tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26191519759686929782024-03-12T18:51:38.147-05:00Young, Widowed & RebuildingWendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.comBlogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-10214225538259014072016-08-24T15:20:00.001-05:002016-08-24T15:20:36.983-05:00Speaking of Names....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's time to re-name the blog! I'd say I'm no longer "rebuilding"....I've built a whole different life instead. Since Brian died, I've moved to Austin, then San Antonio. I've dated, married, and had 2 children. I've changed jobs. I've acquired another cat. I've sold our house, moved in with a new husband, sold his house, and picked out another one for our family. I think I've re-built plenty! And, arguably, at 35 I may not be classified as "young" anymore...but we don't have to render an official verdict on <i>that</i>, regardless of whether I ditch that part of the blog name.<br />
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So....I'm going to be rolling this over in my mind a bit, but I'm open to suggestions!</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-30593266263310332172016-08-23T17:11:00.000-05:002016-08-23T17:14:19.468-05:00What's in a Name?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On June 13, Sheldon & I became the proud parents of two! Our second son, Waylon Luis, was born at 5:15 pm after about 10 hours of labor. He weighed in at 7 lbs, 15 oz. <br />
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One of the questions we get a lot is about his name - "Why Waylon?" Technically, it came from the baby book and was just one we both liked. But, of course, there is some significance that caused us to choose that name in particular out of the twenty or so we had winnowed out of the thousands.<br />
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"Like Waylon Jennings?" Yeah, sort of. But this isn't a tribute name; while Jennings inspired the moniker, the name wasn't chosen to honor him. It's what his name represents that mattered to us.<br />
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Waylon Jennings was one of The Highwaymen, a country supergroup of musicians who sang the epic song "The Highwayman" about reincarnation and continuing to live on after death. (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAiPsZRZNOI">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAiPsZRZNOI</a>) The song was a favorite of Brian's, and one that I only really started to appreciate after his death. Waylon's name, and his very existence, is a reminder that energy is a constant force and that we go on, even if those departed only return as "a single drop of rain." Finally, Waylon is a good mix of Wendy + Sheldon. Waylon being a Texan name, it seemed a good choice for this new life created here by us, a child whose very being exemplifies life after death.<br />
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His middle name is also reminiscent of second lives to us, though in the sense of second chances within the context of this physical life. Sheldon's late grandfather, whose funeral was held on the date that would have been my 10 year wedding anniversary with Brian, was named Luis. I was incredibly touched by the words penned by his wife to be read on the day of his funeral. Luis Gonzalez, or "Grandpa Lou," was by many accounts, a bit of a stern man and could be difficult to get along with when he was younger. There were some disagreements, and at times, some estrangement, between Lou and his children. Eventually, he found religion and age found him. He mellowed enough, and time healed the wounds enough for all, that he made peace with everyone in the family. I love the idea that as long we are alive, it's never too late to change, to forgive, to choose love. I myself am a very different person than I was 10 or 20 years ago. I am more patient (with others and myself), less judgmental, more inclined toward compassion and forgiveness, and more likely to let things be than carry a grudge. I'm working on being less defensive, on owning my actions and feelings and mistakes, and commanding respect. I think I'm a better wife this time around. By no means am I perfect, but I'm getting better. I'm a different person, and who I am now fits with Sheldon. He is a different person than he was as a young adult, and one who fits with me. We wouldn't have been a good match if we had met ten years sooner, but change brought us to the point where we compliment each other and enjoy each other. To me, the name Luis represents the amazing capacity for change that we all hold within our hearts, and the possibilities in store for those who are willing to let go, let live, and let love in.<br />
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I don't know what my sweet little boy's soul has lived through before now, nor do I know what trials and tribulations -- and, God willing, redemptions -- await, but right now it is his destiny to be our Waylon Luis.<br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-69315955066146521302016-04-21T10:31:00.000-05:002016-04-21T10:31:32.073-05:00Another Branch on the Family Tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, we are having another baby boy! I'm due on June 14. As much as I'm physically ready to be done being pregnant, it would be great to have the kiddo on his actual due date. My aunt Amanda had her son on my birthday, and June 14 is her birthday, so that would be a cool connection. But whatever will be, will be.<br />
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What else? I mean, I haven't blogged in almost a year! So much...<br />
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Sheldon's sister Paige is living with us; she moved in right around the time we were settling into the new house. She is going to school and helps out as a nanny and "Tia" to Cooper. It's been amazing having some family here in town, and even better - right in our house! With Sheldon & I being self-employed and doing a lot from home, it's great having another set of adult hands in the family to help run the household and our businesses. <br />
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Speaking of businesses and growth, Sheldon is training a new person (a friend of ours) in the fundraising business. It's keeping him extra busy this spring, but will be a great move in the long-term. We are really expanding in every way -- the size of our family, the size of our business, the size of our house. Except on the pet front, and I tried. We had a stray cat that was coming around daily and had even snuck into the house a couple times and would let us pet him sometimes. I managed to get him trapped, neutered and get him basic shots, and was able to re-home him with a friend. Maybe we'll get some fish sometime soon though...<br />
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I think about Brian a lot, and miss him. I still dream about him. I still wear his shirts to sleep in, and can't part with any of our Emeril cookware, or even the Emeril kitchen towel he liked, even though it is worn and might have a small tear. I still worry about whether I got rid of too much of his stuff, and wish I'd kept more tees for sleeping. I still don't know what to do with his glasses and wallet. I still have a tote of things in the office closet that I can't bear to part with, or to look at. I still worry about how long it's been since I've been to his grave, and how long it will before I'm back.<br />
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And I worry about what would happen if the same thing happened again. I sometimes panic when Sheldon is later coming home than I expected, or if he doesn't answer his phone. My mind goes to the worst thoughts quicker than most. I get fleeting thoughts like "I wonder how I'll die...will it be natural causes at an old age? Cancer in my 50s? Car accident in 2 years?" And I think the same things about everyone I love. I have to push those thoughts away, because thinking about it ahead of time doesn't do a damn thing except cause pain and anxiety. I suppose what will happen, will happen.<br />
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I wonder if I think about Brian too little, or too much? I sometimes feel like I'm betraying Sheldon to say I miss him. But I feel like I'm betraying Brian if I don't. Mostly, I'm able to be happy thinking about good memories with him. But in the interest of honesty, I don't want to pretend times were always good, or that the good isn't tinged with aching to see him again and anger about his life being cut so short.<br />
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I'll just never be someone who hasn't lost it all. I'll never not be a widow, and never be the same as someone who hasn't been through this.<br />
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We still haven't come up with a name for the next baby. He will be our last child. I want to honor Brian in some way with the name, but I don't want to be weird. A music- or football-inspired name would be a good, subtle way to do that. But in a way that honors me and Sheldon as well. I mean, these are Sheldon's sons and part of his family...but they are also here because of Brian's life and how his affected mine.<br />
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Cooper can pick out Brian from the pictures in our bedroom. I only had to tell him once, and he remembered. I don't even know if he knows some of the people in our families that well in pictures, people he's met many times. I wonder how that works -- does he see Brian sometimes, or somehow know him from when they were both in spirt form together, before Cooper gained a physical body and after Brian lost his? Will Brian's soul re-enter the physical world again before I'm able to reconnect with him? Is he looking after us? Is he happy for me? Proud? Have I done him right? How will I begin to tell the story to my kids about Brian, about the first husband I had? How do we talk about death in a non-scary, but honest way? How do I reassure them that the same thing won't happen to their daddy, or to me, when I don't really know that myself?<br />
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I'm all over the place, I know. It still is all so overwhelming to think about what the last 6-7 years have been and how complicated and beautiful and painful life is. So many happy, glorious moments in that time, and also so much pain and confusion, so much hurt and loss. And it all comes together to build today. Today feels messy to me, probably just because I'm making the time to sit down and face all these things that float around inside my heart and my head and shape my soul. It's been a long time since I took a look in a spiritual mirror. I've been so caught up in the daily grind -- diapers, laundry, meal planning, work, dishes, game nights, visitors -- that I have been shutting out the really big stuff. <br />
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All I know is, things are overwhelmingly good in my life right now. I probably think and worry about things that most people don't, because most people haven't walked my path. But maybe that can be an advantage to me, maybe it will help me appreciate what I have more than most. I know that I can make a point to try to do exactly that, so at least that's a good starting point.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-64142141770550280902015-06-01T17:10:00.002-05:002015-06-01T17:10:58.536-05:00Get a Move On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sheldon and I (and Cooper) have moved! We found a larger house in San Antonio, not too far from our last, that we plan to have as our "forever home." It's a beautiful four bedroom home with a sunroom, an open kitchen/living space, formal dining room and a large yard with lots of mature trees. Deer roam the neighborhood and the community is special -- picnics, events, a park, a pool, etc. We couldn't be happier!<br />
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It has been busy and stressful, of course, as all moves are. And the process of going through all your things and making a move tends to bring up some emotions. I think this happens for most people -- Sheldon even has said some of the clothes in his closet aren't really to wear, but are memories on hangers -- but it has hit me hard sometimes. I've had a lot go through my mind even without facing the objects that are packed with a sentimental punch.<br />
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It's been five years since I first arrived in Austin, sans cats, for a three-month getaway to help me bounce back from losing Brian. I remember painfully and distinctly sitting on the patio of my East Sixth loft place, bawling my eyes out while I blogged on Memorial Day weekend of 2010. I felt guilty that I wasn't home, felt dread about dealing with the ongoing process of getting a headstone in place for Brian, and knew that the issue of being far away from his resting place would always be a struggle (even if I had stayed in Des Moines, that was 2.5 hours from where he is buried). <br />
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This May, I got to toast the five-year Texas milestone with my good friends Erin and Chad, who moved to Austin that summer too (Erin and their cat stayed with me in that studio apartment for about a month). They have just moved to another apartment in Austin, which I'm anxious to see, and they recently visited our new house to take a break from their moving process and see our new home. They are some of my best friends and it's bittersweet to reflect on what we've been through together and what brought us so close. They are a tie to my Iowa life, a large string in the tapestry of my life that winds through many places and past many faces. I'm lucky to have them here and that we all took the leap of faith to Austin together, even though I ended up moving a bit further south when I fell in love with Sheldon.<br />
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As we move into our final family home, I feel as though I'm moving one step further away from my first family home - the one I shared with Brian. I miss that house still, and that life. I still grieve for those losses, and this move has stirred up the emotional waters, muddied the surface of my life. I've thought about how many moves the cats have been through, and well they have handled it, and how grateful I am that I won't have to put them through the whole rigamarole again. I wonder if they remember the old house and the first man we called "Daddy." I wonder what kind of memories are being made in that house now and whether the family that I sold it to still lives there. Did they keep the bar in the basement? Do they use the front room as a dining room and play games around the table? Do they socialize and play yard games?<br />
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And then there are the things. I recently unpacked the box that had the guest book from Brian's visitations. There were so many names; I didn't remember that many people being there. I think it was all such a blur at the time - but several times I thought to myself, "I didn't realize they were there." I was overwhelmed with gratitude to see the names of all those people from different phases of our life, and reminded of how lucky I was to have such a show of support. I remembered too how strong Brian's impact on this world was - how many people loved, admired, respected, and needed him. Hundreds of names filled those pages...hundreds of people who lost something, and many who lost almost everything, with his passing. It was immensely painful to think of that aspect.<br />
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I still had the large poster board full of pictures of our life together, all pictures of him, that we put together and displayed at his services. Probably a good hundred pictures -- us on vacations, at weddings, him with friends and family, at concerts and so on. Some of the pictures had fallen off over the years and the display had been sitting in our office for the past few years, losing pictures here and there like a tree losing leaves in the early fall. I had been trying to keep it all intact, but my efforts weren't doing the job, and I also didn't know where to display this oversized tribute to my lost love. Where does that fit into my home and my life in a place where I'm the only one in the house who knew Brian? Where most of my friends that visit (except Erin & Chad) know him only from stories? And how to move such a thing (again)? I have been wresting with the idea of taking the photos off the board and putting them somewhere else, and I finally took that step a couple weeks before the move. The whole time I felt sad, guilty, and also had some good feelings thinking about all the fun stories and memories behind those pictures. Right now, the pictures are stacked up in a Ziploc bag in my top desk drawer -- there for me whenever I want to thumb through and remember.<br />
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It seems like that is what's happening all over my life -- the trappings of my old life and of Brian's life are put away in secret places for me to visit, or forget about. Those moments and that life are further and further away from the present in the timeline of my life, and the ties to those times and places are stretched thinner and thinner, and grow fewer in number. The old gets pushed aside for the new, over and over. It's always most acute during a move.<br />
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I still have some large things from our life together -- our bedroom furniture (now in the guest room and Cooper's room), our dining room table, Brian's car that I started driving after he passed. I have sentimental things too -- my engagement ring from Sheldon made with diamonds Brian and I wore in our rings, my tattoo, Brian's class ring. But with every move, the number of tangible reminders shrinks and there comes another life milestone that is one more mile marker away from the starting point of my journey in adulthood and love and away from my first camerado.<br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-32292220645864324062015-03-07T18:54:00.003-06:002015-03-07T18:54:33.408-06:00The Next Generation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So I haven't blogged in forever, but for good reason -- this little guy keeps me plenty busy! Cooper Matthew was born Sept. 22 at 1:30 pm. He is five months old now and keeps us on our toes.</div>
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I never would have thought five years ago that I would be here now -- a mother, a real estate agent, remarried, living in south Texas, you name it. All unimaginable to me at my lowest point, and all proof that we never can tell what lies around the corner if we are willing to look.</div>
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I have to say -- losing Brian has impacted me as a mother. I'm sure all moms worry about harm coming to their little ones -- you don't dare speak of SIDS, though you read about it and take every step you can to prevent that awful fate. I don't know that this particularly is on my mind more than it is for anyone else. But I do think about the fact that life isn't guaranteed at any age -- that he could leave this world before me, at any stage in the game -- even as a grown man. I think I have a deeper appreciation and understanding of what Brian's parents must have felt and gone through with his death, though I pray to only understand that in the abstract sense and to never know that pain personally. </div>
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Cooper is a very good baby. He generally is a happy kid, and a decent sleeper (that part gets better and worse in phases). Still, even the best baby is exhausting. We are not young parents by any means, and we are adapting to the never-ending cycle of eating, spitting up, poopy diapers, changing clothes, entertaining the kiddo, etc. We have talked about stopping with one child...but I know I can't do that because...what if...? That has weighed on my mind. Not only Brian's family, but my friend Gabby's family were both two-child families that have lost a grown son. I don't want to stop at one and become childless in the future as a result. I know the odds of such tragedy are slim, but I also know the reality is there. These are the kinds of thoughts you don't bring up at Mommy & Me yoga, but they are the kinds of thoughts I have when the discussion of future children is on the table. To be clear, this isn't going to make the choice for us, but it is a piece of the puzzle. </div>
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I hate even putting these fears and thoughts into writing because if anything ever happened, I would feel like I brought that about with these words (a strange mental disconnect, but not uncommon amongst people in my shoes). Yet I feel like I have to put this out there because I know I'm not the only one in this situation, and sharing my journey might be helpful to someone else. </div>
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But for now, the reality is that all is well. I have a happy, healthy baby boy who is close to sitting up, who has discovered he can get his toes in his mouth, who is starting to have favorite toys, and who is in need of my attention at the moment.</div>
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-76874428821926700722014-06-03T18:53:00.003-05:002014-06-03T18:53:59.422-05:00Life After Death<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzne8ksJ_Oz7kwEzfj2SUFIGRP2gjrpl2ax35rAsgQ0qpnZPvL62fpTbdT75lzFrdU-XsthdSVRodZp3CK05Ocb6ODVelyixmRIB-FAVkFM6PxU0fjzWoNTM5kIhLe7rRP2XNNE99biM/s1600/IMG_3040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzne8ksJ_Oz7kwEzfj2SUFIGRP2gjrpl2ax35rAsgQ0qpnZPvL62fpTbdT75lzFrdU-XsthdSVRodZp3CK05Ocb6ODVelyixmRIB-FAVkFM6PxU0fjzWoNTM5kIhLe7rRP2XNNE99biM/s1600/IMG_3040.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>Another big milestone for me....I'm having a baby!<br />
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I'm actually six months along already, due in mid-September. We are having a boy.<br />
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Sheldon and I are thrilled. We had been trying since we got married last year, and though it doesn't sound like a long time, I was starting to get discouraged when it took us six months to get a positive test result. The (small) bummer was that this test happened to fall one day before we took a trip to Las Vegas. On the plus side, I realized I REALLY love Vegas when I was able to have a blast drinking only ginger ale - and I think the fact that I wasn't drinking made me get carded a lot. At 33, I'll take that all day long!<br />
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Overall, things have been going very well. I feel pretty good, and even ran 3.5 miles in a marathon relay race a few weeks ago. I am just starting to feel big and notice that my belly influences my mobility and the way I move, and I'm getting up a lot in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and change positions. Overall, though, I can't complain. <br />
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On the other hand, there have been some triggers or emotional challenges. Not long after we found out our good news, I had a dream that really shook me and had me feeling "off" for a while, and I cried for a good day or two. In my dream, I was pregnant and sharing my life with Sheldon, just like in real life. However, the baby was Brian's. We knew that I would have two children -- one Brian's and one Sheldon's -- and we were happy with that scenario. In the dream, I felt like it was perfect -- I would get one child with each of my loves. I woke up and was sad to remember that this wasn't the case, and I felt disappointed about that, and again had to grieve for the fact that I never had the opportunity to have a child with Brian (or, more accurately, that we never even ventured down that path because we thought we had time for that "later"). It's not fair that he died before he could have kids, that his genes weren't carried on. We had talked about down the road and I fantasized about having a red-headed, smart, mischievous boy like him. He was such an adorable kid. The fact that this never happened still leaves me with a sinking, empty, feeling....like you feel if you are holding a precious heirloom that means the world to someone and you just dropped it in front of them and saw it shatter at your feet, and you are frozen, staring down in shock at your empty fingers and the myriad glass fragments littering the ground. Broken chances, irreversible fate....an opportunity that literally slipped through my fingers and shattered in front of me, never to be whole or real or within my grasp again. This still pains me a great deal when I think about it. I think this is why I've waited so long to blog about this. The dream happened a good four months ago, but I'm crying as much today as I did the day after it happened.<br />
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This pregnancy brings about another reality -- I am carrying a child who would not have existed if Brian had lived. This boy will owe his very existence to Brian's death. Of course, Brian dying changed a lot of things in many peoples' lives though the butterfly effect -- I have made new friends, friendships have been forged among people I connected, a couple I introduced is now engaged, people live in houses I found for them, etc. And I know I wouldn't even be married to Sheldon if Brian hadn't died. But this adds a whole new level of gravity to the impact of it all -- a human being is going to be born out of the aftermath of Brian's death. It's a sobering and heavy thought. <br />
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I think about how I'm going to tell the little one about Brian. How will he understand? When is it too soon to talk about death? I know it will not be a one-time, sit-down conversation and that we will handle it in age-appropriate ways, but it's already something on my mind. Most parents at least get the luxury to delay this conversation for many years, until a death in the family occurs. In this case, a death in the family happened before he came along, and one that he'll ask questions about when he finds out my middle name, when he asks how he's related to his Boka cousins and relatives, when he sees my tattoo or pictures of Brian on the wall. Will he understand that I could love Brian and Daddy the same? Will he worry about Daddy dying too? Will he see Brian watching over him and us? <br />
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I don't like feeling like I see the negative side of everything, because I'm generally a very positive person. And I do feel like I've made a lot of progress. Early in my grief, I would have to strain to see the silver linings amongst the big, dark clouds. Now, I feel like it's blue skies all the time, though I am aware of the dark clouds in the distance, clouds that are outside the vision of those who don't know what I know, who haven't been through what I've been through. <br />
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Mostly though...I see skies of blue...and I think to myself, "What a wonderful world."</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-10165523976995859382014-01-17T10:06:00.002-06:002014-01-17T10:06:53.112-06:004 Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been four years today since Brian died. Thankfully, the details of that horrible day have softened a little bit in my mind. If I choose to go back and remember it, it's pretty sharp and still cuts me to the core, but time has helped me add some distance and I no longer have flashbacks, nightmares, or persistent thoughts about the horrors that unfolded before my eyes and upon my life that awful day.<br />
<br />
In a way, it doesn't sound like a long time. Four years really isn't that long in the scheme of things - not to a normal person with a normal, happy life. When life is good, time goes quickly. It is true that "time flies when you're having fun." But when you're a grieving widow who's reeling with shock, hurting beyond belief, dreading upcoming holidays and occasions, and who is fearful and unsure about the near and far future, every day seems to drag on for an eternity. While the past couple years have gone by relatively quickly, the first year felt closer to a decade in time than one year. It's only lately that I've started to feel capable and ready to plan far in the future again. I don't know that I've planned anything for more than six months in the future since Brian died -- and that one thing I did plan that far in advance was my wedding. I'm still not the future-planner I once was. I'm too leery of unexpected change, too timid to dare to presume that I (or anyone else) will still be alive and well that far ahead.<br />
<br />
Yet so much has happened. I moved, I changed jobs, I picked up another (!) cat, I moved again, I bought a condo, I went to Europe, I had a breakdown and went back to therapy, I bounced back, I struggled to fit in, I made amazing friends, I ran a couple more half-marathons, I irreparably injured my ankle on a Mexican waterside (thus insuring I won't be doing any more full 26.2-milers), I traveled to Mexico three times, I went to Bonnaroo twice, I have made mistakes, I met a few celebrities, I took up golfing, and my online diary of grief has been viewed over 100,000 times. I literally could not have imagined any of this four years ago. At that point, all I knew was I was lost, I was shocked, I was devastated, and I knew life would never be the same again.<br />
<br />
Yet, on that day, I also knew that life would go on. I remember distinctly thinking, "I'm still breathing. I'm going to keep breathing. I'm going to wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I don't know what to do with this, but I know my life is going on." And from there, I just had to take it hour by hour, then day by day, and week by week, and finally - month by month. I'm finally able to think ahead and to dare to dream about what will happen years from now, what life will look like when I'm middle-aged, when I'm old. It's something a lot of people take for granted, this ability to dream and plan for a future. It's the thing that has taken the longest to build back up in my life. Some combination of fear and the cold reality of possibilities has kept me from daring to think long-term and to build toward an uncertain future.<br />
<br />
Brian was quite a planner. Not only did we always have a packed social calendar, but he was diligent about his professional and personal goals. He had a target income he wanted to hit by 40, and a position within his company. We started seeing a financial planner before I had even finished my schooling with the idea to set our long-term goals and take the steps needed to achieve them. I was like that to a lesser extent, but loved the structure of this way of thinking and happily participated in these discussions and plans, and we started socking away money into our IRAs and 401(k)s. Once he died, I was like a sailboat in a windless sea, drifting about deflated and without direction. I literally wrote about how I moved to Austin because "that's where the wind took me."<br />
<br />
Today, in Brian's honor, I resolve to get back to my forward-thinking, future-planning ways. I know that life is uncertain. I also know that the things I want in life aren't going to happen if I don't plan for them. If I don't dare to dream it, I won't achieve it. It's time to start dreaming, goal-setting, and forward-thinking again. I've let the wind take me where I needed to be, and I'm ready to use this place in life as my new launching pad. It's time to draw up a road map to the future I want. It's time to dream big again. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-16222914161710115382014-01-07T15:00:00.002-06:002014-01-07T15:00:56.573-06:00Déjà Vu All Over Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a while since I've walked the early days of fresh, sudden grief. Well, it <i>had</i> been a while. Over the holidays, I treaded that footpath again and remembered what a hard and fierce walk it is with Sheldon's family dealing with the sudden loss of his beloved Uncle Matt. I have to admit, it was very hard to be in that place again, and this trip was very hard on me.<br />
<br />
I heard the story about how Sheldon's uncle died in the middle of the night, about what his fiancé went through calling first responders and doing chest compressions, how helpless she felt, how this experience was so utterly traumatizing. I heard family members talk about getting the phone call, about being told the news by the doctors, about what it was like to see someone you just talked to -- someone who was just walking around, breathing, living, and doing so on a grand scale -- now lifeless on a table in a small room where family and friends take turns paying their respects, saying private good-byes, and being forced to reckon with a cold reality that is undeniable once you have touched a cooling body and realize there's no breath coming back. I wasn't there when his uncle passed, but I can see it as clearly in my mind as if I was. It was eerie how similar the stories from everyone in Ohio were to my own experience four years ago in Iowa. <br />
<br />
I knew the family had to tell their stories, difficult they may have been for them to articulate and for me to hear. I remember reading in some grief book or literature how important it is for survivors to tell the story of the death, to say the word "dead" even, to help reality sink in. It was after reading this that I had started to tell my own story and even wrote about it on this blog, to help me accept reality. I knew that this was about acceptance and processing, so I listened. I offered comfort. I felt the familiar heave of heavy sobs of shock, confusion, helplessness and pain when Matt's fiancé cried into my arms. We talked about where the spirit goes, about signs that our departed leave for us to let us know they are okay.<br />
<br />
We put together a photo collage for the funeral on the long, oval-shaped, oak dining table. As we told the stories behind the pictures amidst a blend of tears and laughter, I was pulled back in time to the preparations for Brian's funeral. I remember someone at that time making a remark about how this task serves to not only honor the life of the deceased, but it gives the survivors something concrete to do, a chore to keep hands busy and to keep the hours passing in those first few, most difficult days.<br />
<br />
When we went through Matt's clothes, there were many tears shed. Still, we managed some chuckles when the words were said, "Matt had terrible taste." (He always looked nice, but he did have quite a few mock turtlenecks and Cosby sweaters that made the comment completely fair.) A box of tee-shirts was put aside for the making of a memory quilt, just like I did with Brian's Bears attire. Sheldon's mom is keeping a suitcase full of ugly sweaters so we can wear them around the holidays to keep Matt's presence with us in future years. I thought about how, desperate to be practical and knowing I was downsizing in my move, I got rid of a few shirts of Brian's that I wish I had back. On the other hand, I also know I'm okay without them and that no one will ever get the disposition of things just right. Life does go on, with or without the things.<br />
<br />
Still, it has taken time, a lot of effort, and a life full of love and support for me to come full circle, to get to where I feel mostly happy thinking about Brian. It took time for me to really understand how his presence and spirit live on, and how they don't (and I'm still sorting some of that out). There is no magic pill. Grief is not short-lived, nor is it simple. Most of all, it is not easy. I had to dig deep to think about what advice or insight was most relevant now, at this time when the loss is so fresh and when we haven't all really absorbed his death as fact quite yet.<br />
<br />
I kept coming back to one thing: One day at a time. Sometimes, one hour or one minute at a time.<br />
<br />
This mantra got me through the worst times. The other thing I would say to someone who is freshly grieving is to embrace the grief. That's not to say you should seek to <i>enjoy</i> it -- because no one will. It will completely suck. But, like a root canal, it is necessary and you just need to suck it up and deal with it, or the problem and pain will remain festering under the surface. When you feel the pain, lean in. When you want to cry, cry. When you want to tell a story about the loved one, go ahead and do it. Ignoring his life and memory won't help anyone. <br />
<br />
I think that living with grief is ultimately about how you are able to cope with what has happened. While a death happened, a life happened too. Remember that, celebrate it. Mourn the loss, both of what you had and what you will not have. You have to acknowledge those feelings, and feel them. But also celebrate the good times. Be honest about the persons flaws and laugh about them if you can -- such as the ugly sweaters or Hawaiian shirts (Brian was guilty of the latter).<br />
<br />
Eventually, the pain will be less. Eventually, the smiles will be more. It just takes time. And work. And love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-2196553804538946922013-12-16T11:07:00.001-06:002013-12-16T11:07:54.673-06:00Birthday Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today would have been Brian's 35th birthday. He would not have liked it. First off, he would have been less than excited about hitting that midway point between 30 and 40. Second of all, it's a Monday. He much preferred a Friday or Saturday birthday, or even a Thursday, so people could celebrate in style the whole night long. We probably would have had a blowout party over the weekend, followed by a day of recovery (and pizza) watching football yesterday. Still, he would have wanted more today. He'd probably have taken the day off work, stayed home and played video games or fooled around watching internet videos or music DVDs. Maybe we would have gone to Kenny's Pub in Waukee for steak night, if in fact Monday is still steak night there. All in all, even a birthday he didn't like very much still would have been pretty darn good.<br />
<br />
It's silly to think that someone would see 35 as being old, but he felt that way starting around age 28 or 29. He just wasn't excited about getting older. Maybe it was because he was a kid at heart; maybe it was because he was scared to get to the "kids or no kids" phase of our life; maybe he was afraid everything would change with our friends as we grew older and made such choices; maybe he just realized life is short and hated seeing it go by so quickly; or maybe it was because, deep down, his soul knew his time on this world was particularly limited. Looking back at his attitude on aging, I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I think of the youthful ignorance behind not wanting to get older -- surely it beats <i>not</i> getting any older. Being 35 sure sounds better than never having the chance to reach that age. We should just relish every day and every year of our lives, and appreciate the bounty of friends, family, fellowship, food, drink, music, fun, faith, and so on. Every day that we get to do that is a day to enjoy, not to dread. The older you are, the more opportunity you've had to enjoy what this world offers. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, I have to admit that Brian was right. (God, he would love that I'm admitting this.) At least in his own case, he actually was nearing the end of his life at 28, 29 years old. We just didn't know it at the time. It's strange. If only we could have slowed down the clock, made him 29 or 30 for just a while longer…<br />
<br />
Perhaps a healthy dose of appreciation for enjoying every day needs to be tempered with the awareness that we are all getting older and that every day that goes by represents one less day of your life that remains -- one less day to achieve what you want to accomplish, to take a trip to the place you've always wanted to visit, to tell someone dear how much you love them, to take a chance you've always wanted to take. Whether or not you are objectively "young" or "old," life is short and our days on this earth are limited. That is true for all of us, whether we die young or last 100 years. It's still a finite number of days, and no one has any guarantees.<br />
<br />
Make the most out of today. That's what Brian would have wanted.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-13666993008334379192013-12-14T11:40:00.000-06:002013-12-14T11:40:07.224-06:00Heavy Hearted Holidays<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This year marks the first time I won't be in Iowa for the holidays at all. I haven't always been there on Christmas Day since moving to Texas, but I have always spent some time there during the holiday season, had some kind of celebration. Not this year, though, and that's kind of hard. I made this choice with Sheldon a couple months ago, and with good reason - we went to Iowa in October for another wedding celebration and I returned again in November to attend a charity auction for Brian's animal shelter. Plus, it is always stressful to try to go to two different states up north. I have gotten quite sick over the holidays the past two years, probably in part due to the stress and travel. Not to mention the fact that the cats hate being left alone so long, even though our sweet neighbor Carol checks on them daily (actually, more than once a day).<br />
<br />
Still, I was thinking it would be strange this year. I was missing the idea of seeing everyone, the excitement of the season. I knew we were making the right choice, but it still tugged at my heart a bit. Add that to the warm Texas weather, and I just haven't quite been very quick to get into the holiday spirit. I only started to come around a week or so ago, after we got all our decorations up and went to an ugly sweater party with some friends. I started to finally get excited about Christmas.<br />
<br />
Now, some bad news has come along that is going to make Christmas really, really hard this year. Sheldon's uncle Matt passed away of a heart attack this week. He was only 50 years old. Far too young. We are still in shock, and very much grieving the loss of this man, who was very close to Sheldon. Matt got Sheldon into the business he is in now, and we would see him on company trips. We just spent time with him in Colorado a couple months ago. He was always around when we were in Cincinnati. He helped Sheldon plan and orchestrate our engagement, and did a reading at our wedding. I can't imagine a trip to Cincinnati where I don't see his face, hear his voice, feel his arm around me in a hearty embrace, and smell his cologne. It just won't be right.<br />
<br />
This year, like last, we were to have Christmas dinner at Matt's house. He was going to make prime rib. It was amazing last year, one of the highlights of the trip. He was a great cook and host. <br />
<br />
Matt also had season tickets to the Cincinnati Bengals. Every time we went there, we'd try to go to a game as well. This year, we'd planned a big group outing to the last game of the season with over a dozen people going. Matt would have been the heart and soul of this, the one who had the best tailgating spot, who told the best stories, who brought the best food. He may have been but one of 15 or so people, but his presence (and now absence) was much bigger. It will not be remotely the same without him.<br />
<br />
Matt reminded me of Brian in a lot of ways. He was big-hearted, big in stature to match, he was outgoing, liked to have fun, liked to drink, not at all shy or reserved, spoke his mind, loved people, loved food, loved football, could be silly at times, and kind of acted kind of like a big kid. They both liked dirty jokes and Jaegermeister and were the life of the party. They both had unique voices that I will remember clear as day for the rest of my life. They both died suddenly on winter mornings, and their deaths were followed by major snowstorms. These men were powerful forces in life, and their sudden takings from this earth seemed to literally suck the air out of the atmosphere and wreak the same havoc on the weather that their deaths were wreaking on our hearts. <br />
<br />
It will be with heavy hearts that we head north this week. Instead of having Christmas dinner at Matt's house and going to a football game with him, we'll be going to his funeral and comforting his fiancé the best we can, which will be helpful, but I know will never be enough to fill the hole in her heart and life. Thinking about what she is going through now and what lies ahead for her absolutely breaks my heart. I know this pain all too well, and wish to God she didn't have to go through it too. <br />
<br />
Please keep Matt's family and friends in your prayers this holiday season. And please, cherish the time you spend with your relatives and friends. You never know which Christmas will be someone's last. Live your life with love, have fun, host parties, go to football games or museums or whatever trips your trigger, engage in good conversation, tell funny stories and jokes, and hug one another tightly. And have a Jaegerbomb for Uncle Matt while you cheer on the Bengals.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-10317270805827796922013-11-14T12:44:00.003-06:002013-11-14T12:44:48.850-06:00Your (Grief) is Like a Roller Coaster, Baby Baby<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My grief is largely under control now, something I carry with me, concealed and small. I don't cry that much anymore and rather than being actively grieving all the time, I function as a more of a "normal person" whose past just happens to shape the way she thinks, feels, and acts. Most of the time.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, though, I get caught off guard. Sometimes grief still sneaks up on me and overwhelms me. My dark days may be less severe and far less frequent than they were two or three years ago, but they are not gone completely. Despite my overall improvement and well-being, I am not immune from crying spells and bad days. My grief is kind of like a wild animal that I've spent years training and domesticating. While it usually rides around with me inside my pocket, sometimes it returns to its feral ways and, when I'm not looking or I forget how strong and savage it can be, it gets out of its neat little spot and attacks me when I least expect it. It claws me up and sinks its teeth into my skin, but instead of drawing blood it brings a stream of tears.<br />
<br />
Obviously, I had a bad day recently. There was definitely a trigger, one I don't care to discuss, but I had a full day where I simply couldn't stop the tears. I knew there wasn't much I could do except let them come. I had to let the emotion out, to validate my feelings. Each tear was the anguish, the pain, the hurt coming out. It would do no good to try to fight to keep all that inside. Why would I? There was nothing to prove by not crying.<br />
<br />
Sheldon was understanding, as always. He couldn't rationally understand the pain, but he didn't have to. Emotions don't always listen to reason anyway. He just let me have space, and gave me lots of hugs. He let me talk if I wanted, but didn't push. I told him I just needed a day to process some things and to work through my feelings. I told him I needed one day to cry. And I did. I alternated between sobbing on the couch and silent tears that just flowed without permission while I went about my daily routine. These tears were coming whether I "allowed" them to or not, and each one carried out a little of my pain. (That last statement is a scientific fact; tears that are produced from emotional crying actually contain more toxins than those produced from a physical stimulus such as chopping onions or having something in your eye: <a href="http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/healthy-living/wellbeing/the-health-benefits-of-crying.htm">http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/healthy-living/wellbeing/the-health-benefits-of-crying.htm</a>)<br />
<br />
What's nice is that now I know that I can handle the ups and downs of grief. I've lived with it so long that I know I can manage a bad day here and there. I know that crying and feeling bad are okay and are normal. I know this isn't permanent. I know that sometimes, the wild animal that is grief has to be a wild animal, but that it will tucker itself out and I can put a leash on it again eventually and put it back where it belongs.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-66316643493022905322013-11-13T09:11:00.000-06:002013-11-13T09:11:24.293-06:00Laces Out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Perhaps you saw the commercials that were running recently featuring Sam Gordon, the girl who is a football phenom, promoting the "Together We Make Football" contest. The contest allowed people to submit an essay and five photos or a video telling their football story about why they love the sport. The grand prize was a trip to next year's Superbowl. Naturally, I was excited and set out writing my essay right away!<br />
<br />
I spent hours writing, proofreading, and editing my essay. I also spent considerable time rifling through years' worth of digital pictures (even busting out an old hard drive) to find the five best pictures that would illustrate my story. Unfortunately, the amount of time I spent on these tasks would be just the beginning, and I ended up spending just as much, if not <i>more</i>, time just trying to submit my entry due to repeated technical glitches and ended up feeling about as crazy as Ray Finkle in <i>Ace Ventura</i>…hence the name of this blog post.<br />
<br />
Here's exactly what happened. The contest ended at midnight on Tuesday, November 5. By the 4th, my essay and pictures were ready to go! I started trying to submit them that morning. The website had you first fill out your personal information. Then, there was a box for uploading pictures and a box for submitting your essay. Once those things were done, a blue button below read "Submit Your Photos" The first several times, the blue box to submit the photos wouldn't light up - it remained pale. Eventually, I figured out that I needed to first copy and paste the essay, then upload the photos one by one. If I did that, the "Submit Your Photos" button would light up and could be clicked. Still, I kept getting error messages. The message said something to the effect of "Sorry, there was an error uploading one of your photos. Please try again later." This happened every. Damn. Time.<br />
<br />
I read and re-read the contest rules. My photos were well below the maximum size allowed. The rules said the photos could not have been edited at all, and I had cropped them, so I thought maybe that was the problem. I went back through my old files to dig up the un-cropped versions for submission. No luck.<br />
<br />
I thought maybe it was my computer. I was at a friend's house, so I emailed my essay and photos to her and tried it from her computer. Same result. I asked Sheldon to try from his computer. Same problem. Another friend offered to try from her computer. She also had the same problem.<br />
<br />
I tried using less than all 4 photos, tried using different photos. I figured maybe there was a glitch with one of them, so I tried systematically removing each photo, one by one, and only submitting four of them. I STILL got the same error message.<br />
<br />
I thought maybe web traffic was just too high on the site, so I tried in the middle of the night. Repeatedly. I got the error message. Repeatedly. <br />
<br />
I thought maybe Internet Explorer was the issue….until I got the same error message using Firefox and Google Chrome.<br />
<br />
I bet that in all, at least 75 attempts were made over the course of 36 hours by four different people using four different computers and at least three different operating systems. We were ALL unable to submit my essay. I was getting incredibly frustrated, but I always like to try to plan for the worst-case scenario. I decided that since the error was photo-related, that I would just submit my essay without the photos and add a couple sentences explaining my technical issues and asking to submit photos another way, by email or something. This meant I had to pare down my essay a bit more though, to squeeze that explanation in and still stay under the word limit for the essay. I did that, and….STILL got the same error message!<br />
<br />
At this point, I had literally spent hours just trying to submit my entry and was very frustrated. I had no idea what to do, so I posted my essay and photos on Facebook, asking my friends to share the status to the NFL's Facebook page. The problem? You can't "share" something on a business page, only that of a friend. You have to post it directly, not using the "share" function. So I did that. I posted my story on the NFL page directly, and in the comments section of a post they had made promoting the contest. On the same thread, I reported my technical issues and found I was not the only one having this problem.<br />
<br />
Desperate, I even tweeted the NFL asking about the problem. I got some tweets in response suggesting various things to try (including, ironically, cropping the photos and saving them a special way with Photoshop). None of them worked. Eventually, I got a direct message from someone with the NFL saying he would try to submit my entry for me before the deadline. I thanked him profusely. The next day he told me he wasn't actually able to submit it after all, but would still see what he could do and told me to "stay tuned." I haven't heard anything since, so I decided I'd write this post. I plan to post a link to this post on the NFL's Facebook page, tweet it to the NFL, and send a direct message with the link to my contact at the NFL. I want someone in charge to see what this contest experience was like for me (and probably many other fans, though I doubt any were as manically rabid about continuing to try to post their entries scores of times using a network of friends and family). Most importantly, though, I wanted my story to be told. I wrote this essay hoping it would be read. I truly believe my football story is powerful and moving, and football means the world to me. I just want to tell my story one way or another. If this is my only platform, so be it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>THIS IS WHY I LOVE FOOTBALL</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the seventh grade, I made the football cheerleading
squad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing too much about the
game, I started watching college football on weekends and tried to learn the
basics of football from the other girls on the squad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In high school, I continued cheering and started
dating a football player. Brian and I would spend Sundays watching games with
his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He taught me not just about
downs and player positions, but also about Papa Bear Halas, Walter Payton, and
the Superbowl Shuffle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boy bled blue
and orange, and quickly converted me into a Bears fan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN81W5QJaCC8sa9-LQeUOYrqNfwTc6sDEZFmQBB5ZPj8SBIC5tGudYCFFJIDBbAO0CP8ESddP8LgG_5mCk6D_cYcQACtk4y0fIW6ZiqhysOjzypi_I8Z5GFbyZg2rnN2bCGWANh8_hzMg/s1600/1-Last+Bears+Game+Together.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN81W5QJaCC8sa9-LQeUOYrqNfwTc6sDEZFmQBB5ZPj8SBIC5tGudYCFFJIDBbAO0CP8ESddP8LgG_5mCk6D_cYcQACtk4y0fIW6ZiqhysOjzypi_I8Z5GFbyZg2rnN2bCGWANh8_hzMg/s320/1-Last+Bears+Game+Together.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My last Bears game with Brian</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once we got to college, Brian and I had our own weekend
ritual during football season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would stay
in his dorm room on Saturday nights, we’d have a frozen pizza for dinner, and
on Sundays we would sleep in as late as we possibly could while allowing time
to hit the cafeteria and be back in time for the noon kickoff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few years later, Brian and I got married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By that point, I was as big a Bears fan as he
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My "something blue" on
our wedding day was a Chicago Bears garter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In our first home, we converted our basement into a Chicago
Bears bar - the Boka Bear Den (Boka being our last name). We filled the walls with banners and memorabilia, down to the Bears keg tapper. We loved having parties for Bears games and
also cherished our annual trip with “Da Tailgating Crew” from Des Moines to Soldier
Field for a game. My favorite memory at
Soldier Field was witnessing Devin Hester return two touchdowns one frigid
Chicago night to help the Bears defeat the Broncos in overtime. Whether at home or at the stadium, we loved
watching football together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2zSi2AGFbddZl2BbcuXN__H9gDEtHfGluk5Yk_poBMvrhscQEFlS2uaumo337ZrkEr1limhiNqLawUM1gntXASsShwAoNUXEoZ2EbHbqeQypZisbuPVwQil95IXIqh5NB4sCyRhgveI/s1600/2-Tattoo+Tribute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2zSi2AGFbddZl2BbcuXN__H9gDEtHfGluk5Yk_poBMvrhscQEFlS2uaumo337ZrkEr1limhiNqLawUM1gntXASsShwAoNUXEoZ2EbHbqeQypZisbuPVwQil95IXIqh5NB4sCyRhgveI/s320/2-Tattoo+Tribute.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tattoo tribute</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tragically, after five years of marriage, Brian passed away
suddenly of a pulmonary embolism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
friends and family filled my house that cold Sunday in January, we turned on
the television to the playoff games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
his brother said, it wouldn't be right to be at our house and not be watching
football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't really remember much of
that postseason, but I do remember the way our friends, family, and the members
of his fantasy football league came together to support me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a Superbowl party at our house less
than a month after his passing because we always had one and that's what he
would have wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That fall, I hosted the
annual draft for the fantasy league that he founded eight years prior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was honored to be given Brian’s place in
the league, as a player and as the commissioner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That year, we had the trophy named in his
honor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In time, I decided to start anew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I moved 1,000 miles away to Austin, Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn't going to abandon my team, though, or
my husband's memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a tattoo in
remembrance of Brian -- a Chicago Bears "C" set against a shamrock
background -- a tribute to the big, Irish guy who made me love football and
whose mark on my life would never fade away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remained active in his fantasy league, too, and won the trophy that
had eluded him for over a decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went
on our annual trip to Soldier Field with our friends, and we celebrated a
bittersweet victory without him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3tGEd8AepxaHvImn0_L4iNu3XLs-ZwBDg0rfZx5yLnOoX8Q4vpDTa0gZpFAHui4UympBMW0SPCY3GczOP5JMx3ooNNtnjahnQ6mv9IIY5QxFs_E7t6rwnEVci4FQMNDZNppS0hPIqso/s1600/3-First+Bengals+Game+Together.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3tGEd8AepxaHvImn0_L4iNu3XLs-ZwBDg0rfZx5yLnOoX8Q4vpDTa0gZpFAHui4UympBMW0SPCY3GczOP5JMx3ooNNtnjahnQ6mv9IIY5QxFs_E7t6rwnEVci4FQMNDZNppS0hPIqso/s320/3-First+Bengals+Game+Together.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Bengals game with Sheldon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, I met another Midwest-to-Texas transplant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheldon was from Cincinnati, but lived in San
Antonio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We began dating, and one of the
first times I visited him was for the 2011 Superbowl…in part because he had a
better TV than any of my friends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
Sunday, watching football together on the couch, he told me how much he loved
that I was a fan of the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He enjoyed
watching me me and liked that I didn't feel ignored on Sundays (because I, too,
was on my laptop, following fantasy scores and the Bears game blog).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my part, I was just glad he wasn’t a
Packers fan!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This summer, Sheldon and I got married. Now I’m in two
fantasy leagues – one started by my late husband, and one founded and run by my
current husband – and I dream of winning both trophies in the same year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1UE4fPN9HgacO1y5bMt_CnfWd21xA4qp6akcuf4rgOUNqALTYkXZvPhCeo0e_9gE-CgCYIoywVqMB1_wxdOqzzlP6H6_sP0s3WdG-QLKAfS09vSkrPR_nNBavif335hOb6FfwCs8cQM/s1600/4-Bengals+in+TX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1UE4fPN9HgacO1y5bMt_CnfWd21xA4qp6akcuf4rgOUNqALTYkXZvPhCeo0e_9gE-CgCYIoywVqMB1_wxdOqzzlP6H6_sP0s3WdG-QLKAfS09vSkrPR_nNBavif335hOb6FfwCs8cQM/s320/4-Bengals+in+TX.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First playoff game - in Houston! (Tank top in January?! Okay!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I’m no longer able to make an annual trek to Soldier
Field, Sheldon and I see our teams whenever they play in Texas -- we gleefully
watched the Bears destroy the Cowboys in Dallas last season, and been crushed
by Bengals playoff losses in Houston the past two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also catch Bengals games when we visit his
friends and family in Cincinnati. These game day experiences together have
given birth to a dream of ours to see a game in every NFL stadium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This fall, we were able to cross Mile High
off our list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkYKvUwMw7ENuRt2alMQmz4yTUeZYjYqN9_S6tOKGaq67MpeSbCVo9m2mPhg-OD3O6c3_8BdG3p9ZdftqseOazmrkyz6zN4vEZdD3Bnpz4jJteuy4m3R0XrNhykT1BeS8YTNhMeyW6ZE/s1600/5-Mile+High+with+Sheldon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkYKvUwMw7ENuRt2alMQmz4yTUeZYjYqN9_S6tOKGaq67MpeSbCVo9m2mPhg-OD3O6c3_8BdG3p9ZdftqseOazmrkyz6zN4vEZdD3Bnpz4jJteuy4m3R0XrNhykT1BeS8YTNhMeyW6ZE/s320/5-Mile+High+with+Sheldon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to see my fantasy QB in Denver!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rooting for a different team than my husband is something
new, but it has its perks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
Bears and Bengals played earlier this year, the result was not just a Bears
victory, but also that I got out of laundry for two weeks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the most part, though, we enjoy getting
to have two teams to root for, giving us twice the chances to celebrate a win. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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The past four years of my life have been filled with ups and
downs, awful times and joyous moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
of the things that got me through it all was football. Football provided a
distraction when one was needed, an opportunity for my friends to surround me
with love, fond memories of my time with Brian, and fertile ground for new love
to take root. Football made me the person I am today and the person Sheldon fell
in love with. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t be who I am or
where I am without football, and I love football for that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-15313633747095395142013-11-11T14:26:00.001-06:002013-11-11T14:26:34.270-06:00And Miles to go Before I Sleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My car hit 100,000 miles recently. And by "my car," I mean the Mitsubishi SUV that used to belong to Brian. The car we took to Austin on our last trip there together, about 10 months before he died. The first, and only, brand new car he ever bought. It wasn't even paid off when he died, and had about half as many miles then as it does now. I've put my fair share on with many trips between Iowa and Texas, plus miles accrued showing houses and driving between Austin and San Antone.<br />
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The car's been good to me. I've had a few fender-benders in it, but she's in good shape overall. It's a little messier inside than Brian would have kept it, but that's okay; he wouldn't have really liked me driving it at all anyway. I did clean it out pretty thoroughly, complete with vacuuming, and then got it washed just before I hit the 100K mark. That was in part because of my awareness of how he would have kept the vehicle himself, and in part because it had gotten way too messy for my own standards.<br />
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Sheldon got a new truck recently. Before that, he'd been talking about getting me a better car. He keeps saying that when we have kids, he wants to have them in the best, safest vehicle possible. He wants to spoil me and have me live and drive as comfortably as possible. I keep telling him I don't need or necessarily even want a new vehicle. So now he got himself one, and maybe we'll revisit the idea of me getting a new car down the road (haha) a ways, when his truck is paid off (I hate the idea of having more than one car payment). I still don't know if I will ever be ready to get rid of the Mitsubishi though -- I have a definite emotional connection, besides just loving its utility. It can fit a lot of stuff, drives well, has been solid mechanically. I like how high up I sit while driving it. I also love the Bears helmet bobble head guy hanging from the rear view mirror, left behind by Brian and now festooned with pins from my yoga studio and skeeball league in Austin.<br />
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I know someday it won't make sense for me to keep this car….but I'm just glad that day is not today. <br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-41180213825854497322013-10-28T14:27:00.001-05:002013-10-28T14:27:52.228-05:00The Big D's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
No, this isn't a post about my breasts, although 2 out of 2 husbands would agree...my chest is blog-worthy. If you're looking for boobie jokes, though, I recommend my friend Kristen's blog: <a href="http://seekatzblog.blogspot.com/">http://seekatzblog.blogspot.com</a>. (You might notice her top blog post is, in fact, about having sizeable chest melons.)<br />
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Of course, my blog is less about dirty, witty humor and more about grief, struggle, and deep emotional issues. You know, the kind of thing that really makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. So the big D's referred to in this post's title are....drumroll, please....Death and Divorce. Fun, right? I'm sure you can't wait to dive right in!<br />
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When I was a new widow, I was desperate to find tools to help me cope with my loss and profound grief. I devoured books about grief, I struggled through some intensely painful sessions with a grief counselor (which helped as much as or more than they hurt), I joined an online community for widows and widowers for virtual support, and I went to a handful of grief support group meetings. At these meetings, I struggled to find people like me. Of course, in some ways, the experience of losing a spouse is universal - the loneliness, the loss of a life plan, the questions over things like whether to wear a wedding ring and what to say when people ask about your spouse. Yet, being so young, I was not the typical case. I wanted to find others who would relate to me more closely, so shortly after moving to Austin, I posted a couple times on different websites looking to form a group of young people dealing with grief. Only a couple people replied, not enough to form a group, so that idea fizzled out relatively quickly. One of the responses, though, was from a young woman whose long-time partner had left her, and she was grieving the end of the relationship. She wanted to join a support group to help her cope with this. I don't honestly remember if I replied to her email or not, given the general lakc of interest I found, but I knew I wasn't interested in being in a support group with her. I couldn't bring myself to compare our experiences, or to think that we were going through the same thing. I mean, she was going through a break-up, and I was a widow. She was dealing with life, and I was dealing with death. I certainly felt bad for her, but also was almost offended that she reached out to me. At that point, though, I was really looking for someone who had walked a mile in my shoes, and she hadn't. <br />
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A few months later, I became good friends with a woman named Heather, who started to read my blog as a way to cope with her sense of loss after going through a divorce. Coincidentally, she moved to Austin to heal, just like I had. She was very careful about choosing her words when she talked about how my blog had helped her, and made a point to say she knew that our experiences didn't really compare. Still, in that first conversation with her, I realized that we were going through some of the same feelings and emotional aftermath as a result of our experiences, different as those might have been.<br />
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Since then, I've had several friends and family members who've gone through divorces. At first, you'd think that death and divorce are very different experiences. And they are -- especially if the divorce is mutually agreed upon, or if you're talking about the party who wanted the divorce. But for those whose spouses made the unilateral decision that they wanted out of the marriage (or long-term relationship), our experiences are more similar than you'd think. Sadly, I've had several friends in this boat in the last few years -- their worlds, their lives, their futures upended and taken away, sometimes suddenly and sometimes painstakingly over months or years. None of us chose to have our spouses leave us. None of us wanted to divert our life paths. None of us wanted to be alone. We all had to grieve the loss of our partner and mourn the fact that the future, the life, the plans we had will not happen.<br />
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That being said, it is NOT a good idea to say to a new widow or widower, "I know how you feel. When I got divorced..." This would not have sat well with me when I was in the depth of my grief, and is not very sensitive to that person who is in so much pain. You'll just look like an asshole, because it's not the same. Tread very carefully when saying you know how someone feels because you went through an entirely different situation (this applies to everything not just taking to widows and widowers). I used to be quite offended when people who were divorced would compare our experiences. I thought, "That's so different! In a divorce, someone made the choice for that to happen. Neither of us chose for Brian to die. God made that happen to us, not either of us. We were happy." Still, in time I started to see some similarities, and this was in part because I was witness to several unwanted divorces. In each case, it helped that my friends recognized that although we went through some of the same things, our experiences were different. They were all very good at saying, "This is nothing like what you went through, but..." And then I would say something along the lines of, "I know it is different, but I also know some of the feelings that result are the same." <br />
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In sharing our experiences as friends, we can acknowledge the similarities and differences in our experiences and the feelings we have. I have come to realize that while both are very traumatic and painful, death and divorce present different challenges. <br />
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If you get divorced, you lack the finality of death. In my case, Brian's body stopped working when he died. Science dictated that he was physically gone. No one and nothing could change that. From that moment on, the grief began, and then the healing. In a divorce, things aren't so cut and dried. A lot of people end up second-guessing themselves, and sometimes a couple will give things another try, even in the midst of or after the divorce proceedings. There is no metaphysical barrier preventing you from working on the relationship, even if it seems dead. This can delay the realization that a relationship, a life as one knew it, is over. It can keep a person focused on rekindling the relationship and prevent them from mourning its demise. With a living ex-partner, there is also much more room for anger. Of course, it is normal for a grieving widow or widower to have anger -- not just at God, but also at their departed spouse for leaving them (not all emotions are rational, after all) -- but the fact is that for divorcees, this anger is more rooted in reality and can easily be fed by nasty divorce proceedings and ongoing issues between the parties, particularly if they have children together. Simply put, death is more of a clean break than divorce. The bandage gets ripped off, and then you start to heal. With divorce, the bandage is slo-o-wly removed, maybe put back on after you peek at the wound, maybe replaced, before it is eventually taken off. Only then can the recovery begin.<br />
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Finality of loss is a double-edged sword, however. One of the hardest things to accept in coping with death is knowing that you will never EVER hear that person's voice or laugh again, that they are truly gone from your life on this earth. That is a hard realization, and one that you never have to embrace if you're mourning the loss of a relationship and not the loss of your spouse's life. It is hard to wrap your mind around the idea that this person you loved and spent your life with does not exist anymore and is gone from this world. <br />
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Related to that is the fact that death will almost invariably cause you to examine your spiritual beliefs. When someone you love is gone, you wonder where they are, if they are with you, whether they are in a better place, etc. You might question everything you've ever been taught, you might be sick with anxiety over the soul of the departed, you might find faith anew in signs from beyond. Whatever your experience, death takes you down this journey whether you intended to think about such things or not. You can remain blissfully ignorant or choose to not worry about such things if you're divorced, because you don't have that feeling of responsibility for or a vested interest in the soul of someone who has left the physical world. <br />
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Another difference is in the way death and divorce are treated by the rest of the world. Divorce carries a stigma and shame, while being a widow or widower causes people to bestow a strange mixture of pity and admiration on you. I was praised so much for being so "brave" and "strong," yet I don't see how I've done anything praise-worthy. Bravery is choosing to face daunting odds -- running into a burning house to save the children inside, rescuing a dog whose fallen through the ice into freezing cold water, etc. I just lived the life I was given; I'm no hero. I simply did what I had to do. What else could I do? On the other hand, the rules about how to move on are clearer for divorced folks. It's assumed that you'll date again and go on with life. You probably won't cry on your new partner's shoulder when an ex-husband's birthday rolls around, but you very well might do that on your late spouse's birthday. By the same token, only one of those is socially acceptable, so at least a widow can continue to grieve and heal while forging a new relationship. It might be that dating divorcees feel more pressure to keep their residual pain and emotional hang-ups hidden from new partners.<br />
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I could go on and on about these losses, how they are similar and how they are different. I will say that there are many similarities in how someone who chooses neither reacts when life hands them one of these anyway. I have had conversations with other widows and with divorcees about our feelings of loss, about how to cope with being suddenly alone, about having to grieve the futures we thought we were going to have, about how to re-enter the dating world as adults who never thought we'd be there again, etc. I think my experience has given me an insight on what my friends were going through, no matter the reason they were there. Although our experiences were different, some of our feelings were the same. We are all trying to walk the path of recovery, healing, and finding happiness again. In doing so, we have strengthened our resolve, our friendships, our emotional intelligence and our ability to support each other in hard times. What hasn't killed us has made us stronger. <br />
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It's easy to get caught up in our differences, but sometimes it turns out that our similarities are stronger than they appear. Rather than worry about who has had it worse or whose pain was greater (How does one quantify that anyway? And why would you want to?), I have come to see that the path I've walked has made me a more empathic, compassionate person and I can relate to people a lot more than I could before. Having walked with pain and grief, I know what it is like and I know that, regardless of the source of one's woes, you can come out stronger and better for it. <br />
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How have you dismissed someone's pain and hurt because you think you had it worse? Is it possible your experiences are more similar than you care to admit? If you focus on how people are feeling rather than the outward cause of their pain, you'll come to find that heartache and loss are the same for everyone. Sharing feelings doesn't have to be a competitive game of who has it the worst; instead, it should be about drawing on your own experiences to help you be compassionate and understand toward others who are hurting. <br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-9804361160806302632013-10-14T18:29:00.000-05:002013-10-14T18:29:10.288-05:00Contrary to Popular Opinion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been struggling with some thoughts or experiences I've been having lately, and I think this is part of the reason I haven't been blogging as much (that, and planning a wedding takes a lot of time!). The reality is that I'm no longer struggling with how to manage my grief, but how to life my life and move forward. It's a different phase of widowhood, and in some ways, it's hard to acknowledge these experiences and feelings. <br />
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I've worried about how or whether to share everything. I think about what other people will say or think - especially Brian's friends and relatives. Still, I started writing as a way to not only process my emotions and experiences, but also to share my journey with others who are in my shoes, to let them know that what they are feeling is normal. I feel like I'd be disingenuous if I didn't share some of these things that have been rolling around my head, things I've been afraid to write about for fear of being seen as a bad person or a less-than-admirable widow. I've wrestled with these fears and with the thought that I want to be sensitive to others who grieve Brian's death, but I've decided that it's time to share more about my journey now, in the interest of full disclosure. I know there are other widows and widowers who read this blog and who, like myself, are years out from their loss and who are navigating life and love in a different way than they were when the loss was fresh. I have to keep reporting from the field for them as well as for myself, so here goes....<br />
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Sometimes I will go an entire day, or more, without thinking about Brian. He is forever embedded in my soul and in that way, he is with me every moment of every day. That being said, I don't necessarily miss him or talk to him every single day. People tend to say things like, "Not a day goes by that I don't miss him and think about him." That's not the case for me, and I'm sure there are a lot of people in my shoes who would agree. Don't get me wrong -- I think about him a lot, and talk about him freely and frequently. But it's more in the manner of telling stories about an old friend and recalling memories than it is me mourning his death or longing to see him again. There is no joy or purpose in doing that, but telling stories keeps his memory alive and makes him a part of my life on an ongoing basis. In my mind, that is a better way to treat his memory and a healthier thing for me to do. It's also what he would have wanted. When he died, I had to mourn the loss of what would not come to be, and one part of that was crying over the fact that we wouldn't grow old with his friends (Hart in particular), telling the same stories of our silly youthful antics that we had already told and re-told a hundred times. I thought we'd all be old fogies together, telling those same tales. I realize now that the stories will live on, but now it will be Hart and I telling them to Sheldon.<br />
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Another thing that I never thought would happen is that my memories of Brian are fading somewhat. There have been a few times when I think about a memory of my past and I can't remember if it happened with Brian or with Sheldon, or whether Brian was still alive when a certain thing happened or if it was after he died. For a long time, everything was starkly divided into two segments of my life: before Brian died, and after. Now, the line isn't as sharp. The other day, Sheldon asked me if Brian had liked a particular food as we cooked dinner together. I honestly wasn't sure. I no longer have every preference, every memory, every quirk of his embedded into the surface of my brain and at the top of my mind. <br />
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It's weird to admit these things or acknowledge them, but they are part of the inevitable process of time moving forward, my brain getting more crowded, and the significance of the little details fading as the rest of my life unfolds. I don't remember if he liked bell peppers because it really isn't that important. I know I'll remember and cherish the most important things, but I'm finally able to see what is and isn't important. I think when someone dies, you put them on a pedastal for a while and everything connected to them takes on more importance, more than it even did when they were alive -- that's why I struggled to throw away his pomade and toothbrush, when they were things that would have made their way to the trash can without a second thought when he was alive and they were all used up. Now that the dust has settled a bit, things have fallen back into their natural order a bit more.<br />
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Whether I think of Brian consciously or not, whether I remember the small details or not, he is always in my heart and has irreversibly guided the course of my life, from the city I chose to live in to my selection of a new life partner. I don't have to pretend to conform to certain expectations or ideals of what widowhood is to honor him, and I'm not going to anymore. Brian valued truth, and it's time for me to share some of the less romantic realities of what my life is now. This is part of my rebuilding.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-36009660419709536592013-10-09T19:36:00.001-05:002013-10-09T19:36:49.342-05:00Young, Widowed & Remarried<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's official - Sheldon and I are married! Okay, it's actually been official for over three months now, but I had to take some time to reflect on everything and decide what to share.</div>
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We had a pretty short engagement -- about six months. We wanted to get married as soon as we could because we saw no reason to wait -- we are in our thirties, we've been living together for a couple years, and we knew we were ready.</div>
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One thing that made me so sure about Sheldon - although anyone who would meet him would understand why I love him - was the fact that I had been in love and married before. I knew what work went into running a household and into tending a marriage, and I knew we could do that well together. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqiHueQFYEPFWDLR17Q0WWeXe3kkTkC07lcCCE71Fmpk4iIARqJNVtbazI6t288g2oJyICbHtcZC58yPBy7Hhkt773-unGwXUr3vBLOSGtdNUmqMt5VrQZgGL_R1vndWk907eTTowTdso/s1600/IMG_3838-2622068184-O.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqiHueQFYEPFWDLR17Q0WWeXe3kkTkC07lcCCE71Fmpk4iIARqJNVtbazI6t288g2oJyICbHtcZC58yPBy7Hhkt773-unGwXUr3vBLOSGtdNUmqMt5VrQZgGL_R1vndWk907eTTowTdso/s400/IMG_3838-2622068184-O.jpg" width="265" /></a>It felt a little weird to be planning a second wedding (though it was his first) -- I felt a little bashful or ashamed of the attention that is showered on brides-to-be. I didn't want an engagement party or bridal shower, although I did acquiesce when some friends wanted to throw us an engagement party (and I am glad I did). We did have bachelor and bachelorette parties, but nothing too crazy. Sheldon and some of his buds went to the beach for a weekend of fishing and golfing. I had a girls' weekend in at the house, making wedding decorations Friday night and wine-tasting on Saturday with my friends in Texas and our mothers. Sheldon drove the van we rented for the occasion. I had a lot of fun planning the wedding, particularly with the encouragement of my good friend Gabby, who was an enthusiastic personal attendant/co-planner, with a hot glue gun burn on her arm to show for it (oddly enough, it matches one I got the same night as we made centerpieces around my kitchen table together). Still, I have to admit that I felt a little weird inviting people to my second wedding in a decade's time -- I was afraid to infringe on the lives of my family and friends by asking them to commit to another weekend of wedding activities on my behalf. I was ambivalent about having a gift registry, but in the end realized people would bring gifts anyway and we picked out a few things we could use or that needed to be replaced. We also picked a couple charities for people to donate to in lieu of gifts, one of them being the animal shelter where Brian had volunteered.</div>
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We ended up having a fantastic wedding - and I have to say, I think part of that was also because I'd planned one before. It's funny - brides expect or feel pressured to create a "perfect day" on their first attempt at pulling off such an event! At least this time around, I knew what was important and what wasn't. I had consciously vowed to be more calm and to not worry so much about the details. I knew from having gone through it before that it doesn't matter if there are personalized napkins, or if the white of the cake doesn't match the shade of the dress, etc. It's about love, celebration, and the union of two lives into one family. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3WIxfeMVpmiB2h-_0sdKva2qAJZFEpgTAbpmiCThyWW4-CK5DK0RbP8rqYPrtO3M5nvds6b6gJI1AGbXVsgx5l_cXItyqljBsQb08gMlHHn0VQ_t0gIG48NKKeKY_FJkoIcZxitW_Ho/s1600/IMG_3935-2622046494-O.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3WIxfeMVpmiB2h-_0sdKva2qAJZFEpgTAbpmiCThyWW4-CK5DK0RbP8rqYPrtO3M5nvds6b6gJI1AGbXVsgx5l_cXItyqljBsQb08gMlHHn0VQ_t0gIG48NKKeKY_FJkoIcZxitW_Ho/s400/IMG_3935-2622046494-O.jpg" width="266" /></a>That doesn't mean I didn't pay attention to the details though...we put in a new mantle and repainted the fireplace in anticipation for the reception, and Sheldon was very detail-oriented in getting the yard to look perfect. We hung white string and globe lights in the backyard, I acquired tablecloths and runners on Craigslist, I oversaw the making of centerpieces (painted bottle vases), yard lanterns and hanging lanterns, and the list goes on. Instead of a guest book, my mom made a fingerprint tree -- she drew a tree and guests put green "leaves" on with an inkpad and their fingers or thumbs and signed next to those. We did the flowers and food ourselves, with me making up the gin lemonade the morning of the event. We had a port-a-potty brought in for outside, and the two bathrooms inside had flowers and baskets of toiletries and the like. We cleared out two rooms of our house to turn them into the buffet room and the coffee lounge. There was a dance floor and a photo booth. We had a bartender who served beer, wine, gin lemonade, old fashioneds, manhattans, and a fine selection of whiskeys and mixers, with cigars to go along. Oh, boy, were there details....</div>
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I struggled, too, with how to behave as a widow planning a wedding. Should I pay some tribute to Brian, such as a mention of him in the ceremony or flowers at the altar in his memory? I was afraid of insulting his memory if I ignored him, but afraid of drawing attention away from Sheldon and my union if I did. I worried about what people would think either way -- if I did honor him, or if I didn't. In the end, I decided that rather than a formal tribute or token mention of him in a few written or spoken words, I'd let his influence shape the day organically. Some of the musical selections were songs or artists he had liked, or that he had introduced to me. There was a photo from our wedding in the DVD slideshow of our lives that Sheldon and I played at the reception. Several members of his family were there, and many more friends who came into my life through him. My one big way of honoring him was more private - I found an antique locket for my "something old" and inserted photos of Brian and me on our wedding day in 2004; the locket was tied to my bouquet. In the end, I didn't feel the need to draw attention to him, but I also didn't feel the need to exclude him. I do feel that he was there with us.</div>
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Aside from the fine line I walked trying to plan a wedding celebration appropriately as a widow, there were the inside thoughts and feelings about what a marriage is, what it really meant to be traveling this road. Again, but with a new partner. I thought about what the vows mean, what a marriage is. I know Sheldon will be there in good times and in bad, because he has been a rock through some of the worst times of my life. I thought about how much more I understood the gravity of the promises we were making now as opposed to the first time, when I was so much younger and didn't really know what we were getting into. I thought about the fact that I can't just call Brian "my husband" anymore, because that title belongs to Sheldon now. I cried about that and struggled to figure out new terminology. (I alternate between "my late husband," "my first husband," and "Brian" depending on the context.) I wondered how Brian felt about all this, and sought some guidance to explore and handle these thoughts. I wondered how Brian's young nieces were interpreting all these events, and how I might be perceived by others. </div>
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Worse, I thought about the fact that the unthinkable could happen again, and I had a nightmare about it just the other night. But I realized that not getting married wouldn't change that risk -- just by loving him and sharing my life with him, I risk the pain of losing him, but I have chosen to be with him anyway because I couldn't go through life afraid to life to avoid pain. I chose to go out on a limb and love again. I thought of the Garth Brooks song "The Dance," which was played on the DVD tribute to Brian at his funeral. The chorus is:</div>
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<i>Now I'm glad I didn't know</i></div>
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<i>The way it all would go.</i></div>
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<i>Our lives are better left to chance.</i></div>
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<i>I could have missed the pain,</i></div>
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<i>But I'd have had to miss the dance.</i></div>
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I knew that I had to keep dancing. So we rented a dance floor.</div>
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-27604347371462344532013-05-14T14:44:00.001-05:002013-05-14T14:44:22.191-05:00Lawfully Wedded Widow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been interesting to be in my shoes and planning a wedding. Lots of things come up that wouldn't be an issue to a "normal" bride. Some random thoughts on that below.<br />
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Am I going to change my name? Yes. I'll be taking Sheldon's last name, and will be making Brian's last name my new middle name. I plan to keep using "Boka" professionally, though, as all my professional references, degrees, certifications, publications, appearances, etc. are under that name. I don't want to have anyone who is called as a reference to say, "Who?!" because they don't know me with my new name.<br />
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In terms of weddings, they bring out opinions from everyone. About everything. Who should or shouldn't be on the guest list. Who should walk me down the aisle. How many chairs should be on each side of the aisle. What everyone should wear. Whether we should have a cake or not. <br />
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In all these opinions, what I really need to focus on is making the best decisions for Sheldon and me. Still, these decisions are not easy. On top of the normal 1,001 decisions to make, there is this: What is the best way to honor Brian's memory and role in my life, while not taking away from what the day is, which is a celebration of the love between me and Sheldon? <br />
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And of course, wedding guests love to critique. It's at the corners of my mind, what people will say about ways I do (or don't) pay tribute to Brian. I don't think I'm going to share the details of how I plan to do so before the wedding, or in any written form in the program or anything. Those who are close enough to me will know from having talked to me how I will be honoring him that day. Those who were close to Brian may recognize his footprint on the day in some of the details; and those who weren't close to him don't need to be specifically told which details can be traced back to him because they will all fit together beautifully whether you know the back story or not. <br />
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So what's my wedding going to be like? It's less formal than many. A ceremony in the park and a reception at our house, in the backyard. There will be a dance floor and bar, and buffet-style bar-be-que. I'm buying my flowers from a grocery store and making bouquets and boutonnieres with help from family and friends. We are making most of our own food, with help from a neighbor. We'll have a friend of a friend as the bartender, another friend as DJ, and a friend is officiating the ceremony. We are writing our own vows, which will certainly be shaped by what I've gone through before (because that has shaped my ability to love, and it set the stage for our love). We are making our own decorations, a process that has been in the works for a few months and is really coming together well now. My dress is white, and I bought it from a traditional bridal store, but it is not full length and fou-fou-y. The guys are wearing khakis and white shirts. No monogrammed napkins, no ice sculpture, no lighted waterfall on the cake (until recently, we were thinking no cake at all).<br />
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Most of all? Love. Lots of love.<br />
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I can't wait for the wedding day to arrive!<br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-35611351622721453482013-05-07T19:46:00.000-05:002013-05-07T19:46:08.362-05:00Torn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lately I've felt pulled in a million directions. Am I doing all I need to be, all I can be doing, all I <em>should</em> be as a real estate agent, a lawyer, a fiancée, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a soon-to-be daughter-in-law, etc.? How about as ME? As Wendy? Am I taking care of myself? <br />
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I've been having trouble sleeping and have had anxiety lately. Not panic attacks, but heartburn, loss of appetite, tearful spells, and insomnia. It seems that my to-do list grows and grows, even as I feebly cross things off. And every time I turn around, I get another text, email or phone call -- and more often than not, it's someone needing something else. Last night I went to bed at half past midnight (had to stay up to see the exciting double-overtime Spurs playoff win!) and after laying in bed awake until 3-something, finally got up and started doing things in the middle of the night/morning. I started making a to-do list, emailing, and organizing for today. Then I went to the couch to watch TV until I dozed off about 4 or 5...only to wake up a few hours later. <br />
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One thing's for sure....I've neglected writing. I've neglected self-reflection and me time.<br />
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But enough about me -- I feel like I'm letting people down all the time. I know there are people waiting on me for things -- favors they've asked of me and that I agreed to do, cards I've been meaning to write, gifts I've been meaning to order and mail for various occasions, a guest room that remains unsuitable for the family visiting in a couple days, a stool sample I need to collect and get to the vet (nothing wrong - just routine testing), etc. How do I get all these things done, and fulfill my social obligations to all my family and friends, while working and planning a wedding? I feel like there are a lot of balls in the air, and it seems more keep getting thrown in my direction.<br />
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I'm trying to find some balance again....but please, bear with me while I tread water for a while. Soon enough, I'll find my way back to a place where I can stand comfortably with my head above the water.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-6038264584346794802013-03-25T13:51:00.000-05:002013-03-25T13:51:04.184-05:00So Much to Say, So Much to Say...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
But, most importantly, this:<br />
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Sheldon and I are engaged!<br />
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I am one happy woman.<br />
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There's been a lot of stuff happen that I haven't written about yet or that I am working on writing about -- the proposal, the holidays, a death in the family, the IRS, dental work, running. So I kind of stopped writing for a while because I wasn't keeping up with things as they were happening -- but I thought I'd just do a quick blurb to the blogworld to say this:<br />
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I am a widow, and I am happy. I love my life. <br />
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I still cry about Brian's death, I still talk to Brian at times, and I will always talk <em>about</em> Brian. Sometimes certain situations are made harder because of my grief or because of things that go along with being a widow. But I've also learned and grown so much in the past three years, and I believe I am a better person now than I was when Brian was alive, when I was sort of blissfully ignorant to the realities of life and death. I have a greater capacity for love and compassion than I once did, and a greater appreciation for happiness and life. I am in a better place now than I ever have been.<br />
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Let me be clear -- it is not as if getting engaged has "fixed" me or taken away my grief. Does it make me happy to be engaged to Sheldon? Yes, more than I can say. Does it put me in a better place than I was? Yes, because I love him and my life is better with him than it was without it. He is a wonderful person and I am lucky to have him as my partner. Does it mean my grieving is over? No. That will be a part of me forever. Does this mean I will no longer think about Brian, talk about him, talk about my loss, think of myself as a widow? Of course not. It's just that now, I will be a widow and a wife. And I am happy.<br />
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We are getting married in a few months. I'm sure I'll be blogging a lot about the upcoming wedding, my feelings and emotions that this brings up, the practical questions for a soon to be wedded widow, etc. on top of a ton of other things I've not yet covered. For now, a blog icebreaker was in store to announce our happy news.<br />
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I am in love and I am happy!! This year marks a new beginning for me, a new chapter in my life, and I look forward to writing the rest of my story.<br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-23237983369450851612013-01-17T18:06:00.001-06:002013-01-17T18:06:31.928-06:003 Years and Counting...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today's marks three years since Brian's passing. The day was so awful, so painful, so surreal. It will forever be burned into my being.<br />
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Still, more than that day, I will always remember him. Here is what I posted on Facebook today:<br />
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"It's hard to believe three years have passed since we've heard you laugh, seen you smiling and playing air guitar, or felt your arms around us. I miss your voice, your zest for life, your common sense and quick wit, your musical stylings, <span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show">the way my head fit in that space in your chest, and laughing until we cried. I thank you for loving me, for sharing your life with me, and for making me a better person. Brian Steven Boka, 12/16/78 - 1/17/10....but with us always.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[128].[1][2][1]{comment10200408523794281_70159713}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[128].[1][2][1]{comment10200408523794281_70159713}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[128].[1][2][1]{comment10200408523794281_70159713}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Those of you who knew Brian should do something fun and indulgent to remember him today. Those of you who didn't....well, he'd want you to do the same! Honor him by enjoying whiskey, wine, music, your favorite foods, playing Rock Band, spending time with friends, board games, cuddling with pets, watching silly YouTube videos, playing some vinyl, or having great sex."</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>I am having trouble posting pictures for some reason, but I also put up several pics on FB that were some of my favorites, that captured his spirit and joy.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>More on this day, and lots of other stuff, to come soon....</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>In the meantime, enjoy life! Brian did that as much and as well as anyone you'd ever hope to meet. I plan to honor him by continuing to do just that, along with a bottle of one of his favorite wines.</span></span></span></span></div>
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-1613291854827745902012-12-16T11:03:00.002-06:002012-12-16T11:03:26.011-06:00The Life of Brian<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWpGpoX49ZYL1OqKbkpA9lSaEYpKU622t09ePkrUdcOcAnMK1-E-BWXfzf35n4kmYW457qEv2UQknB8WgkOvRvRdZuGB-A79Tbm9pofbJD6p47hglOmz_QExXcBzjByGA9BZ_jZ1hYQw/s1600/Boka+Bear+Den+Bartender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWpGpoX49ZYL1OqKbkpA9lSaEYpKU622t09ePkrUdcOcAnMK1-E-BWXfzf35n4kmYW457qEv2UQknB8WgkOvRvRdZuGB-A79Tbm9pofbJD6p47hglOmz_QExXcBzjByGA9BZ_jZ1hYQw/s200/Boka+Bear+Den+Bartender.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tending bar at the Boka Bear Den</td></tr>
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Brian would have been 34 today. I have no question about what we'd be doing for his birthday if he were still alive -- getting together with friends for the Bears/Packers game. He was the biggest Chicago Bears fan you'd ever meet. The only question is whether he'd want to go out to a sports bar or have people over to watch in our living room and the "Boka Bear Den" Bears bar we had in the basement. Probably the latter, so we could share victory boots of keg beer from the Bears keg-o-rater, and possibly make up some kind of blue or orange shots. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shots, anyone? (Mexico, 2008)</td></tr>
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That was Brian. He was the life of any party, and particularly enjoyed getting quiet people out of their shells. He was big, loud, funny and smart. He had a soft side, though, and would cuddle our kitties and speak baby-talk to them. I'll never forget the day he was petting Ellie on his lap and said, "Oh, you're Daddy's little purr factory." By the same token, there was a time he referred to someone (not to their face) as a "monkey sack of shit." He had a knack for stringing together obscenities and insults into hilarious and oft-repeated catch phrases. He was very smart and had a large vocabulary. More than anything, his intelligence came in the form of common sense. He could look at any problem or situation and analyze it quickly, and simply, in a way that would make you think, "Wow, it really is that simple." He would tell you what he thought whether you liked it or not, and whether it was what you wanted to hear or not.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Life was always more fun with Brian around</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBazRQH4e5TWZTEYx6N51PWXD63RfY8c9sRD_WFGw11lVYC6KrdWhfr7f4JCwg_3tVzz48NYioYhbspQmJrn2LW8Nn71XXvzrzGH5gZ_xP29swzkt6Wiqg91uRrJiYahxWDuxDGUrO04/s1600/Opera+fundraiser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBazRQH4e5TWZTEYx6N51PWXD63RfY8c9sRD_WFGw11lVYC6KrdWhfr7f4JCwg_3tVzz48NYioYhbspQmJrn2LW8Nn71XXvzrzGH5gZ_xP29swzkt6Wiqg91uRrJiYahxWDuxDGUrO04/s200/Opera+fundraiser.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At a fundraising gala</td></tr>
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<br />Brian was honest, sometimes almost to a fault. He didn't pull any punches when it came to speaking his mind, and one of his less endearing traits was that he didn't care who he offended with what he said; he valued honesty over feelings. Still, he had a great way to use his strengths to bring out the best in people and situations. He fared quite well in business and quickly moved into positions of leadership and authority. He was a wonderful manager -- he had the ability to improve an organization at its lower levels by bringing out the most in his employees, while he also had a talent for thinking big-picture and improving a company by making sure departments worked together and sharing ideas for change and development in planning meetings with higher-ups. He took great pride in helping poor performers on his team turn things around, in mentoring team members to prepare them for promotions and career growth, and in being a leader at the office. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpTiNg1bzvg40JF53GxdmhN9vlnn1Mr1C30tmQNA0NwTCRV1-jPiKCE5bAzfiKpocMMk2l-FCEm22BcQXEwzl5gmfqXn8OCbxG5owg_kwlkjq0eh0XQ5_XEfrtJvXla_K127fBUePONg/s1600/College+hijinks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpTiNg1bzvg40JF53GxdmhN9vlnn1Mr1C30tmQNA0NwTCRV1-jPiKCE5bAzfiKpocMMk2l-FCEm22BcQXEwzl5gmfqXn8OCbxG5owg_kwlkjq0eh0XQ5_XEfrtJvXla_K127fBUePONg/s200/College+hijinks.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The college days</td></tr>
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He was a rock star at ING, where he took on more special projects than any other manager and managed to excel at each one. He had been identified as a top talent there, becoming a part of a very small group (consisting of 1-3% of employees) who were being groomed for higher management and who would be sent to training and leadership camps around the country. I would have loved to have seen what he could have done for that company and for himself. He was savvy enough to convert his bosses' praises into compensation, and always fared well at review time. He was, simply, a business genius. He wasn't afraid to ask why things were or weren't done a certain way, wasn't afraid to suggest new things, wasn't afraid to address any elephant in any room, and wasn't afraid to negotiate for the biggest raises and bonuses possible. After he died, people who had worked for him at other places, many years ago, came to pay tribute and so many people said wonderful things about him. In a world where many people dislike their bosses, he had raving fans in his employees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWSYJ__Nk9_tb5efgMKOjrhLigyWxr2YiI9Dtbf1v4KKHdj23NJPpGXLlZ8VwZWh7XOCjYRSA4z-z2gOzRX_OKJUxA1UROgwQOv9XhrbrxIFa3Fl9S-sKT137_WYdqswV30ZetxGOxN0/s1600/So+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWSYJ__Nk9_tb5efgMKOjrhLigyWxr2YiI9Dtbf1v4KKHdj23NJPpGXLlZ8VwZWh7XOCjYRSA4z-z2gOzRX_OKJUxA1UROgwQOv9XhrbrxIFa3Fl9S-sKT137_WYdqswV30ZetxGOxN0/s200/So+happy.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friend</td></tr>
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Brian had a unique voice. He didn't like it, but I loved it. I miss hearing it, though it's in my memories clear as day. He did some radio work in college, where he was a communications major. He had a radio show for a semester or two on the campus radio station, and he and his freshman year roommate (who went on to spend a few years in radio for a career) did play-by-play announcing of basketball games for the Simpson Storm. He also did an internship at the Muscatine radio station, impressing everyone he worked with there. He loved sports and also did an internship with a sports newspaper in central Iowa. This came easily to him, as he had written for the Simpsonian, the college newspaper of our liberal arts school.<br />
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Brian loved friends, family, food, fun, and life. Yet he was picky, and had funny tastes. He disliked fruit in general, and despised berries. I remember a big fight we had once when he wouldn't take even one bite of a strawberry-rhubarb cake I'd made (that was a labor-intensive dessert, I might add). He was stubborn; what can I say? He hated topiaries, barn quilts, and doilies. He never shied away from telling me if he didn't like an article of clothing or accessory I picked out, either. He liked my hair best when it was long and I didn't have bangs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgCzeue-ekifJAA3txJAtG0z5yT8Yg8ZmxNFqOgH6ZW2Bxz2W9KjsNVQTbXWih3xWzO16oCJMa52_AEJALTuKsyYHuFNhyphenhyphen1odMMYdHb5kPbTfWzEXAdfWZI1S6AyZtpGXklUW3DjDYp4/s1600/Daddy+%2526+Picaboo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgCzeue-ekifJAA3txJAtG0z5yT8Yg8ZmxNFqOgH6ZW2Bxz2W9KjsNVQTbXWih3xWzO16oCJMa52_AEJALTuKsyYHuFNhyphenhyphen1odMMYdHb5kPbTfWzEXAdfWZI1S6AyZtpGXklUW3DjDYp4/s200/Daddy+%2526+Picaboo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Picaboo Whiskers Boka, our firstborn :)</td></tr>
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Brian loved animals. He doted on Princess, the dog his family had when I met him, and cried when she died. Then, he doted on Murphy, the dog his parents never planned to have but couldn't resist when he showed up one day. He was a wonderful "pet parent" to Picaboo and Ellie, and loved having a kitty on his lap. He was on the board of directors of a no-kill animal shelter and enjoyed volunteering there as well, with events (dog washing and silent auction fundraisers, for example) and with animal socialization, such as when he worked with a puppy to get him through obedience classes to make him more adoptable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxucEL4JITj6Aah0H6rfp2X7k06oyjDLq2daAt-sZ7lZOYTjv5JGs3EvWJ0NW8ZiuF3JDXTD2AmPbCjgx-j6kK04wzbQo-Rb9FM6982tQqIPBTX7H9i8pLJ_oWHZU0MHgvkiYLzfO5-s0/s1600/Uncle+Brian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxucEL4JITj6Aah0H6rfp2X7k06oyjDLq2daAt-sZ7lZOYTjv5JGs3EvWJ0NW8ZiuF3JDXTD2AmPbCjgx-j6kK04wzbQo-Rb9FM6982tQqIPBTX7H9i8pLJ_oWHZU0MHgvkiYLzfO5-s0/s200/Uncle+Brian.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With our neices, Lily and Lauren</td></tr>
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I wonder if we would have had children...if so, I wouldn't be surprised if they had names that harkened back to the Bears -- he always wanted a cat named Walter, but we ended up only having girls. He was great with kids, a gentle giant, though a bit unsure with babies. He was afraid of "breaking" them and felt awkward being such a big guy holding someone so tiny. He didn't know much about babies, either. When our first niece, Lily, was born, we went to see her in the hospital the day after she was born. He was holding her and commented, "Look - she already has fingernails!" I guess he thought those sometimes grew in later, like hair or teeth. I laughed until I cried....something Brian did a lot. Once they were kids, he did much better and could relate to them in a special way. I always was amazed at how well he could connect to my sister and cousins -- he did that with kids and adults, with ease.<br />
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Brian could read people like a book. He had an uncanny gut feeling about people that would prove, time and time again, to be spot on. If he warned me that someone was sleazy, they usually proved to be just that. He also had an ability to talk to anyone, to get people to open up, and to get people to leave their comfort zones and grow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQpnCCPB3E1LONse3z3HSJKPgpQNeEEL0TND9AL3qp7m6mAmPicvngdB2fl-chpw9IBRHUFCsg64GvRRWSLUMCYEwKR7lW1wxzBBHjuBZ2RPM9_fEgjoCeBpBagMxHOFy-CKOvmCv2Qc/s1600/Leader+of+the+Band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQpnCCPB3E1LONse3z3HSJKPgpQNeEEL0TND9AL3qp7m6mAmPicvngdB2fl-chpw9IBRHUFCsg64GvRRWSLUMCYEwKR7lW1wxzBBHjuBZ2RPM9_fEgjoCeBpBagMxHOFy-CKOvmCv2Qc/s200/Leader+of+the+Band.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was never afraid to jump in and sing along...</td></tr>
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Brian was passionate about music. He was not a great musician, though he played trombone in the high school band and started playing guitar in college. I loved when he would play guitar and sing, even if he wasn't the most advanced player or the best singer out there. If he was looking at music online, I'd sit on the floor of the home office while he played. Sometimes, he'd sit on the corner of the bed while I laid there and listened. He had a three-ring binder and dozens of pages of loose music in his guitar case. Sometimes, he'd take his guitar and a bottle of red wine to the basement to relax. Other times, it was a book and a bottle, and he'd play his records down there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQ4WL20PKuV8XXCbge1XdXQ-oZEjchGyZ1K7-JIj1NTHigmErIOSGK1ZCKpnLbuNjREpy4ajrOC_3q9XNzY_A9bi42k5tZceD47jzc5Ojrd0qsu5OEGb1OsOunOs6Yb-CatI1FR3RPdg/s1600/4+guys+at+Reckless+Kelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQ4WL20PKuV8XXCbge1XdXQ-oZEjchGyZ1K7-JIj1NTHigmErIOSGK1ZCKpnLbuNjREpy4ajrOC_3q9XNzY_A9bi42k5tZceD47jzc5Ojrd0qsu5OEGb1OsOunOs6Yb-CatI1FR3RPdg/s200/4+guys+at+Reckless+Kelly.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his good friends at a Reckless Kelly show (Kansas City)</td></tr>
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Brian had a great collection of vinyl. It all started when my boss offered me a stereo system that he was going to get rid of -- we needed a sound system for the basement bar, so I took him up on it. One of the components of the 1990 Onkyo setup was a record player that had never even been out of the box. I declined that, but took the rest home. Once home, Brian and I were unloaded components and getting the system set up when I told him of the LP player that also went with the setup. He said, "Why didn't you take that?!" I said, "Because we don't own any records." ...."<em>So?</em>" I had to call my boss that night to make sure he didn't throw away the record player, and thus began a record collection. It was mostly old rock and folk style music that he liked -- Gordon Lightfoot, Joan Baez, Alabama, CSNY, etc. I thank him for introducing me to the likes of James Taylor, Bob Schneider, Jakob Dylan, and the Avett Brothers. But he hated Anne Murray. He loved watching music DVDs, just hanging out with friends and acting like there was a concert in our living room. He spent hundreds of hours with his best friend, Mike Hart, doing this. They would watch Jim Croce, Harry Chapin, The Band, and Crash Test Dummies. He could tell you all about what the songs meant, why they were written, and how the musicians got their starts. He dug deep into music, too -- he knew the real talents and had found the real gems produced by one-hit pop bands like the Dummies or Marcy Playground. When he loved a song or an artist, he would play a CD or just one song on repeat over and over again. I didn't mind that when he discovered Mason Jennings, but I never really liked Warron Zevon. Funny how I don't mind Zevon now...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGlCw8cz-QPP5dTB55hRF5rE0Dt8vLq8WWTaNembCqsXqxxITFNasLwMpBnqiCEIqWHkf69brNGdyGnSPhEDsuivTBxYnqQLahboQottrQVEG4itrshcZBKdiWFS8exdf0HDSMkCY4vQ/s1600/Beach+brothers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGlCw8cz-QPP5dTB55hRF5rE0Dt8vLq8WWTaNembCqsXqxxITFNasLwMpBnqiCEIqWHkf69brNGdyGnSPhEDsuivTBxYnqQLahboQottrQVEG4itrshcZBKdiWFS8exdf0HDSMkCY4vQ/s200/Beach+brothers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his brother, in Jamaica</td></tr>
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Brian loved to travel, and always picked beach locations. He loved snorkeling and was a good swimmer, having spent many years as a lifeguard (and eventually manager) at the Weed Park pool in Muscatine. I spent one summer baby-sitting while he was a guard and I'd bring the kids to the pool as often as possible. When it was his break time, he'd jump in and swim and play with me and the kids, teaching the little boys wrestling moves (I remember especially the "European upper-cut"). He loved MMA fighting, and I loved being his guinea pig while he learned and practiced moves -- he could really get me with a figure-four leglock if I didn't pull off a triangle choke first (usually he'd have to sort of let me have that). Another summer, when he was managing the pool and I was working at Applebee's, I would bring him Taco Bell after my shift was over. I'd eat Long John Silver's myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aVhHF7P0D_GEJ74VItB-7g9LT9oh43qBSNrHiJMOAduMpeFiysMkeMpwACj9Pb_z8HIol4JvefPaj3GZfcD678t974IiNPo8Bsh5alvEM9j-TbiJpQPO2vOppQ5KuQm39x9BUzVbI1o/s1600/Tequila!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aVhHF7P0D_GEJ74VItB-7g9LT9oh43qBSNrHiJMOAduMpeFiysMkeMpwACj9Pb_z8HIol4JvefPaj3GZfcD678t974IiNPo8Bsh5alvEM9j-TbiJpQPO2vOppQ5KuQm39x9BUzVbI1o/s200/Tequila!.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-tequila-shot picture!</td></tr>
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Brian loved having parties, and our house in Iowa was perfect for that. It had a big kitchen overlooking the living room. There was a formal dining room that was most often used for board game nights and Wine Club gatherings. Downstairs from the living room was the sports bar, complete with a keg and shelf upon shelf of liquor. There was a bar and stools, as well as a high-top bar table that converted to a poker table. We had a tv mounted in the corner and the walls were covered in Bears memorabilia -- banners, flags, signed photographs, mounted cards (the Walter Payton rookie card being the prize among them), and posters. We had a nicely sized fenced-in yard, perfect for bags and bocce. We never did get the hot tub running though -- something that I predicted when we took it (one of those "free" but broken situations). All we did was spend a few hundred dollars for a new cover, and never did get the broken parts replaced. Sometimes home projects slipped to the bottom of the list, behind a 50-60 workweek and at least twice-weekly socializing. We had a great social life -- parties and nights out all the time. Even our wedding was planned around one idea -- it had to be the biggest party reception we could arrange, with late-night snacks to stem the tide of alcohol, and a DJ that played til 2:00 am (including some last-minute "Chug-A-Lug" karaoke performed by the groom himself...and no, the DJ did not even have a karaoke machine; Brian just asked him for the mic). We loved hosting the "Boka and Friends" fantasy football draft at our dining room table every year. He was commissioner of the league, which has been going strong for 10 years now, always with a waiting list of guys wanting to join. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxWK5xjl0tptA_w6uFD6Ojk5KfJRmLMTUB6QSNDXbvdZ5dnsm-MCEeVcWHw1U_WTJSaysXsvwzkZ3sm3WiYoI-F0j__VNOZARIwzvhf3FAOH_Dv27-8ZvbxGTgW_J__0tVXbfeF_micU/s1600/Fantasy+football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxWK5xjl0tptA_w6uFD6Ojk5KfJRmLMTUB6QSNDXbvdZ5dnsm-MCEeVcWHw1U_WTJSaysXsvwzkZ3sm3WiYoI-F0j__VNOZARIwzvhf3FAOH_Dv27-8ZvbxGTgW_J__0tVXbfeF_micU/s200/Fantasy+football.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The League</td></tr>
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I'm proud to say this one-time Vanna-esque sticker girl/beer bitch is now the champion of the league and that the Brian Boka trophy is on my mantel. A fantasy championship in this league is something he never attained, though he would usually have more points than anyone else -- it's just that every week, his opponent would pull off a miracle win by having players with career and season-high stats against Brian. He loved the frustration of it, though, and all the trash-talk among the league. I try to keep that tradition alive as well, even though this year I crashed and burned fantastically (thanks, Cam Newton).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEmXCNhgrbhWOCGxWDpoNKHKWfa0xn9XpzNXk5TSlYbvxYi_-M5kns1FfPD2HO13QiwBq0h0B3JQkchRxyWczxegrX1wetTodMZ3QvmgE_WiRBWtOtrCaElQ3FXse6gjUkNAmHbNaq2Y/s1600/Best+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEmXCNhgrbhWOCGxWDpoNKHKWfa0xn9XpzNXk5TSlYbvxYi_-M5kns1FfPD2HO13QiwBq0h0B3JQkchRxyWczxegrX1wetTodMZ3QvmgE_WiRBWtOtrCaElQ3FXse6gjUkNAmHbNaq2Y/s200/Best+friends.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his best friend Mike</td></tr>
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It's no surprise that people stayed in his fantasy football league -- if you were a friend of Brian Boka, you would stay that. He was fiercly loyal to his friends, and that sentiment went both ways. When he made a friend, it stuck. He had the same best friend for 25 years -- he and Hart became buds in first grade, and I have no doubt they would have been best friends for 50 years if fate had allowed it. They were more like brothers. He was also very close with other childhood and high school friends, as well as college and work friends. He had many close friends from every phase of his life. Many people would name him as their best friend, and it was not uncommon for him to be a sort of big brother and friend to anyone who needed an ear to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, or just someone to have a beer with. As fun-loving as he was, he was there for the serious stuff too, and was often the one people would turn to in times of crisis or struggle. I miss his advice, his insights, his wisdom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNtsWc5B3KnDH-TZNrylsjzDNpbH9lKQf8VJ8WW8WHqgilfRxcP8Vbjm0yZbV9Xlna_sSYx7Ig_rM72UILmBIswt__hUExuybY1vvxaALv1V2wczjqNV6IyGB05WMWG8Px3KOQ-gVHzc/s1600/Best+friends+2+-+Hart+is+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNtsWc5B3KnDH-TZNrylsjzDNpbH9lKQf8VJ8WW8WHqgilfRxcP8Vbjm0yZbV9Xlna_sSYx7Ig_rM72UILmBIswt__hUExuybY1vvxaALv1V2wczjqNV6IyGB05WMWG8Px3KOQ-gVHzc/s200/Best+friends+2+-+Hart+is+30.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hart's 30th birthday -- sometimes they'd kind of dress alike unwittingly</td></tr>
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Words that describe Brian are funny, loud, big, lovable, honest, fun-loving, stubborn, smart, intuitive, tender, perverted, extroverted, indulgent, insecure, crass, leader, pragmatic, inspirational, goofy, and true to himself. He was someone who would push boundaries and was boisterous and provocative enough to almost get in trouble, but instead would always get away with it. He was a rambunctious little boy, always getting into fights with his brother (that continued into high school, when he worked for his brother for a while) and finding ways to avoid trouble while doing things that should have gotten him some with his friends.<br />
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I can't sum up a person and his entire life with one blog entry, and I'm sure I'm leaving out hundreds of words and anecdotes that would more fully paint the picture of Brian Boka. He was true to himself and sought to bring out the best in everyone around him. He forever changed me, made me a better person, and shaped me into the football-loving, music-appreciating, dirty-joke-telling woman I am today.<br />
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I miss you, Brian Steven Boka. I love you. Thank you for sharing your life with me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IiF10BV3pQrgDgSLwBUcFC81ZbWu8osUwidAfRq8zwCSFWYYvBEizG-kSBRep7bGxhZ4ZGj_tx1SazN4xeQq7CYyv-k8JXq62nK6MSSlgERMqGKDR0do2MYxF2mww2sLTjz3JICaBkQ/s1600/Wedding+bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IiF10BV3pQrgDgSLwBUcFC81ZbWu8osUwidAfRq8zwCSFWYYvBEizG-kSBRep7bGxhZ4ZGj_tx1SazN4xeQq7CYyv-k8JXq62nK6MSSlgERMqGKDR0do2MYxF2mww2sLTjz3JICaBkQ/s320/Wedding+bubbles.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our wedding day -- 06.19.04</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXtkXdxFNovIJIjCL-q14pOHQAwTpoYJvpbm5TFfU56iB4o9yK5eO_jlP1g0Y05VHPPTgACf7JKNMzXj1H9bE9Frvevd-XdF4xIJ_F5z6xg3gSn1M_K6HDNWPR5a3C6DzyMniEuVxdZw/s1600/5+year+anniversary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXtkXdxFNovIJIjCL-q14pOHQAwTpoYJvpbm5TFfU56iB4o9yK5eO_jlP1g0Y05VHPPTgACf7JKNMzXj1H9bE9Frvevd-XdF4xIJ_F5z6xg3gSn1M_K6HDNWPR5a3C6DzyMniEuVxdZw/s320/5+year+anniversary.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 5 year anniversary party at our home in Iowa<br />
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Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-41241171015717504712012-12-13T12:01:00.001-06:002012-12-13T12:01:15.449-06:00What's In a Name?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have never slipped and called Sheldon "Brian," though lately, I've done it in my head a few times. I'll go to say something to him and I have to mentally make sure that "Brian" doesn't come out of my mouth. I'm sure part of that is that we have a friend named Brian who spends a lot of time at our house and, indeed, I find I'm more likely to feel the potential for a slip of the tongue when he is around. It's weird -- I don't think Sheldon would get mad if that came out, and I would say it's actually a complement. I think I feel the possibility of this happening because the comfort level between us is so great, and because our life together is so "old hat." Our year-plus of living together has gotten to the point that it feels totally natural, and like something that has just always been the case. He is very different from Brian, and our relationship is quite different too, but the familiar feeling is the same. I think feeling that way has caused my brain to circuit into its habits from when I used to feel that way. Much as Brian and I used to have our routines, so do Sheldon and I. Just as Brian and I used to have inside jokes, and could communicate our thoughts with a split-second glance, so do Sheldon and I. We are best friends, we share our thoughts and fears, our judgments and opinions. <br />
<br />
There is a level of comfort, a level of love, a level of "home" that you feel with a partner, and that's where we are. It's something that takes time to develop, to unfold. It happens while you brush your teeth together, while you fall asleep intertwined with someone over and over, while you start sharing the same language and meals, while you let your guard down more and more until you don't care if that person catches you picking your nose or hears you singing in the shower. It is when you stop feeling like people who live together (with cats) and start feeling like one family unit. This is where we are, and in some ways it takes me back to when I had that before with Brian. The details of our lives are different, but the feeling is the same. And sometimes it makes me go on "autopilot" and almost makes me say the old familiar name I spent so many years saying in that context. <br />
<br />
I also worry that when I'm older, if I end up suffering from some affliction that confuses my senses, that I will resort back to that name, or that it will come out from time to time. What if I'm an old woman asking for my husband, Brian? How will that make Sheldon feel? I know this -- it wouldn't mean I love him any less, just as my close calls now don't mean that. In a way, it's like a mother who calls her children by the wrong names (we've all heard some version of this), running through them until she reaches the appropriate name. It doesn't speak at all to who she loves more (as though there is any competition of the sort!) -- it means she view them similarly, and that talking to one is like talking to another. She gets the same warm, loving feeling from all her kids, and sometimes the brain and tongue don't work well together to get the correct names and words out. I feel the same way about Brian and Sheldon.<br />
<br />
The name "Brian" is wrapped in love and comfort for me, and stands for a partner and friend. Sheldon makes me feel all those things, too, and that's where my brain and tongue sometimes get tied up.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-23655025393682663552012-12-12T14:54:00.003-06:002012-12-12T14:54:55.093-06:00Holiday Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"It's the best of times, and the worst of times." -- My therapist, today<br />
<br />
Today was a tearful session. My therapist told me that she's very busy this time of year, and that it's the "best of times" for her because it was the "worst of times" for everyone else. That sounds sick, but I swear the comment was funny because it was delivered with an awareness of how dark it sounded. Okay, so I'm struggling right now, but I'm not alone.<br />
<br />
These months, and this year, brings a lot to the table. Last month, the day went by that marked 10 years from when Brian proposed to me. I never would have imagined that my life would have taken a full circle of a detour and put me back into the same place -- cohabitating with a boyfriend, childless, and working on a path to my intended legal career. But alas, what I thought was a path to one destination was really a much longer and more winding road to somewhere else entirely. (I'm happy to say that, while it wasn't where I thought I'd be, I quite like where I've landed.)<br />
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There are the holidays themselves, of course, too. Christmas, New Year's Eve. There are the normal feelings of wanting to see everyone and balance time between immediate and extended families, though my situation is somewhat unique in that "family" includes three sets -- mine, my late husband's, and my boyfriend's. Sheldon will be meeting Brian's extended family -- grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc. this year. I have no worries about families blending, though, and we are fortunate enough to be able to take off enough time to see everyone, so while things may be hectic, at least we will be able to join all the celebrations and enjoy the company of so many that we love. The only downside is that I'm already having anxiety about gift-giving, packing and shipping. I'm going to have to face this soon, and just start making lists and tackling tasks.<br />
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Again, not so bad. Brian and I used to spend weeks criss-crossing Iowa to see everyone and attend every family celebration, company party, and friendly holiday cocktail parties; it could be exhausting, but I always tried to remind him that, if our biggest complaint was that we had too many holiday events, it was simply a reflection of how much love we had in our lives. I can't imagine what he'd think of me adding another family and another entire state to the equation, and doing it all from a distance to boot!<br />
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No, there's more. Brian would have been 34 this month. I will be turning 32, one year older than he ever got to be. This will be the first time I have a birthday that he didn't get. <br />
<br />
January doesn't get too much easier. We started dating in early January (1996). He died in mid-January. It will be three years this year. It was two years ago this month that I said good-bye to our home in Iowa and packed up to move to Texas.<br />
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This is a lot to get through in the next five or six weeks. It's going to be a long holiday road. Of course, I guess there's more scenery to enjoy on the longer roads, and the destination can be unexpectedly fantastic.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-63222271832327220442012-12-05T11:31:00.003-06:002012-12-05T11:31:53.648-06:00Good Shtuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Read the most recent couple of posts. Good stuff. I have wise and wonderful friends.<br />
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<a href="http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/">http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/</a></div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2619151975968692978.post-20518802439445655412012-12-04T14:03:00.000-06:002012-12-04T14:03:04.690-06:00Am I Losing My Mind? Am I Going Backwards in Time?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had a tough day yesterday. It all started when Brian died. Let me explain...<br />
<br />
I have been trying to get licensed to practice law in Texas. The ultimate plan is for me to do some freelance legal work (writing appeal briefs -- something I relish and most lawyers loath) and continue doing real estate as a paying hobby, working with family, friends, and referrals. I love real estate, but I'm not crazy about the prospecting aspect of it -- calling FSBOs (For Sale By Owners) to try to convince them to list with me, hosting open houses for other agents to try to scoop up unrepresented buyers, setting up booths at trade shows, managing email databases of prospects, etc. Some agents do cold calls, door knocking, and even go to malls to approach strangers with business cards. Not my cup of tea. I love helping people find the right home, helping them negotiate a fair price, helping them through all the steps of the transaction, explaining all the contracts and documents, etc. I don't love competing with other agents for listings, trying to convince people why I'm the best agent to use, soliciting business from strangers, etc. It is hard to make a living as an agent without doing all those things, but it's not hard to be a great agent who is fully dedicated to a small number of clients and who makes a little bit of money doing something she loves.<br />
<br />
My plan, then, is to be a "boutique agent" who focuses on quality, not quantity and target numbers for number of appointments I can set in a given week or month. I can do this by also doing some freelance legal work. The beauty is that I can do the legal work from home, as well as a good deal of the real estate work (the searching, setting up appointments, phone calls, document preparation). Being able to work from home and being able to largely control which days and hours I work would be ideal for raising a family, something that is on the horizon for us (though not the immediate horizon -- no big announcements yet!).<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I put together a couple more documents that the Texas Board of Law Examiners needed to process my application. One was my 2010 tax return and one was an order from the Arizona Supreme Court accepting my resignation of membership in that state's bar (I am not planning to practice there, so there is no point in paying the dues required to maintain membership...but I needed to follow a certain process to have that treated as resignation and not suspension. Now that has been taken care of in a satisfactory manner). What I didn't have was my 2006 tax return. When I was putting together my (rather large) package of materials for the Board, I realized this was missing. I submitted the spare copy of my W-2 for that year, which I did have for some reason, and explained that I had filed taxes in 2006 but could not locate the return, and that the W-2 and my employment references would be able to verify my full-time employment as an attorney for that year. After placing a follow-up call to the Board yesterday, I was told that I would have to request the tax return from the IRS. The woman I spoke to couldn't tell me why the return itself was necessary (they have copies of all the other years from 2005-2010), given the other proof of income and employment I furnished, but did at least tell me that my application *might* be considered without the tax return if I submitted proof that I've requested it. One hundred fourteen dollars and two IRS forms later, the return has been requested and I've sent proof of that to the Board. The tax return might take 60 days to receive. I was also told that the Board of Law Examiners has 150 days to consider my application before it has to make a decision. That puts us in February before I expect to know anything. I submitted my application (the first time) in September, after spending months completing the application, tracking down and collecting documents (which included my high school cheer coach mailing me the only copy of my old business card anyone seemed to have), and ensuring I had up-to-date phone numbers and addresses for all my dozens of references.<br />
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It has been a long, drawn-out process, and I expected to have some answers or resolution by now. Instead, there will be more waiting. And it's out of my hands.<br />
<br />
I don't like the fact that this is out of my control. I don't like that the IRS is involved -- I inherently distrust and dislike them, and even having to fill out forms requesting old returns and having to copy my 2010 return (the one with the word "DECEASED" in all-caps prominently next to Brian's name) made me cry, tears of frustration and sadness and rage at the process and the red tape. Why does this all have to be so <em>difficult</em>?! Why is it taking so long for all these things in my life to come together? I have had this idea and plan of what I want for so long, and now I'm just waiting -- waiting for the IRS to send me copies of a tax return that's more than a half-centry old. waiting for the Texas Board of Law Examiners to decide my fate, waiting to know if I'll have to take another bar exam, waiting to get my professional life to where I want it, waiting to get married and have kids, waiting....<br />
<br />
And then I started thinking about what I've done with the last year of my life. Today, I see it more clearly and can appreciate some of the non-Christmas-card items I've done, like writing this blog and having heart-to-hearts with hurting, grieving people. But yesterday, I broke down, upset that I've only sold a few houses and haven't put all the pieces together like I thought I would have by now. I'm getting impatient.<br />
<br />
Then, I started thinking about the "what if"s that I usually avoid....Where would I be if Brian hadn't died? Would I be a partner at my old firm? Would we have two kids? Would they be redheads? Would my social life be better, full of all my friends that are now 1,000 miles away? Would we have upgraded to a four-bedroom house with granite countertops? Would we be able to spend vacation days at tropical resorts instead of returning home to see family?<br />
<br />
I know all of these things make it sound like I'm miserable and unhappy with my life now, but I'm not. That's the thing. I just had a lousy day and I let it get the best of me. I just could not stem the tide of tears yesterday. It wasn't because I am unhappy with my life -- it was because I was frustrated and upset with a few things, and then some other issues came spilling out. I don't grieve too much for what "could have been" anymore, but it happens every now and then. Yesterday was one of those days. They are few and far between, and get to be fewer and farther between as time goes on, but they still happen. The good thing is that I was able to share all of this with Sheldon and just having an ear to talk to and a shoulder to cry on, and arms to hold me tight, made me feel better. It can be a tough walk, to acknowledge these feelings and be honest about them, but also to make sure I don't offend Sheldon by making him feel that I don't love him and our life together. I explained that, and somehow he handles it all well and keeps it in perspective. A bad day here and there is nothing compared to our usual routine of happiness, kisses, and counting our blessings. He knows I am happy, even if I have those "widow days" now and again. We also know we can and will get through them.<br />
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Yesterday was a bad today. Today is better. Life goes on. I will go on, and I will do so with a smile on my face, appreciating the wonderful things and people I have in my life. As for the IRS and red tape I have to deal with....well, I hope to learn a thing or two about patience and persistence from all this. There are lessons to be learned from everything, and goodness can come out of anything.</div>
Wendyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18287786945607376110noreply@blogger.com0