still Hate Fridays

Today I heard several times (on the radio, from a parent of one of my students, from a student) how great it is that it's Friday. TGIF. I used to feel that way. I used to love Fridays, with the promise of the weekend ahead. I'd look forward to the one night in the week when Austin and I usually didn't have any committments, when we could just enjoy hanging out together, talking, listening to music, sharing a bottle of wine, watching a movie or mindless T.V., or whatever... Much of the time our sons would eventually join us in a family movie night, a board game or Wii competition. Sometimes the boys would have sleepovers at friends' houses and Austin and I would enjoy a glorious night at home alone. We loved being at home together and I really miss those committment-free nights when we had each other to just be with. I so miss just hanging out with him. We weren't just married partners, parents, collegues at work, and lovers. We were each other's best friend in every sense and I so miss having that other person on the planet who just got me. And the double edged sword is that I long to have that kind of connection again with a human being but I dread it at the same time because there is no way that the human being will be Austin. And the thought of having that kind of connection with someone other than him is beyond my ability to comprehend.

I have been spending much of today thinking about how much I continue to hate Fridays. The weekend ahead is no longer filled with promise. It actually feels pretty bleak. And to top it off, as I've mentioned in a previous post, Austin died on a Friday morning, at about 11:45 AM (mountain time). Before heading to work that morning it was obvious that something was wrong with him, but I never guessed it was a heart attack that was building in his strong and loving heart. He seemed irritated and grumpy and wasn't feeling well but I never guessed he was dying. I've since learned that I should have taken those signs more seriously, but just over 7 months ago, when I was still naive and innocent, I dismissed the behaviour, thinking that we'd figure it all out that night. Just over three hours later, he was dead. DEAD! It was and still is so unbelievable! Surely God would have given us a little warning before such a beloved man would have to leave the planet! In hindsight, God's warning signs were so slight that we ignored them. I'm fairly sure that I will hate Fridays for the rest of my time on this planet. And as I write this I feel sad, because Austin would want me to regain my love of Fridays, and not have every one overshadowed by my images of him on that fateful day. So I'm going to try, starting next Friday, to appreciate this bittersweet day of the week and try to bring a little TGIF back into my life. There are so many little things that have lost their joy in my life and I'm going to try and bring some of that joy back, living in the light of Austin's love that continues to shine on my life. This week I'll work on Fridays. Do any of you have any bittersweet things you're trying to find the lost joy in as you work through your grief?

I hope we all have a peaceful weekend. Now I'm going to go open a nice bottle of wine and try to find a little joy in enjoying a glass of vino on my own, while still making Austin's regular toast "to us". Here's to all of us on this journey. Thank you for being here with me.

Debbie

My Reasons for Finding Joy

We Made It Through Another First

Well, we made it through another first without Austin. Thanksgiving came and went and I am thankful for all the people and things mentioned in my previous post. I am also thankful for all of you who responded to my post. Your kind words, your own reasons to be thankful and your friendship mean so much to me. Thank you.

Thanksgiving didn't play out like we'd planned and we ended up staying at home (for various reasons that I won't bore you with) but my youngest sister came and spent the weekend with us and we had a nice time (and ate too much!). The boys played a lot of the new Beatles Rock Band with their auntie. I loved to watch them have so much fun but at the same time my heart broke. Austin loved the Beatles and he would have loved to join in the fun with the boys. And the last weekend of Austin's life was spent with good friends, celebrating St. Patrick's Day (any excuse to drink good, Irish beer!) and playing rock band. I have a very clear memory of Austin and I sitting on our living room floor while our boys were at the drums and the guitar, performing the Eagles' "Hotel California". I know, weird choice of song for a family "concert", but it was so fun and is such a sweet memory of one of our last family activities. So, playing Rock Band upstairs, in the living room, for the first time since Austin died, was huge for me. And I didn't realize how huge until I just wrote these last few sentences. Oh, how I miss him. And what I find so amazing everytime it happens, is that I miss him in different ways which I don't even realize until they happen. Everyday I miss the regular stuff but at least once a day I run into a situation or a memory that has me missing Austin in a way that I had previously forgotten about. And I really feel like I should write them down, so I don't forget them again. But I get caught up in the memory, in the emotions, and before I know it life gets busy (kids, school etc.) and I have to move forward, leaving the memory behind to hopefully be restored on another day.

Somehow my thankful mood has left and this week I'm also feeling angry, sad, and generally pissed off that my husband is dead. And somehow these dark emotions overshadow the thankful ones. Why can't the light overshadow the dark? Why doesn't good always triumph over evil? I can't seem to hold on to a positive, thankful mood for very long, but I suspect that it's to be expected after you lose the love of your life, the half who made you whole, the one who "got" you and loved you unconditionally. Maybe I should just be thankful that I felt thankful for a few minutes. Tomorrow it will be seven months since Austin died. My God, how have I lived this long without him? As the boys plan their costumes for Halloween, we prepare for another first without him.