September Mourn (Part 2)

As my previous post shows, September started off craptacularly. Then, mid-September came. 

Our boy Jarvis was declining. It was heartbreaking. We made the decision it was time to let him go. So, September 18th we said our goodbyes with many, many, tears.

Jarvis was our best boy. So sweet, so loving. He came into our lives at the absolute best time. I was in desperate need of rescuing. Our IVF journey had ended in disappointment a couple months before he became available at the rescue we had known about through friends. I was working a job that I absolutely hated. While I was at work, Shawn went to the adoption event and Jarvis (then known as Wash) was there. Things clicked into place and my healing journey began.

It is strange to be Jarvis-less. I miss him. He was my baby boy and I was his mommy. 

September Mourn (Part One)

Photo by Sue Rosoff

Yes, I am aware that the song is "September Morn." But this isn't that kind of song...or, I guess, post.

On September 1st, 2025, my father-in-law, Jerry, died. This happened after a couple weeks in the hospital; in-home hospice care; and, finally, a week in a hospice facility. He had slipped into unconsciousness a few days before passing. 

So many wonderful things have been shared on social media and other internet sites about him. Many touching upon his career as a rodeo photographer. He was truly talented. His work was back when there were no digital cameras that could capture 1,000s of shots without fear of using up film on a bad one. He had a film camera with 36 shots to try not to waste. His camera wasn't an auto-load or auto-focus. Jerry was in the ring, right with the riders, fighters, clowns, and bulls and broncs. He managed to time things perfectly to get the shot lined up and in focus to become a legendary rodeo photographer.

All of that is incredible and fascinating to me. But, I will miss the personal life we had with him. I can still hear him say, "Oh, really?" with a tilt of his head when someone had knowledge about some thing or another to tell. Or, "Well, alright," said with a congratulatory smile when good news was shared. If you were enthusiastic about something, he was right there with you. He wanted to know all the things he could. Jerry was filled with curiosity. 

Mostly, though, I will miss the love he had for all of us, his family.

Thank you for being my dad

There is a podcast called The Golden Girls Deep Dive Podcast. I've started rewatching/watching The Golden Girls in order to listen to the podcast. I never saw the entire series, so at some point it will really be new to me.

My dad absolutely adored the show! I'm pretty sure Sophia may have been his favorite of the four women. Her unfiltered way of speaking was what he really enjoyed. It could be that he was living vicariously through her. He was too polite to really say things the way she did.

I'm grateful for finding out about the podcast. Watching the show and hearing the discussion between Patrick Hinds and Jennifer Simard, the co-hosts brings me to a happy place. It connects me to my dad in a different way. It may seem strange to say, but I think these kinds of things are a different side to mourning. 

Both the show and the podcast are great. 

★★★★☆ Would recommend both*

*I don't really give perfect scores for many things.

Would you?

Christ of Saint John of the Cross

Here's an open letter to SSM and SL that is 20+ years in the making.

Dear SSM and SL,

How are you? Long time no talk.

I was writing in regards to a meeting we had a little over 20 years ago. It was when I left the convent and we just had a face-to-face to kind of wrap things up, I suppose. Oh my, did I leave that meeting angry. But, I drove off in my brand new VW Jetta, my freedom mobile, you might say.

The thing is, I did leave that meeting angry, but then went on with the rest of my life. I didn't realize just how much things said in that meeting really cut me to pieces. Shamed me is probably a good way to put it. But, the other day, I saw a picture of you, SSM, at a fundraising event for the community that was posted on social media. I did not expect to have such a visceral response. It was like I was punched in the gut and blown away at the sight of you. Bam! I was back in that meeting in that room with the crucifix on the wall and the two of you on one side of table facing me.

I don't think, or at least I hope, you didn't intend to shame me.

Mental health crises are real. The struggle people like me go through are not choices. In my case, my mom stepped in to get me truly life saving care from a psychiatrist because of the deep depression and anxiety I was experiencing while in the convent. Part of that care was to leave. I told you I was leaving. And, right now I remembered another thing that pained me. It seems my leaving was not communicated to others as it should have been. As I was packing, the other postulant came at me because she did not know about the situation. She proceeded to tell me I was in the wrong for just getting my stuff and going. She was not told that I was coming to do that. She and I already had our struggles, so this just added to that whole experience.   

Back to mental health and suffering now. Being told that your own suffering is not real suffering because real suffering was what Christ experienced on the cross. Here's the thing, though. From what the story says, Christ chose to suffer. The details about what crucifixion entails are horrifying, I will admit. That is some hardcore pain and anguish. But he did choose it. I did not choose to have major depressive disorder or anxiety. 

Let me ask you this, would you:

• Tell someone who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?
• Ask a child who is in the foster system after surviving the terrible abuse inflicted upon them by the parent(s) who should have loved and protected them to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?
• Say to a legal citizen of this country who was "deported" to a prison and torn from their family to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?

I'm working on not to "should" myself anymore. I'm trying not to tell myself that I "should" be over things. It is time that I stop minimizing my experiences with my mental health because someone else has great suffering. 

I'm trying recognized that one's suffering isn't negated because another has it worse. That game serves no one well. My hope is that you try not to play that game, too.

With the sincerity I am able to offer at this time,

Meg

What to do? What to do?

 I've made no secret of my past life as a Roman Catholic. You can find posts about it on this very blog.

Lately, the trauma of that time has been creeping up - it's been over 20 years. I've been having lots of thoughts about my time (brief though it may have been) joining a religious order. The thoughts are more about my post-exit. My first major depressive episode was while I was in the convent. The psychiatrist my mom took me to told me to move out as soon as possible. I did. He started me on some meds and things started to turn around. A month or two after leaving the convent, I had to meet with the two sisters who were in charge of my formation as a postulant. I left that meeting angry and hurt. Frankly, I think that may have been when the actual trauma of that whole time of my life hit.

I value that religious community and the role it has played throughout my life. The have a page on Facebook, which I follow. It allows me to see what they are up to. For the most part, it's good to see. But, every so often I will see pictures with those two specific sisters from that meeting. Sometimes, especially lately, seeing them takes me back to that room, back to being told, while pointing back at the wall, that my suffering is nothing compared to the true suffering of Jesus Christ on the Crucifix. What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Is this why people shouldn't seek out exes on social media? Is this a bad idea? Should I stop following the group that means so much because of these two popping up in my feed occasionally? 

I just don't know.    

Our Father

This post's theme has been sitting in my drafts for months. 

I was thinking about my dad. It's not something unlike me to do. This whole grieving process is really something. You never know when a happy or sad memory will hit. It can be such a little thing that triggers it. Or, it's day on a calendar that marks some significant time in your life together. 

I lost my father. 

My four siblings lost their father.

We all lost the man who fathered the five of us.

However, when I think about it, we all lost a different dad. Each of us had our own relationships with him. Our memories and experiences differ. 

I read something one of my older brothers wrote about memories of things he got to do in his childhood with our father. It really struck me. It was sweet. It was his dad. They had their things. Things I didn't share in.

My childhood with my dad didn't involve days at the then Cleveland Indians' games. I went to evening Mass with my dad and would get a sucker from the corner drug store on our walk home. He would lie on the couch and watch public television. I would climb up and lie on his belly and watch Julia Child cook something neither of us would ever make. I would hang out with my dad on Saturday afternoons after my morning class at The Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Before heading home, we'd make a stop at Lakeview Cemetery to visit my grandparents' and other family members' graves. Then we'd stop at Hough Bakery where I would get a Lady Lock. 

When I was older, he gave me his copy of The Catcher in the Rye from his teenage years when it first was published. He said that he thought I'd like it. How did he know? Also, I became his date to see A Christmas Carol at Cleveland's Playhouse Square. We did this a few years in a row. Then we went on to get tickets for a partial season to see the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra at beautiful Severance Hall. We even got to experience the performance of my dreams when we had tickets for Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.  (My dad had the 1975 album that was a recording of the Cleveland Orchestra at Severance Hall in 1974. When I was little, the album art shocked and horrified me.)

Those experiences were with my dad.

Our little song

LITTLE HANDS
By Inland Sky

Little hands
The world is yours
Hold it close with open arms
Little feet
With miles ahead
Take it slow, see it all, take it in

I see me in you
You in me
I see me in you
You in me
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes

Little heart
Dance it out
So the ins and outs won’t bring you down
Little dream
Grow up tall
With a little rain, a little sun, you’ll feel love

I see me in you
You in me
I see me in you
You in me
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes

Little hands
The world is yours
Hold it close with open arms
Little hands

I came upon this song when making an Instagram post about the grandson. It got me in the feels and became our song to listen to when in the car.

My grandson is not biologically related to me. I do not have any biological children, as I've written about before on this blog. My daughter, Conner is Shawn's from a previous marriage. But, I'm still "GrandMeg" to this little boy and I never look at him as a "step."

There has always been a nature vs. nurture argument in human development. I recognize that the lyrics to this song may seem to be about biology - seeing oneself in a child your grandchild. However, as a hands-on grandparent who has been one of his primary caretakers while Conner works, I think I've had some role in nurturing this boy. I think I am able to see me in him and him in me. 

The boy with the little hands and little feet pictured above is having his 4th birthday today. How can that be? It seems like his birth to now went in a flash. At the same time, I don't really remember my pre-GrandMeg life. He has Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and has had some developmental delays along the way. But, this not-so-little guy has grown so much physically and mentally that he leaves all of those who love him in awe. It has not been an easy road for him and for us. It is our road, though, with many miles ahead.

I hold his little hand to keep him safe when crossing the street or walking through a store. I imagine one day he will hold my little hand to keep me safe when climbing a stair or getting out of a car. We will have a full circle moment when I will still see me in him and him in me. 

I disagree with agreeing to disagree

I’m tired. I’m tired of so many things. The one thing that has really gotten to me the last 8 years or so is being told that differing opinions don’t mean we can no longer be friends and it is childish to think it does.

We are not talking about simple differences in opinions. We are talking about ideologies that impact actual human lives. These are things that are classifying some as lesser. The thinking that rights should be taken away because they shouldn’t have been granted in the first place is not simply an opinion.

Saying that Teddy’s Guncle shouldn’t have a legally, valid marriage to her wife with all the benefits that entails is not the same as saying that Coke is better than Pepsi (even though Coke really is better). Actively working to have it invalidated is not an agree-to-disagree situation for her or those of us who support her.

I had breast reduction surgery because I could longer deal with the physical issues having extremely large breasts caused. But, there was an internal aspect, too. I couldn’t live how I wanted, be who I wanted. This was fine. No one protested my right to the procedure. I wasn't told that God made me to have huge boobs and I need to live with 

Somehow, people see trans and non-binary persons as going through a phase; freaks; mentally ill; whatever other things they come up with to minimize their reality. Gender affirming care is necessary. If Conner’s step-sibling has top surgery so they are free to feel their authentic self, who did they hurt? They aren’t pushing an agenda that everyone should be breastless and should be non-binary. There is a sense of peace and pride that shows in their pictures now.

Folks who go crazy about pretty much anyone in the "alphabet [used in a derogatory way]" community, claim pretty much any one part of the LGBTA+ community is living unnatural lifestyles. I'm not painting with a broad brush here, but many of the folks with this thinking tend to be Trump supporters. Speaking of painting, these people need to look to their orange leader and recognize that he is being unnatural. Also, the amount of plastic surgeries and fillers and botox in his posse, are also not natural. So, they can have procedures that are not natural to make themselves feel better about themselves, I guess. But, the people who want to be their authentic selves, should not even think about having procedures done.

I want Teddy to have the rights to gender affirming care, if that is were his life path leads. Thinking he should not have those rights is not a little difference of opinion in our family. If you can't accept Teddy's authentic self and feel his rights should be stripped from him, then that's not a vibe our family wants to have around.

Then there is the desire for Gilead. Women around the country are having their bodily autonomy limited bit by bit, state by state. I'm almost 50 and do not have a uterus, so I know I won't be wearing red. But, we aren't Christian, so I'm not entirely sure where Shawn and I will fit. Conner, will end-up in red and I'm not sure where Teddy will go.

In all seriousness, the extreme ideas about women's rights are insane. Vance thinks childless women are a lesser class, yet is anti-IVF according to his voting record and things he has said. So, if you are childless, but don't want to be, then you're screwed. And, stepparenting does not count toward having a child. 

Women are dying because procedures are being made illegal that previously were life saving for an expectant woman. Some laws are so confusing that medical providers aren't even sure what they can and cannot do without risk of criminal charges. Carrying a dead baby to term seems cruel, not to mention dangerous.Touting something about "post-birth abortions" to make people think people are deciding they don't want to be a parent after having gone through an entire pregnancy is beyond ridiculous. The very idea of women being put at risk of death because of an ideology claiming to be "pro-life" is contrary to how my mind works. Women being allowed a chance to live shouldn't be minimized as one's opinion rather than a human right. 

I can agree to split a pizza with you on which your half has anchovies and my half has ham and pineapple. You can wash it down with a Pepsi while I drink my ice cold, Coca-Cola. But, if the conversation turns toward calling for the removal of rights for women, minorities, and LGBTQ+ individuals, I'm going to have to pay my half of the bill and walk away.

The elephant on the arm

I love elephants. In my opinion, they should be called elovephants. These giant creatures are so amazing. I mean, how can you keep scrolling if a reel pops up showing a baby elephant learning how to elephant; trying to get itself out of a mud bath? Or, how about a video with a guy who had been working in human prosthetics who decides to venture out to create prostheses for animals AND does it for an elephant!!! 

Elephants have been known for not forgetting. A strong memory helps them survive. They are also highly intelligent, emotional, and social animals. Because of the observations of elephant behavior, they have become a symbol for mental health. They are known to experience joy and are playful. They also recognize emotional behaviors and offer comfort to those in need. Sadly, they also suffer from things like depression, grief, anxiety, and even PTSD. These experiences increase when placed in zoos or when used for entertainment in circuses and festivals. It is heartbreaking.

So, what does this have to do with the elephant on my arm? It's quite a tale.

About nine years ago, my psychiatrist of many years decided to retire. I knew this wasn't great, but little did I know just how bad things would get.

The person I started to see for my medication needs was a psychiatric nurse practitioner. I heard she was known for using the least amount of drugs possible to help her patients. At this point, I was on very few meds and wanted to keep it that way. I scheduled my first appointment and away we went. Shawn came with me to appointments because I felt it was helpful to have his point-of-view on my behaviors. The very first appointment should have been a bit of a red flag. She was technology averse, she had no computer so the thumb drive I brought with my records from my previous psychiatrist was of no use. She asked a bunch of questions to do an assessment. Next thing I know I'm being diagnosed as bipolar and being put on lithium in combination with the other meds I was taking. So, this brought me up to 4 psych meds.

Now, my first major depressive episode was when I was 28. That was 12 years before I started going to her. I had three psychiatrists in that time. The first doctor was when I lived in Cleveland. Then I found someone when I moved to Colorado. I wasn't with her long before changing to the guy who retired on me. None of these three ever brought up bipolar, EVER!

But, I needed help. Shawn and I both were like, okay, this is different, but she did her assessment, so what do we know. After a few months of taking lithium and changing other meds, she suggests electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). Well, shit. Things got really serious, really fast. I mean, the first image that comes to mind is Jack Nicholson's character R.P. McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Rest easy, my friends, it is not like that.

We went for a consult at the clinic where I would end up going. I went through assessments and tests. The idea was this could reboot my brain in a sense. It could help improve the efficacy of the drugs. The expectation was about 6-8 weeks of treatments, starting with 3 times a week and then reducing the number based on what progress was being made. My first treatment was April 18, 2016. My final treatment was December 23, 2016. Not quite the 6-8 weeks we were planning on.

While I was going through this, I was 100% dependent on Shawn, especially on treatment days. We were fortunate enough that Shawn had a company willing to let him work from home. The office was only three miles away, so if he needed to run in on a non-treatment day, it wouldn't be too big an issue. My life was quite restricted. I couldn't work. Driving was not allowed at all. Jarvis and I couldn't take walks by ourselves. I was pretty much required to have supervision if I were to leave the house, even on non-treatment days. All of this is because your memory gets FUUUUUUCKED! On treatment days, I was super useless. Shawn would bring me home and put me to bed. Then, I'd get up at some point and have dinner and watch something with Shawn. Seeing my therapist was kind of pointless because not much was going on with my brain being so messed up. I think I wasn't seeing the PsychNP, either. My ECT doc was my mental health provider for the course of the treatments. I didn't know it at the time, but Shawn was able to meet with the clinic's social worker as she was there to provide support to caregivers. I'm glad to know he had that. I did go down to a couple times a week to once a week at some point. When treatments became fewer and further between, some restrictions were lifted. I could drive, but had to have an adult with me. I could venture out for walks with Jarvis. Eventually, I was able to drive alone. But, come December, it was frustrating because things really weren't having the results we were hoping for. Shawn thought it was time to stop. I had no reason to disagree. So, we stopped.

Here's the thing, what I didn't realize was that I lost a year of memories. We've come to refer to 2016 as the "lost year" because I have almost no memory of that year. There are some flashes every so often. It even took away those few months of 2016 before treatment even started. When I see pictures from that time, they mean nothing. They look like I was having a good time. I hope I was. My dad had such a hard time understanding how this could be. He would talk to me about something and I would tell him I had know memory of it. Whatever it was, he thought it was so significant an event that surely it would have stuck out. At this time Captain America: Civil War came out. We saw it a couple of times, so I'm told. Shawn said that my chosen "side" changed with different viewings. When it came out on DVD, I think it was the fourth time watching, it was like the very first time seeing it and retaining it. So, yes, my memory was seriously FUUUUUUCKED by ECT.

I continued with my PsychNP after this. I stuck with her for far too long. But, the idea of starting over with someone else just stressed me out. The person who was known for prescribing the least amount of meds as possible, kept adding meds and/or changing my dosages. For sure I had gotten up to six medications, but I think it may even had gotten to seven. She checked my blood regularly because lithium is a real motherfucker. Side effects suck. I developed tremors, common for lithium users. One of the meds she added messed with my sleep. I also had one that gave me these weird jerky movements. We dropped those and moved to something else. 

She stopped taking my insurance so we decided to spread out appointments and pay out-of-pocket. Then COVID hit and in person visits were out. Like I mentioned, she has some weird issues with technology, so I bit the anxiety bullet and found someone else.

I really didn't think it possible to go from worse to worst. This guy, thankfully is now retired. But not soon enough for me. He decided to just go the bipolar route without really doing any kind of assessment. To him, lithium was the end all be all; an oldie but a goodie. I really should have stopped seeing him when he asked about my weight and said he may have to send his orc he found in a dumpster after me so that I would run to get more exercise. Again, I hate doc shopping, so I stuck with him. Also, he didn't have me get regular blood work. I didn't think much about it until my physical health started to get messed up. I was seeing my primary care doctor for something. He ordered blood work and was concerned, so he ordered more bloodwork for lithium levels. I was in lithium toxicity. 

I brought this to my psychiatrist who was like, it's just a tiny amount over the line. But, there is a line and it exists for a reason. Meanwhile, my tremors were so severe I couldn't do so many things like write; insert my debit card into the slot; use a pin pad or touch screen; turn pages; and, at times feed myself. I was dealing with incontinence, both bladder and bowel. There were times when, thankfully I was at home, I just surrendered and pissed myself and flooded the floor. My calcium levels were also getting out of control. My parathyroid glands, which I didn't even know were a thing, were not functioning correctly. If they suck, you have to have surgery. There isn't medication for it. So last September, I had surgery to remove the two funky glands, move the less funky one to my chest so that if it gets worse it'll be a simple outpatient procedure to remove it, and the good one was left in it's proper place. Thankfully, my thyroid is able to be controlled with medication. My kidney function and my liver are both being monitored on a regular basis. I had another surgery last year for a growth on my ovary that went through torsion. The ER was convinced I had cancer and within two days I was seeing an oncologist. So, that was it, all female reproductive organs were gone and I woke up in menopause. Not entirely sure if lithium can be ruled out for that, but it could be on the list. I also have curly hair. So many things. 

I got off of the lithium in September. It was my decision against the advice of the doc. He did a nine day taper. That is ridiculous! Then, October comes and I'm asking him for changes to be made. He swears by the lithium. He tells me I'm difficult patient who is beyond his skill set; that I refuse his recommendations; I care too much about side effects and therefore limit his medication options; tells me again to go to a certain depression clinic, which I already told him had a six month waiting list. This isn't my first rodeo when it comes to meds. I understand side effects are part of the game. But, when the side effects are severe and intolerable, I'm not going to take that medication. He then referred to treatment resistant depression instead of bipolar. So, what was I really being treated for? I laid into him. I raised my voice. He told me we should meet in person because the phone call had gone too long. I told him I was done and would no longer be using him for my care. He tried to talk me out of it. I stood my ground. He said something about enjoying having me as a patient. I hung up (not as satisfying with a cell phone, but still).  He was retiring, so I was going to need someone new anyway.  

So, I lost what little mind I had left. Once again, dependent on Shawn, he found someone new. Her take is:

Moderate recurrent major depressive disorder.

Panic disorder, also known as episodic paroxysmal anxiety.

Chronic post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

This feels like we're getting back to Miller time (the name of the retired guy from years ago, not the beer). A little more like where I was before late 2015. I'm on a slow taper of one drug. The plan is to go through the dark to get to the light; to start fresh with medications. I'm down to only three medications. However, she's leaving the practice...so, in July, I will start seeing someone else in the practice. So, here's hoping for a better mental health journey.

Back to the elephant on the arm. I decided I need this tattoo to remind me where I've been. It's on my arm where I can look at it easily and often. The thought bubble is a play on elephants never forgetting, but for this one, 2016 is lost (not quite visible in the picture is a "?"). And the elephant itself is a symbol of mental health; of the good and the bad experienced in life; and, my simple love for elephants.

*Tattoo credit goes to the amazing Britton Dixon at Coven Tattoo.

Sometimes you just want to smell your dad

In a million years, I bet you never thought you'd read the words of this entry's title. I know I never expected to think them.

It's been 3 years and 2 months since my dad died. It's a weird feeling of it being just yesterday and ages ago since it happened. The whole grief thing is a very wild ride. Recently, a lot of things have been popping up in my head, my heart, and my gut. I think of that as a grief trifecta, in a sense.

I've listened to the first season of the podcast All There Is with Anderson Cooper (I had to take a break, so I haven't started the next season). Anyway, I HIGHLY recommend it for anyone experiencing any phase/type of grief, or anyone trying to support someone through grief. It gives a glimpse of all the different types of grieving people experience. 

Because of the show, I am processing so many things. This will hopefully be my outlet as it once was for other phases of my life.

As for the title, the sense of smell hits directly to the parts of the brain related to memory and emotion. It is the quickest of the senses to stir up memories. So, lately, I've wanted to remember my dad and the after shave he was known for. 

My newly purchased office décor.

Half the battle?

Is logging in progress?

A lot of things have been and are going on in this here head of mine. Trying to fill this space again. 

Sticks and skates and stats, oh my

It has been a hot minute. This isn’t how I thought I’d make a comeback, but it feels right. I came upon this Facebook post I wrote on Nov. 21, 2018:

Jarvis and I were out for a walk. We came upon a couple of hockey sticks leaning upon a fence. They had the tightly, twisted tape spiraling the stick's end and then the tape wrapping over that. And, BAM!, a flood of memories came rushing to mind.

There's the pot of boiling water for molding the rubber mouth guard. Also, heating the stick blade just enough to increase the curve without drawing the attention of the referee. And, the other kitchen memory was the game night dinner of pasta, I distinctly remember cavatelli. 

There were the changes from entirely metal blades, to black plastic, white plastic, and clear plastic coverings. Metal cage face masks moved aside for the super trendy Itech. Our local rink went from a chain link fence around it to plexiglass for a more modern feel.

My 3 brothers played. My sister did for a little bit, but I don't really remember that. There were lots of games and I spent lots of time in the rinks. A rink rat, you may say. I kept track of shots on goal for one team. Sometime worked the light behind the goal to indicate a goal was scored. I even worked in the scorer's box filling out the paperwork.

I haven't thought about this stuff in years. Possibly wouldn't have for years to come if it wasn't for seeing those sticks. They aren't important memories, but they make up part of my youth. 

No matter how small or mundane a memory may seem, don't take it for granted. Take it from me, you never know when you will lose even the tiniest trip down memory lane. Random things that come to mind may make you smile for just a little while and who can't use some more random smiles?

A year in the death of my father

Obviously I knew this day would come. The first anniversary of my dad's death. Technically, last year was the first Christmas without my dad, but he died on Dec. 23rd, so everything about that Christmas was weird, including COVID.

This year has been quite surreal. I thought the passage of time would help the grief, but it hasn't. What has surprised me is that it started to worsen each month. I have moments where I have to actually tell myself, "My dad is dead". In a dream I had, he was so real, so present that I, again, had to tell myself that he had died.

This year I've handled the holidays in a way that would disappoint someone as Mr. Christmas as my dad. I know the way to really honor him would be to get the tree up and have as many lights as possible, and then some, strung upon it. But, I'm not strong enough for that right now. Christmas music is more like a funeral dirge than anything jolly. Mustering the creativity and energy for creating another Jarvis themed Christmas card seemed an epic feat. Shawn and I aren't exchanging gifts, but have talked about getting a new tv as a joint gift. I pulled my holiday themed attire out of storage, but haven't worn much of it. No cookie baking has been done, even the simplest of recipes.

In a typical year, the Friday after Thanksgiving is the kick-off. We would probably have our cards ready to go. The tree would be up. Christmas tunes playing in the car instead of podcasts. The first t-shirt with a holiday theme would be worn along with some socks. Then, as the days move on, I would shop and I would bake. Then there would be wrapping and shipping. All of those things that my dad loved about the holidays.

Today, I woke up not wanting to think about what this day is. I didn't want to remember waking up to my mom's voice telling me he was gone. But, I did. I never read last year's Christmas letter that he managed to send. Today, I took a stack of letters from years past and read them. They represented history, but also showed his decline through the years. After I finished that stack I went to my desk and took out last year's letter. It was so very brief, only one sheet of paper front and back. I didn't cry. I really thought I would cry, especially at the end.

My dad had done a long stint in the hospital and rehab which ended with him coming home the day before Thanksgiving. When he came home he worked on cards and the letter. On December 21st he was back in the hospital and died on the 23rd. I give this little timeline because of something he wrote in the letter. His letter always included an in memoriam section to list those who had passed throughout the year. He began the in memoriam with, "While John is blessed to be back at home and doing better, we recognize and remember fondly those we have lost this past year..." Little did he know that he would become a part of that list a short time after writing those words.

This didn't really come out right

I don't know what has happened to me when it comes time to blog. There is plenty going on in my head - too much, really.

My current state is extra hot mess. I am physically and mentally all over the place. So many things are breaking me down. 

Recently, my dad's death has been hitting me hard. It's been harder than it was in the beginning months. It's just this weird feeling that it's not real. I think about it and wonder what will make it seem real? Will it be the first time I go to Cleveland since his death? Will it be seeing his grave in person?

The world and all it's changes get me to stay in bed. COVID, Texas laws, Afghanistan are all more than I can think about right now. I get choked up over the news. 

Work has me stressed out. There are changes that I don't know how to handle. My anxiety at the idea of certain tasks is manifesting itself physically. I'm not cut out for certain things. I'm not a people person.

I should be able to get my shit together. I used to accomplish things with less anxiety issues. Now, I tend to isolate and it's not because of COVID. Nausea is a constant and diarrhea is regular (so far no vomiting). Headaches and muscle aches are common. I'm quite tired. It's all part of the mess.

I have an appointment coming up with my shrink. I'm not all that optimistic right now. There are probably going to be med changes and that is a whole other thing I don't look forward to.

I'm just so tired.    

Brown bag lunch

I'm not sure where I heard it or read it, but there was this tip that you could use the same mask throughout the day if you put it in a brown paper bag between use. Who knows? It may very well have been bullshit, but, nevertheless, we have a large number of brown paper bags.

Yesterday I packed my lunch in one of them. 

Before he retired, my dad's entire work life included a brown bag lunch. A simple meal in a simple sack. He would reuse the same brown bag for days in a row. The bag would make its way from crisp to soft, wrinkled, and then it would tear. It would get changed out at that point and the whole routine would start again. 

We thought it was a silly, quirky thing, but it was my dad. And now, I have something else around the house to make me think of him. 

He was a good man, a really good, good man

When my dad died, I received texts and messages via social media. Since my mom isn't on social media, a copied everything, including some messages on my oldest brother's Facebook page into an email for her to read. I thought about it the other day and decided to share them all here. I'm not using the first and last names and all are as they were written.

My smile memory is of your father's laugh. He had the best laugh. And when he told a story, he was so intense, wanting to get all the details right. He was such a kind man. - Marie G

Yesterday?! Meg I am so sorry. I knew you had been on my mind for a reason. Your dad and mom are special to me, he would always stop by the children's desk if he was in the library for FoEPL business. Of course, you know that I saw your mom at storytime. I really a go m truly sorry, but grateful that I can say that I knew him. If any of you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. - Cherese

Your Dad and my mom had birthdays a couple weeks apart. He would always call her to say say happy birthday old lady. We always got a chuckle out of that. - Becky A

Prayers to you and your family. Your dad was one of the kindest person

I’ve ever met. He was a beautiful person and will be looking down from

heaven at his family. His kind words and ways will be missed. - Lisa H

I’m so sorry, your dad was such a great man and kind person. I’m keeping you all in my prayers - Kristen B G

He was such a very sweet man. I am so sorry for your family - Sheila F

I am very sorry Chris to hear thoughts and prayers to you and your family he was a great man. - Bill D

My condolences on this loss of this gentle caring man. Peace - Nicholas A

My condolences. A great man in every way - George B

Chris, so sorry for the loss of your father. He was such a nice person and always had a great attitude about life. - Ted K

So sorry for your loss. He was a kind wonderful man and wonderful example to you kids. May he Rest In Peace. - Peggy O-C

Very sad news. The original south lake sh group is about gone now. Your parents were so good to my mom. There is a place for him. - Mickey F

Always so awesome to our clan in the days, patience- Ken R

Chris I'm sorry to hear that. Kindest man I've ever known. Bar none. Can I do anything? - Emmett

Chris, I am so sorry about your loss. What a wonderful man and a friend to the entire F family who kept a keen eye over Nana. We will always be grateful. Please share the sentiments with your mother and siblings...I know from experience it is hard to lose a loved one so close to Christmas. Today's weather should provide some peace and quiet to reflect on your beloved father. - John F

He was the family historian and will be missed - Dennis D

He was a very kind man and he will be missed. - JoElle

He always treated us all as family. He will be missed by all. - Les K

Not a specific memory but his smile could always be depended on and it would always make me smile in return. - John E

Oh Meg, I am so so sorry for your loss. I always enjoyed your stories about your dad. Sitting with you in your grief. 💓  - Mary Beth W

I'm so very sorry for your loss. I enjoyed hearing about him through your anecdotes. - Cori

 

Oh Meg!! I’m an so very sorry. Your dad was a special guy 💓️💓💓 - Laura G P

I will miss his Christmas letters. A great family history. A great tribute to my cousin John. I have fond memories of visiting their house with book lined walls! He will be missed. - Beverly 

Oh Meg, that's terrible news. I'm so sorry. My condolences to you and to all of your family. You've told so many stories about your dad that I felt like I know him without ever having met him, and that sounds like a life well lived.

I'm so sorry for today. Lots of love from over here. ♡ - Cynthia R

May you and your family find peace in his peace. We are going to drive around and look at lights tonight - I’ll be thinking about your Dad as we do. - Mary Frances 

So so sorry Meg..John has such wonderful stories and memories he shared. - Dawn A-H

Sorry for your loss, Meg. We got the news this morning. He was so welcoming when I entered the family. If you need anything, please reach out. - Alyssa H

Meg, I’m so sorry for you and your family’s loss. I always looked forward to you sharing stories about him and I know he will be missed! - Chris B

Oh Meg, I am so sorry to hear this. Your stories of him were heartwarming. Hoping all of your memories bring you peace. - Katie P

I am so very sorry for your loss, Meg. Thank you for sharing so many stories about your Dad over the years, especially loved the card and letter stories. He really did embody all the wonderful qualities of a loving father🥰May he live on in your heart with all your splendid memories. - Jenne C C

I am so so sorry to hear this, your dad was awesome and I always loved running into him and chatting with him. - Monica F M

Meg, so sorry to hear this! You have expressed so much love for your dad through posts and blogs that I almost feel like I know him 😔 Hoping for some peace for you and your family. Sending you 💓️💓 - Alaina P

 

I am so, so sorry for your loss Meg. He was such a kind soul, and I will miss getting his cards and letters this time of year 💓️. -Kyra H

So sorry he was a true gentleman. Now he and Nana can have a good chat. God bless his soul. - Mel F

Meg our heartfelt sympathies go out to you and the entire family. Your dad was one of a kind! we will all miss the Christmas letter. 😉  May you find some peace knowing he is out of pain. - Kathy S

I'm so sorry for the loss of your dad. I loved reading your posts about him and how he impacted those around him. Wishing you, your mom, and family comfort and peace, especially when you recall precious memories of him. - Michelle F

So, so sorry! Your dad was definitely one of a kind. He will be greatly missed. 😘  - Korie R

I am so sorry to hear this. Your dad was such a kind and funny man. I will never forget all the conversations at Perkins and elsewhere. RIP♥️ - Brigid C

My heart is broken for you and your family....Your dad was an incredible guy. I loved talking with him and making him laugh. He was an absolute joy to be around. I'll certainly miss that Christmas letter 💓 - Linda R-F

He was one of the good ones. So sorry to hear and all my love and condolences to you and the family. - John E

Your dad was one of the good ones. Always had a smile and a laugh. I will miss his Christmas card but will always think of him this time of year. Thinking of you, your Mom, and your family in this next step. - Celina H M

So sorry to see this. Such a kind soul! Prayers to you and your family! - Beth

Very sorry for your loss, Meg. Your dad was a wonderful man. Keeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers. - Brian Q

Meg, I just heard about Dad. Mary Beth Q just called me. May God bless Mom, you and all the family with great strength and love at this time. It's surreal that he passed right before Christmas knowing how much he loved this season. I always looked forward to receiving his Christmas card and letter about the family each year. May he take part in a celestial Christmas this year. Sending hugs, Meg. 🙏💙🙏  - Bonnie M

I’m so unbelievably sorry your heart is hurting. I know through your stories what an incredible man, husband, father, grandpa, and friend he was, and the void he will leave behind. - Shelly M

I'm so sorry for your loss, Meg! Your dad was a wonderful man. 💓️ - Karen D

Denise: How blessed your family is to have had such a great father, husband and grandpa. And how he has even touched extended families lives. 💕what a wonderful life had.

Me: Denise I’m so glad you were one of the caring faces he got to see soon before he died.

Denise: aww thank you, he was just as I will remember. Sitting in his chair still cutting coupons in the hospital. Only thing missing would be your mom getting ready to prepare dinner and general hospital on the TV in their tiny kitchen. I use to look forward to going there after school

Also Denise: Thinking of all you guys, your parents show the strength of a couple being married so so long, such good people hugs.

Know that I am thinking about you and your family during this difficult time. I know it has been a long time since I’ve seen everyone but your family holds a special place In my heart from our days at Holy Cross and Perkins. Your parents are wonderful people and your father will be missed by many. I hope you are hanging in there and remember to take help from others when they offer you support. Something I have learned to do this year that does not come easily. Let people be there for you just as you would be there for others. - Ann C D

Meg, I’m so incredibly sorry. I’ve been so selfishly wrapped up in our own family problems, I didn’t see this until now. You are all in my thoughts. We’ll forever be indebted to your parents for helping us make Eddie the articulate, curious guy he still is today. - Stephanie M L

I don’t really have specific memories but omg when your dad thought something was funny, I had to laugh. Sometimes I had NO CLUE what he was talking about but, when he laughed, I laughed. He was so fun.

To get your dads Christmas card on the day he passed gave me a feeling that I have never felt before. He was a great man who built a wonderful family. I am thankful to have been a part of his Christmas card list. I am sad and sorry that he is gone, hugs for you all. - Kate E

How did I used to write here?

I've been in this place for months now. There are many things to write about, but I can't quite manage to do it. It should be so simple. It's my life, I know the subject matter best, or do I? I don't know. I wonder.

I suppose life is filled with ripping the Band-Aid off moments, and this is kind of like one more.

My dad.

My dad is.

My dad is dead.

The last time I saw my dad, in real life, not virtually, was October 16th, 2019 when I was leaving to come home to Colorado after 2 months with him in Ohio. He had been quite sick. I already had a trip planned and just extended it. 

The last time I saw him in a virtual capacity was December 22nd, 2020. He was in the hospital and his nurse Face Time'd Shawn and me. It was the end and the nurse gave us a chance to say goodbye. Early the next morning, my mom called to tell me he was gone. He died on Christmas Eve Eve. It was a weird kind of thing to have him die during his favorite time of year. Christmas had always been his thing and I always thought about that every year, now it just comes to mind in a different way.

I can't get all the words out. I'm far from getting all the tears out. I don't know that I ever will. 

In a World

You know when you see a movie trailer and it starts with, "In a World" being said in a dramatic voice?  It's not usually the kind of thing said before a rom-com. So, if 2020 was to be a movie trailer, it would most certainly start with "In a World."

In a world where a president fails his country by not addressing the heads up on a virus, over 180,000 people have died.   

In a world where a president contradicts all the safety precautions to help lower the spread of the virus, six million cases have been reported.

In a world where a president "doesn't see" a report that Russia was paying bounties to the Taliban to kill American troops, American troops were killed.

In a world where a president says there were good people on both sides of an alt-right rally, the floodgates of racism burst open.

In a world where cops and racist civilians are killing POC, Black Lives Matter.

In a world of all these things, stress, anxiety, and depression can really take over. It seems hopeless.

But, in a world where a stepdaughter is pregnant, a baby boy will be born, and hope and love will rise.

TSK...The Black kids have the worst lunches

I've been watching interviews of Cori Bush lately. She's a nurse, single mother, ordained pastor and community activist. She just won the Democratic party's primary for US Congress in Missouri's 1st District. It's a huge win. 

Her interviews point out aspects of poverty. She talks about her own experiences with poverty. This is the topic of her platform. She talks about the cycle of poverty and how it is so difficult break from it. At one point she talked about food insecurity. As I listened, I thought of an experience from my college days.

One summer when I was in college, I worked for a summer day camp. No big deal, nothing fancy. It was part of the city's recreation department's summer programming. I like to think the director was ignorant, but I think she may actually have been racist. 

Some days we went next door to the city's pool. As the kids would get ready, I would help them with sunscreen. This included the African-American kids. In a snippy way, she asked me why I was doing that? I told her the kids still need protection from the sun. They can get sunburn, it may just take longer, but it can still happen.

Then, there was the time she made a snide comment about the differences in the lunches the African-American kids brought and the lunches the white kids brought. She thought it was terrible how unhealthy the African-American kids' lunches were. Therefore, the parenting wasn't as good. She needed to hear about how finances make a difference in groceries. The best options for healthy food cost more. Sugary "juice" drinks are cheaper than real juice. Produce is more expensive than chips. It's unfortunate, but is the reality some people live with. This food issue can lead to poor health, which is just another part of the cycle of poverty Cori Bush has as her campaign platform. 

#BLM

 

Peanuts vs. Jelly Beans

In fall of 1980, I started kindergarten. I was a 5-year-old. It was an election year. The Republican Ronald Reagan was running against the incumbent Democrat Jimmy Carter. Scholastic News had ballots for us to use to vote. They were pictures of each candidate. We had a booth to cast our vote. It was a "brick" cardboard play house. Each of us took a turn to go in and put the picture for our candidate in a box. I don't remember who won and I don't remember who I voted for, perhaps Jimmy Carter. I was 5, what did I know?

Around the time I was casting my vote, Jimmy Carter was signing the Mental Health Systems Act of 1980. The MHSA was to set up grants for community mental health centers. Their was a movement for rehabilitation of people with sever mental illnesses in the 1970s. The focus of the movement and the law were on the same page. So, community health systems worked to coordinate general health care, mental health care, and social support systems. I didn't know this when I voted in kindergarten because...well...remember I was 5-years-old.

Thirteen years later, I was just out of high school. I went on a service trip to the intercity of Cincinnati. It was about 10 days of living above a storefront with a bunch of teenagers and some adult leaders. It was incredibly eyeopening. We did various jobs. I was at a soup kitchen. It was like nothing I ever experienced. We had speakers who worked in different ways with the poor and homeless. We went to hear one person and that's how I learned about the floodgates of mentally ill persons being released from hospitals. A year after Jimmy Carter signed the MHSA into law in 1980, Reagan repealed most of the law. So, mental health care saw major cuts. 

This changed my view for the rest of my time in Cincinnati. There was a park in front of where we stayed. Lots of homeless were there. I talked to one man who was a Vietnam vet. It was obvious he really could have used help. He showed me the scar from his sternum diagonally down his left side around to his back. Much of what he talked about didn't make sense to me. If I knew about PTSD back then, I would guess that was one of his issues.

Many at the soup kitchen were surely suffering from some mental illness or other. One day, a woman came through the line. She was wearing a purple fishnet shirt. That was it for the top. No regular shirt. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure where to look. I mean, we talk to those who come through the line. It would be weird if I ignored her. She did the talking and moved on through.

In both kindergarten and the summer after graduating high school I wasn't aware of my mental illnesses. Now, I've been living with it, in good times and bad. So, it is a very important issue for me.

Looking at the two presidents and at an area that is very important to me, I'd like to think I went in that "voting booth" and voted in the interest of my future self. I'd like to think I voted for peanuts vs. jelly beans, that I voted for Jimmy Carter.