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.

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.

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.

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

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. 

This train

Sometimes the train of thought I travel is so odd. 

Yesterday, Shawn was talking about Trump. For some reason, I started to think about the way he sways back and forth when someone is talking. I have the sense that he is completely distracted as he does it. Someone else is speaking and he just doesn't give a shit.

After playing out that visual, my train moved on to the next stop. I started to think about the movement of someone holding a baby or small child. It's not the same as Trump's movement, but it has a certain rhythm. It's also contagious. I've caught myself doing it when being around the person who is actually holding the child.

Leaving the station now to make the next stop.

As I thought about the baby holding movement, it reminded me of a time years ago. When I was going through all the convent stuff and thinking about that life, I was at mass. There was a woman holding her baby and doing the baby sway. I caught myself moving, too. Then it was time to sit and I kept watching her. My thoughts moved to how to continue with my life's path, I was consciously choosing to never have children. Convent life meant never being called, "Mama".

Making way to the railroad switch. 

A thought about a swaying baby which turned to a thought about swaying with a baby, moves childlessness.

As we know, if you've been around to read some posts, the convent thing didn't play out. So, I no longer had to choose not to have a child. I could happily make that choice. Well, I could choose to try to get pregnant. But, infertility meant never being called, "Mama".

Connect the dots

This is going to start off a little weird, like not 100% fitting to the post as a whole.

When I was little, like early elementary school, I was pretty familiar with funerals. My dad's aunts and uncles had started to die. I remember his grandmother dying. She lived in a nursing home a good drive away. She had broken her hip and then developed pneumonia. So, I came to associate breaking a hip with dying. I didn't really understand the pneumonia part, but in my mind, the two were connected.

As I grew up, I discovered that a broken hip doesn't cause pneumonia. I started to understand the connection of the broken hip to pneumonia was only that being bed ridden caused fluid to build up. Being as old as my great-grandmother was, all of these things created the perfect storm for her to be unable to combat the pneumonia.

Pneumonia.

Come the late 80s. The AIDs epidemic was making its way through the world. Our little corner of the world was not safe. My dad's cousin was infected, full blown AIDs, not HIV. Then, that word, pneumonia, crept into our vocabulary again. When he passed away, AIDs, itself, was not listed as the cause of death. I learned that his death was from pneumonia. There was no broken hip involved in this case. There was AIDs and the suppression of his immune system. So, it was death by pneumonia due to the immunosuppression from AIDs.

COVID-19

Here we are, 2020 and a pandemic. I know pneumonia has played a part in this. I have a friend who was infected and ended up with pneumonia. She has recovered, thankfully. But, is it really surprising to have pneumonia rear it's ugly face?

I'm going to stop with the pneumonia talk, but not with the cause and effect piece of how health conditions can connect.

Governor Cuomo of New York recently adjusted the number of COVID related deaths causing an increase to the statistics. And.......then comes 45 and his COVID briefing. He gets in his expert over all the things mode and criticizes Cuomo. He implied it was an attempt to make things look worse than they are. Well Dr. 45, MD, shut the fuck up. A patient with COVID can have other health problems arise. So, yes, it is possible to have a fatal heart attack due to COVID. Let real doctors, not lackeys, but real doctors who are fighting along with all other types of medical personnel to educate the masses.

The 7 year bitch

Every year, around this time, is a bitch. It’s not because of my birthday. I don’t meet that age denying female stereotype. I’m more of a “meh” person about my age. This is a deeply painful time of year.

If you’ve kept up with this blog you should already know about my fertility issues. Seven years ago we went through around of IVF. We only got to do one round. My eggs were few and quality was low. The embryos were implanted just around my 38th birthday (just got off the phone with my dad and he mentioned he was 38 when I was born. Just thought it was interesting) and the implantation failed. I saw the blood and knew it was over. Those few days were terrible and are forever connected to my birthday.

This year, I’m ringing in 45 with a stressful time at work and the COVID-19 pandemic. No birthday date night with dinner at a restaurant of my choosing. I should, however, mention the positive side of things with Facebook birthday well wishes.

Two weeks left of the most difficult two months

For some reason, I thought I would be blogging more while being out here helping with my dad. Maybe it has to do with being tired and busy, I don't know. I have two weeks left and I'm ready. That probably sounds shitty, well, I've felt shitty.

I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." God, I wish I had her steadfastness. I'm still here feeling terrible because of the words and actions of another at a time when I really am trying to muster all the strength I have. I've been dealing with what might be considered Imposter Syndrome. I feel like I've done nothing near to what some think. I've not earned the kind words of others. Shawn says I have, so I should try harder to believe him.

But, what this entry is really about is hepatic encephalopathy again. 

While talking with Shawn during one of our nightly phone calls, I told him one of the things I have come to realize. When all is said and done, whether I stay here longer than 2 months or stick to the plan, my last memories of my father will not be the way I would choose. The hepatic encephalopthy distances me from the Dad I have always known. It has changed him in ways I do not like to see. Many visitors get to see him when he is rather lucid and don't really experience what my mom and I do in what I refer to as the witching hour. No matter how much I try to remind myself that he is not himself, the "this is the disease talking" mantra works very little. I lose my patience, there is no reason to lie about that. This mean, crabby, demanding, and angry man is not my dad; it is high ammonia levels and end stage liver failure. I need to try to recognize that. 

I should try to hold on to this and this, 

What's in a name?

I found out today that a man who was a big part of my childhood died. He and his wife were friends of my parents and went to the church of my childhood. He and his wife were the creators of "Megala". One of my many nicknames. I decided to go through my nicknames, well, as many as I can remember.

Meg (my first ever nickname since my given name is Margaret)
Megala
Margar
Midge
Peggy
Peggy Sue
Megaroni
Megra
Meggo
Meggles
Megster
That Girl
Megger
Marge
Moony
Babe

Hold On

Yesterday, Wilson Philips' Hold On came up on my iTunes. I tried to get that song to change me in junior high. I wanted it to be my anthem. My childhood anxiety and loathing (which, we all know, has come with me into adulthood) were in need of some kind of help, especially since I was hiding things. I mean, I chose my Confirmation name (non-Catholics, it's a name you choose when confirming your faith. For me, it was in junior high) because I thought I was so terrible. The Saint whose name I chose was Augustine of Hippo. He was a sinful guy. He was hedonistic. He was a wild child. But, he turned his shit around. He became a saint. I thought this was amazing. If he could turnout to become a saint, I most certainly could be a better person than the one I was at the time.

Maybe I am a better person than I was.

But yesterday, when the song came on, it made me smile. Bridesmaids changed that song for me. Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolph doing there jam to that song was so amazingly awesome. The whole movie is so funny, I've seen it multiple times, which I don't typically do with movies. So, it's a different anthem, I suppose.

"Things'll go your way

If you hold on for one more day
Can you hold on for one more day
Things'll go your way
Hold on for one more day"

A most gentle man

Today I found out that Dr. Frank Guerra, one of the heads of the practice where I had my ECT, had died. He was the anesthesiologist. He had cancer. It seems it was too far gone when they found it.

I've written a lot about my ECT experience. It was a significant part of my life, so I will continue to write about it whenever I see fit. 

One of the strange things about my memory loss is what wasn't lost. I remember the office; the waiting room; the staff; the pre-treatment questions; getting in my gown; lying on the gurney; and being wheeled into treatment room. With all of this, I remember moments with Dr. Guerra. Some days, the nurses would have a hard time getting a vein for my IV. They would leave it for Dr. Guerra to do when I went in. He was so gentle and got it done easily. My favorite memory of interacting with him was a day when I were late to our appointment. Being late can turn into a huge trigger of my anxiety. So, I was all keyed up about it. When I got into the treatment room and he was on my right side as per usual, he brought his observation of my stress. He asked me what was going on that had me so anxious. I explained that we were late. He asked me something like, "Did you make it? Are you here?" and I said, "Yes" and he told me that that was all that mattered. He then had me relaxed and put under. He's bedside manner was sweet and kind.

My hope, that in his memory, those he taught and mentored learned one very important thing, a tender and kind bedside manner. 

#51

Five years ago I wrote about my parents' journey to get married. It was at the time of their 46th wedding anniversary.

Last year was their 50th anniversary. I'm not sure why I didn't write something then, but I didn't. We had a celebration. A special blessing was given at mass. Gold decorations on the tables at lunch. All of us in awe of the longevity of their marriage.

And here we are, another year in the books.

A couple of days ago, I was walking Jarvis and thinking about their 51 years. So many things to fill all those years. So many things bringing ups and downs.

Those "things" are 5 children. In their 51 years of marriage, only 10 months were childless. My oldest brother was born on New Year's Eve of 1968. My sister came the next December. My next brother came 2 years and 1 month later. I came 3 years and just under 2 months after him. Finally, my little brother came 4 years and 8 days after me. So, yeah, 10 months without any kids.

I can't even imagine what having 5 kids could be like. We were in a house with 1 bathroom. All 5 of us went to Catholic school. We were involved in different activities - a variety of sports and classes at museums. My dad worked an office job, I honestly couldn't tell you what it was, though. It was standard office job hours. My mom worked retail at a fabric store where she could demonstrate her great sewing skills. Dad would get home, Mom would leave if that's what her schedule was. When she worked weekends, my dad would drive her so that he could have the car to take us to whatever places we needed to go.

Around the time I was in 6th grade, the company my dad worked for was closing up shop and moving to Canada and one of the Carolinas (I think). My parents did consider having us move to Canada. We went up for a visit. My brothers' interests were involving hockey and mine was whether or not they had tornadoes. Anyway, the decided against it. My dad had been 16 when he started with the company and he was 50-ish when this was going down. They decided that my dad would commute. He would come home late afternoon on Friday and leave Monday morning. He did that for a year and a half. That's when we got a second car, or at least I associate the second car with this time. By second car, I'm talking beater. It was not going to make it on any road trip.

There it is. A snapshot of their marriage. Just a mere fraction of what has been going on for the last 51 years.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!