Tag: death

The Final Chapter: The Tragedy that Changed My Life

Jan. 26 Relationships 3 comments

While this is the last post in the “Tragedy that Changed My Life” series, as the title says, I’m forever changed. The lasting effects my family’s loss will have on my life will continue — probably forever — and bring up feelings, questions and major life decisions, many of which I will share here. I could never sum up in six parts what impact my family’s loss has had on me, my husband and children, and will probably never truly grasp it myself. But I can share the insight, wisdom and clarity I feel I have been given, maybe helping others who struggle in certain areas of their own lives.

Kristen and Me 2003

5 Life Lessons I Learned from Loss

Teach by Example Since July, I put myself and my work on hold. For a while there, I felt paralyzed, having no clue how to move forward in that arena while being the best possible wife and mother to those who needed me most. But I’ve gotten a better understanding of myself and my needs during that time. In fact, I’ve learned over the past six months that to be the best I can possibly be and to teach my children everything I can, I need to lead by example — not by words. And you know what… that example sometimes means prioritizing my own needs whether they’re physical, emotional, spiritual or intellectual. I’ve learned that I need to just say no when necessary and I am working on taking time to live in the moment (and breathe). I may make mistakes (many, many mistakes), lose my temper or temporarily forget to focus on what’s really important, but I am human. It’s not about the mistakes I make, but how I respond to those mistakes, learn from them and grow as a human being.

Stop Focusing on the Shell For one day, stop and count how many times you negatively refer to your own body. Think about all the things you do trying to keep yourself looking young and how much time, effort and money you spend to get there. As a society, we are so focused on a person’s “shell” and so often miss the beauty within. Spend time fostering your inner spirit, finding the people, activities and choices that make your heart sing. Instead of an hour at the gym, take a hike with friends… commit to taking a couple of hours on the weekend to do something you’ve never done before… or choose to let go of that person you think everyone else expects you to be and just be yourself. In my opinion, we could eradicate obesity, disease and depression if we let go of focusing so much attention on our shell and, instead, spend time everyday feeding our heart and soul.

Simplify This has been one of the biggest life lessons for me and has created some major change in our family. Since July, we have decided to up the ante on the quality of life and do away with anything that keeps us from achieving it. I no longer dream of the day I can unload my mom car (the ever-sexy “Hotyssey“), have cut down on unnecessary spending (like those five billion channel TV packages when we hardly watch live TV) and have cleaned out closets, drawers and those baby items we will never (yes, I mean never, ever, ever) need again. Life is too short to live among the clutter.

But the biggest step in simplifying, hands down, is the huge undertaking that is downsizing our home. When we bought in 2005 — with a 14 month old and 7 months pregnant with our second — we could never have imagined how different our life would look just a few years later. I always figured I’d be working full time, bringing in a hefty second income and living the dream with our two elementary-school-aged mini men. Adoption, autism and asthma weren’t even a consideration — all of which require more money, energy and effort than I could have ever imagined. We moved over the holidays and now live comfortably (as soon as we’re entirely unpacked, that is) in a home that’s in walking distance of the boys’ school — giving me an extra 20 minutes of walking exercise each day (woot!) — and cutting down our living expenses by approximately 35%. We have absolutely no need to keep up with the Joneses and even less interest in being friends with them.

Let Go People can be mean. You know it’s true. And sometimes, no matter what you do, they’re just not going to like you (sometimes even your own family). Does that mean you should bend over backwards and try to change who you are? Hell no. Accept that they have their own things going on and let go of trying to please them. Often times, those who judge others the harshest are the ones who aren’t happy with their own choices and behavior. Smile and move on.

Create Your Own Legacy Every one of us will die some day. While I hope to have several decades ahead of me, we really never know when our time will come. One thing I learned from my niece’s death is that it’s all about how you touch others’ hearts and lives and what you choose to do with your time on earth that will live on forever. Kristen, who worked tirelessly to earn the title of paramedic just months before she died, spent her days doing for others, whether it was saving a life, holding a hand, or just smiling at a frightened patient. She never hung up without saying “I love you” and was the first to cross a room and make a person — whether it was a cousin, her grandparents or someone she had just met — feel like the most important person in the world. Her legacy continues to inspire others to be the best they possibly can with our short time here, something the rest of us can learn from and aspire to achieve as well.

Words can’t express how grateful I am for all of the comments, emails and words of support and encouragement I have received from writing this series. It has allowed me to re-connect with family friends I haven’t seen in decades, meet new friends and talk with those who have shared similar experiences.

While I write for myself, I keep writing for all of you. For that, I thank you.

 

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The Day I Went to My Mother’s Funeral

Jan. 24 Relationships 11 comments

Also known as “The Tragedy that Changed my Life: Part 5″

It’s been six months since my niece left this world. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started and stopped this post — part 5 of my story. How could I even begin to put into words one of the most significant days of my entire life? Well, here goes..

I walked up to the grave I had been to hundreds of times before. My mother’s burial place was my go-to spot for as long as I can remember, whether I was celebrating my high school graduation, crying over a boy who had broken my heart or just needed to be alone and feel closer to my mom. On so many occasions, I would kneel down on the grass and spend a moment missing her, the woman who was taken from me when I was just three years old. The cemetery was the one place I would truly allow the feelings to wash over me, the place I would talk to my mom and work through anything I was experiencing in my life.

It’s strange and I really don’t know why, but my moments visiting the cemetery have always been so difficult to share with others. It’s rare that I would go with anyone else — so overwhelming, it even took years to finally bring my children to visit “Nana Janice.” Maybe I was afraid to cry, afraid to feel too much in front of others. Maybe I was conflicted, feeling that my grief could be seen as being sort of disloyal to the mother I had been given a second chance with.

But six months ago, that all changed. Even now, if I close my eyes, I find myself right back there in that moment… that significant, life-changing moment. Because for the first time in years, I walked up to that spot in the cemetery alongside a sea of family, friends and strangers — all of whom were there to bury my beautiful niece, Kristen, tragically killed in a car crash at the age of 30.

I stood there, in front of my mother’s resting place, the one she would soon share. The grave, already dug, had been draped in a grass-colored covering. The casket rested upon iron bars, keeping it above ground until it was time to place it permanently. I couldn’t help but fixate on the hole in the ground. Oh my God, my mother was down there. The woman who gave me life, the mom I love so much but have no memory of, she, at least her physical being, was somewhere near that hole in the ground. If I were an actress on some dark Showtime comedy, that would be the very moment I would crawl down there, calling out for her, only to be pulled out kicking and screaming. But I stood frozen next to my husband, crying, crying, crying, grieving both the loss of my sweet niece and for the mom I never really publicly mourned.

As the priest finished the service and requested that only immediate family remain, they  began to place flowers on Kristen’s coffin. It was then that one of my siblings placed a flower on the ground below, honoring my mother. That simple act was so significant, like a window had been open to all of us, allowing us to ban together through our grief and collectively honor the woman who had been taken from us 37 years earlier, the one who would watch over Kristen — if not literally, then at least metaphorically.

I looked around to find a flower. I’m not sure where I heard it as a little girl, but I always connected my mom with white flowers. In my head and heart, I started to get a little frantic, I just had to find a white flower. Through my tears, the only white flowers I could see were carnations. I remember thinking to myself, “This is my one shot, I’m certainly not going to remember this moment as giving my mother a cheap carnation.” (Seriously, this is how I think?)

As I looked through the bouquets lined up around the casket, I heard Mary, my mother since I was four years old, say “Jackie, come on this side.” I was confused and walked around to the other side of the coffin to see what she was referring to. As I did, I noticed the green faux grass covering didn’t reach over the entire area. Under the casket and the iron handles below it, was a four-inch opening that revealed a deep hole in the ground. Covered in white, it looked like it went on forever. My heart was beating faster, I was overcome by the moment. Here I was, 40 years old, standing next to a huge, gaping hole next to where my mother was buried. This was it. This was my chance to finally say goodbye to my mother. I had never attended her funeral and had lived almost four decades with an overwhelming feeling that my goodbye was left unfinished.

I held the white lily in my hand and bent down, closer to the opening. I suddenly had a vision of me tossing the flower in and missing the mark, the flower hitting the iron and flinging right back, smacking me in the face (my imagination really runs wild in times like this). But that’s not what happened. With a flick of the wrist, I sent the flower through the hole and watched it slowly float into the white endless tunnel like a feather caught in the wind. Even as I did it, I knew I was experiencing one of the most important moments of my life.

I stood back up and slowly made my way over to the other side of the casket to my husband. As I walked, I could hear these involuntary sounds coming from my body, a wail you don’t hear often in your life. Thirty seven years were flying through my mind, my heart, my body — it was all too much. Everything around me began to close in, the blue skies and hot sun felt like a black cloak suffocating me, I had never felt anything even close to this — ever.

As I stumbled across the grass, I felt myself taken into someone’s arms, making me feel so safe, so comforted. I didn’t know who it was but knew it was someone who understood — someone who had been there. The tears streamed, my body shook, but the arms felt so good. After a few minutes, I looked up to find my brother Ed holding me. I will never forget what he did and will always love him for taking care of me in those brief moments when I needed it most, maybe he needed it too.

To Be Continued…

 

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Tragedy that Changed My Life: Part 4

Oct. 13 Relationships 1 comment

We arrived from the airport and walked up the driveway to the side door that enters my sister Maureen’s kitchen. I could feel my heart start to race and my breath getting shorter as I saw through the window the crowd of people gathering. It was the most surreal ten foot walk I’ve ever taken.

Opening the door and walking into the house was the first step into a week that forever changed me in ways I could have never imagined. To watch my sister go through something so unthinkable, something every mother fears at one time or another, made me not only see how strength and vulnerability can actually co-exist, but that strength is not even possible without the ability to be raw and vulnerable.

The sheer number of people that arrived throughout that week was a testament to the life and love Kristen experienced. In life and in death, my niece was surrounded her mom, dad and step-dad, along with grandparents on all three sides, aunts, uncles, and cousins who were more like best friends, all of which who had long ago learned how to live as one big extended family, something that I hadn’t truly witnessed before that week. To see them lean on each other, support one another, and share an intense love for Kristen and her siblings, Paul and Cassie, I think it says a lot about how my sister lived, able to be free of ego and holding on to the past, something Kristen was always able to do — forgive and move on. Now I see where she got it.

For the next few days, Jeff worked on a slideshow to be played at the wake and before the funeral, which would be held on Wednesday and Thursday. While I collect my thoughts on how exactly to share those days and how they served as a catalyst for so many personal changes within me, I’ll leave you with this video… a tribute to a beautiful woman, inside and out.
 

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Tragedy that Changed My Life: Part 3

Oct. 03 Relationships 1 comment

Part three of an 8-part series that shares this summer’s experience and the impact it’s made on the rest of my life.

With just minutes to spare before takeoff, and sweat pouring from my face, I ran through the airport, sailing over hurdles like Bruce Jenner in the ’70s (you know, before all that plastic surgery and Kardashian ridiculousness). My goal was to get to the gate and keep them from closing the door while Jeff got the rest of our belongings through security.

Panting, I arrived at the desk to tell them that we’d just be another minute and beg them to hold off. Thinking I could distract her until Jeff arrived, I asked her if there were any upgrades — knowing full well we weren’t even considering paying the extra money. She asked for my ticket, looked at our seats and said, “Oh, you’re not even sitting together.”

And that was the moment it all came crashing down.

Suddenly, the emotions and stress that had shut me down over the past 24 hours came to a head. Tears began to stream down my face, with no sign of stopping. All of a sudden I was feeling it all and it was becoming all too clear that our family’s lives would never, ever be the same. I feel kind of bad for that woman at the counter that morning. As I turned away and mumbled, “thank you,” I began to cry that ugly cry normally reserved for behind closed doors. She had no idea what to do with me.

Jeff finally ran up, holding all of our bags and, if I remember correctly, carrying his shoes because he didn’t want to miss the flight by taking the time to put them on. “We’re not sitting together,” I sobbed as he held me there in the middle of the busy airport.

I pulled myself together long enough to hand my ticket to the agent at the gate. She turned to Jeff and asked if I would be okay. He just nodded, mostly to be polite, because I’m not sure he believed I ever would. As we walked up the jet way, I heard our name being called by an agent behind us. “Take these seats,” she said, as she handed us tickets with exit row seats next to each other.

I don’t remember much about that flight, just the wave of emotions that continued to hit at 30,000 feet. I swear at one point, a baby even stared me down, wondering how to get that silly grownup to stop crying already.

Matt and Kristen

As we touched down in Boston, I thought about my little brother, Matt, who would be there to pick us up and bring us directly to my sister’s house. Matt, who has just celebrated his 29th birthday less than a week before, was not only 30-year-old Kristen’s uncle, but a close friend and confidante. They had shared a relationship unlike the rest of us, attending the same parties as teenagers, discovering themselves through parallel experiences in their 20′s and undergoing lots of personal and professional growth — always supporting each other (with a similar dark sense of humor) along the way.

I spotted Matt standing in baggage claim, looking almost like a lost little boy in the mall. My heart broke as I walked toward him and embraced my little brother, no words were needed to communicate our loss. As we took a breath and headed out to the car, the mom in me pushed the grieving aunt and sister out of the way and called home to see how Lucy’s ear was feeling. It was the first opportunity to get in touch with my mother in law since leaving before sunrise and I had a feeling I’d be giving her directions to the doctor’s office and pharmacy in order to get Lucy’s ear infection taken care of.

As expected, Lucy was uncomfortable and cranky, her ear still hurting like the night before. I said I would call the doctor and call right back to let her know the game plan. I dialed the doctor’s after hours voice mail (at this point, it was Saturday at noon on the west coast) and left a message. Within minutes, Dr. H called right back and I told him the situation. Understanding Lucy needed some relief yet we were helpless from across the country with the kids home with Grandma, our pediatrician offered something I had never heard of, at least after the year 1950 — a house call. 20 minutes later, not only was he was at our house examining Lucy, but also called in a prescription and gave Grandma directions to the pharmacy. I couldn’t believe it. With all that was happening back east, I was amazed and so grateful that my daughter was being cared for and I could focus my attention where it needed to be.

As we continued the drive to my sister’s house, around 30 miles north of Boston, my little brother filled us in on the last 24 hours for the rest of the family. Final funeral arrangements hadn’t yet been made, but one important detail had been discussed and determined.

“She’s going to be buried with your mom,” Matt said.

A little back story: My mom, mother of 11 children died back in 1974. With nine kids between us, I was the youngest at three years old and my sister Maureen (Kristen’s mom) was the oldest at 18. At the time my mom was buried, I didn’t realize it but four plots were purchased. Learning this later, it always made sense that my dad would eventually be there, as well as Mary, who he married the following year. But I don’t think I ever knew or thought about a fourth in that space — not really something a kid wants to think about, right? Please, it was hard enough to see my own dad’s name, birth date and a big dash (like we were just waiting for that second date to be etched onto the stone) throughout my childhood. I certainly couldn’t wrap my head around anything more than that.

But, for some reason, hearing that Kristen would be buried alongside my mom didn’t even surprise me. In fact, it was the first thing since discovering the news of her death, that felt completely right. I was about to experience one of the most difficult weeks of my entire 40 years, but at the same time, immediately felt like I was simultaneously being given a once in a lifetime opportunity to reach a new level of healing by attending, for the very first time, my mom’s funeral. I thought, what an unbelievable gift we would be given, one we could never have received without Kristen and the love and courage of my sister and my dad.

But I had no idea how life changing that gift would actually be.

To be continued…

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