Month: November 2017

My therapist has pointed out that I am a very empathetic person.  Which probably explains why I cry easily watching sad news stories or feel their joy when soldiers return home to their family.  Hayley was just the same.  My mini me.  I have an active imagination.  In the last 19 years I have imagined every scenario possible that would result in one of my children’s deaths or injury.  I know it is kind of creepy.  I am the one that researched the shit out of every single car seat I purchased.  For two kids I purchased more than 8 different car seats and boosters.  They were never handed down.  I always had to have the latest in safety.  I would read results from lab tests.  I always paid attention to the laws in countries like Denmark.  They were always the leaders in safety.  If we had an accident my babies would survive.  I was the one informing other moms to not face their child forward yet.  Scott had a running joke that he still digs up after 20 years.  It goes like this.  “Hey Dawn, I am having trouble going to sleep, can you tell me about your car seat research”.  No joke, he said it in the last month.  Once I survived car seats.  Poor Henry was the only kid in 2nd grade still using a booster.  “No Henry, let me read you this report, you have to be a certain weight and height, I love you and want you safe”.  Poor guy he acted like I was making him wear pull ups to school.  Then junior high.  The girls do what to the boys in the back of the bus?  WTF.  I have always viewed the raising of my children to be a war.  I was the general and responsible for guiding them safely through the various stages of childhood the best I could.  So when I told her that I could tell if she gave a boy a blowjob it was just my way of battling the forces of evil.  That reminds me of a memory.  Many of you have heard this story, mainly cause it is funny shit.  Hayley and I took a parent and kid class at Overtake Hospital about sex and puberty.  It was around the 4th or 5th grade.  I went with her friend and her mom, they have known each other since 6 months old and now they were giggling over tampons.  Hayley pulled it a part and pretended it was an earring.  At one point they separated us.  The kids went with a pediatrician to talk about their bodies without the uncomfortable moms listening.  Us Moms and it was 99% Moms, we sat and listened to another medical professional tell us all the scary things we had to worry about.  She told us about the Blowjobs aka Favors.  My head was spinning.  The one thing that stuck was you have to talk about oral sex.  She said before Junior High.  To make sure you don’t skim over it when having “the talk”.  That week we had “the talk” but not the “oral talk”.  She wasn’t in Junior High yet.  Scott participated in “the talk”.  The books I read suggested an involved father was the key to for a daughter to successfully navigate puberty. He had no issue with it.  I orchestrated a plan with him.  I talked to her alone.  I had books.  Then 10 minutes in he joined the conversation.  He told her he loved her so much and that she could talk to him about anything even periods. He may have mentioned killing any boy that hurt her.  He truly is the best father.  He was there for her on Black Friday 2012 when she got her first period and I was out with my friends.  I brought her home a giraffe pillow pet and Scott, I brought him a bottle of Vodka.

So she is in Junior High.  I am stressing out because I have not had the “oral talk”.  I am waiting for the perfect moment.  I thought it had come.  We were on our way to dance and from the backseat of my white Honda minivan she says “Mom what is a BJ?”.   Here we go!!!   I had rehearsed this moment for months.  “Hayley, I am so glad you asked me that”  I then proceeded to verbally vomit on her all kinds of wisdom.  I told her I could tell if she had done it.  I told her it rots your teeth and if she did that I wouldn’t pay for braces.  I told her that it can cause cancer.  Don’t judge, it is a war.  I told her that oral was sex no matter what the boy said.  I told her that I hoped she would respect herself and say no.  I explained that as a feminist I found the whole idea of giving a blow job and getting nothing in return was a load of crap.  This may have gone over her head.  Finally I took a breath.  I looked in the rearview mirror and saw her trying not to laugh.  I then hear this “Hey Mom, I really appreciate the information but I know what a BJ is, I asked what is a VJ”.  What?  On the radio they were talking about MTV and how one of them had been a VJ.  “Oh, well that is a video jockey, they introduced music videos.  But do you have any questions about the other stuff?”  I lost track how many times I heard her tell that story to her friends.  “You won’t believe what my Mom did”

We survived Junior High with no penises.  Then she is 16, she is driving in a car alone and with other teen drivers.  How can I make sure she is safe?  Where is she right now?  Has there been an accident?  College, Will she drink and fall down those damn cement stairs outside of the Mathis dorm?  Will she try drugs?  Will she trust the wrong person and I will never see her again? Then back to the car, is she too tired to drive the two hours home?  Is she driving too fast?  (yes)

Being so paranoid about my children’s safety I often wondered how someone survived the death of a child.  I always said I couldn’t survive that.  I couldn’t function.  I saw it happen to women I knew.  How is she still standing?  I guess because of her other children, still, I would not be getting out of bed.  What did it feel like?  I wonder if I am not the only one that obsessed over these thoughts.  Some of you have wondered how I am still standing.  I have actually had people, mostly strangers say to me, “Wow, how are you standing? I couldn’t. I would not be able to do what you are doing, I would be curled up in a ball.”  “Well that was Tuesday, Bitch”  Maybe it is a compliment.  But what I hear is this person  judging me.  They think I should be grieving more.  It feels like they think I didn’t love my child as much as they love theirs.  The reason they think this is that people think grief is obvious.  They think you can see it.  It is crying.  It is not leaving the house.  Let me answer that question for you.

You cannot always see it.  What you see is just the absolute tiniest tip of the iceberg.  I had no idea.  I thought my well developed empathy allowed me to put myself in these other Mom’s shoes.  I have never been more wrong in my life.  While I worried about Hayley’s driving and other obvious dangers, her future lurked.  It never occurred to me that an outpatient day surgery with an epidural could result in her death.  Of course we sign the forms that say we understand there is a chance that could happen.  But even the anesthesiologist skimmed over that and said it would all be fine.  It was not fine.  You truly believe that doctors and nurses can fix anything and that they could never cause more harm.  How could I forget that they are human beings with flaws and not one of them perfect.  As a paranoid Mom how did I ever think that.  What if I had worried as much about this as I did the car seats?  Would I have been able to keep her safe?  I have always had 100% trust in the medical field.  It never occurred to me that a hospital would be so incompetent in their care over those 5 days that I would lose one of the loves of my life.  That only happens to other people, not me.  I have handled enough in my lifetime.  I have always laughed when I saw that quote, “God only gives challenges to the people that can handle them”.  Seriously, Fuck that!  I have handled my share for at least a dozen people.  Deaths of Grandparents.  Death of my stepmother while I watched. Death of my Father, watching his body being wheeled down the steps in a black bag realizing we will never have the chance to repair a complicated relationship.  Death of more than one friend.  Divorce with parents that made bad choices.  Separation from Scott.  I have been fired from the job that I was absolutely the best at.  I have been sued for helping an employee.  Cardiac Arrest.  Pacemaker.  I have had 9 surgeries in my lifetime.  I survived a DVT, blood clot.  I am way over my quota.  This is bullshit.  I want her back, I deserve it, I have earned it.

Grief is not just one feeling.  It is not a list of feelings and physical pain that fits neatly in a box.  It is always changing.  It changes even from hour to hour.  For example; I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen.  Constant and sharp.  I cry.  I want Hayley with every fiber of my being.  We are trying to plan a trip as a family.  Every idea is one Hayley would love.  There is that sharp pain like a knife being twisted.  I need her.  I need her right this minute.  I found another sock behind my nightstand.  So cute, pink and white.  I smelled it.  It smelled like her skin.  I told Scott to smell it, he agreed.  Asking him to smell his daughter’s sock no longer even seems odd.  The pain is so sharp, yet the tears are slow and big running down my face. This grief I call the knife.

Then there is the slow burn.  It usually starts earlier in the day.  It starts out slow and it gains strength as the day goes on.  I am irritable.  It doesn’t necessarily make me cry.  The fire grows.  The memories feed it.  Little things feed the burn.  A shoe.  A Target run, I should grab Hayley that, sigh.  Christmas decorations.  The fire grows all day.  Sometime it only takes an hour.  Then it explodes like a back draft.  The crying is physically painful.  I throw myself down on the floor, my whole body is tense.  The sobs are loud and they burn.  As slowly as it started the fire is drenched by the tears until you just physically are done for the day.  The slow burn usually requires Xanax.  People judge others that use pharmaceuticals to survive.  I don’t.  Those medications are what keep me standing and breathing.  My hope is that they will be my bridge to a time when I have the strength and skill set to manage my pain without them.  But if I never do, I am okay with that too.

Then there is the choke.  When I cannot talk without choking up.  Every sentence I am fighting the sobs.  I am shoving the pain down as hard as I can.  I feel it in my skin.  I feel it in my eyes.  I will look at the person with me and just hope they can see my signals.  I am not Okay.  Look in my eyes.  My throat is tight.  I can barely breathe.  Where is she?  Why did this happen?  When this type of grief is surfacing I need to talk about her.  I have to.  If I don’t I will choke on the grief.  If I talk about her she will not be forgotten.

Grief does not have a template.  The steps, Denial, Anger, Acceptance, etc.  That is bullshit.  There are so many more words and stages.  They don’t happen neatly in an order.  You can cycle through all of the stages in one day.  You can be stuck on one for weeks.  This pain is all consuming.  I am not me.  I am a shell of me.  I rarely look at myself in the mirror.  When I do I am startled by what I see.  My face does not look like me.  My body carries the extra weight.  My face is swollen.  My eyes are not mine.  I see someone else.  I don’t want to be this person.  This is not real.  Where is she?  Bring her back to me.  Bring my daughter back to me.  Our Family is missing a wheel.  Hayley and I were the two front tires in a front wheel drive vehicle.  Henry and Scott were the back.  They still have their half.  My half is gone.  I am so lonely.  I am lonely in a crowd.  I am lonely with people that have gone out of their way to make me feel loved.  I have had so many amazing women reach out.  People that I only knew their name prior to the nightmare have stepped up and done so much to keep me standing.  That support is the only reason I am still here.  Half of me died with Hayley.  But the other half thrives on this attention.  Food, cards, little things on the doorstep, texts, emails, stories of Hayley.  Sometimes it comes in other forms.  I had mentioned in another post about Hayley and I loving to leave our mark on any display that had the alphabet.  It was too tempting, one of us would be the look out.  Saturday night I was at Target at midnight, closing.  It was great, no crowds. I found some ornaments and came up with the only word I could.  “Damnit”  I can hear her say it.  “Damnit Henry! Get your shit together”.  I can hear her voice trying not to break into a giggle.  Trying so hard to say it without laughing.  I posted it my work on Facebook.  One of my new friends, one of my new tribe members posted a picture tonight from the same Target.  Obviously it had been corrected, she made it Hayley worthy again.  I laughed, a real one.  I startled myself.  I had forgotten what a laugh felt like.

The Inspiration, Damnit #1

Thank You S.C., maybe we are trend setters

I think this will be a lighter entry.  Today was hard.  Duh, they are all hard, but some are just harder.  It seems unfair because so far none are easier but so many are harder.  Totally off balance.  I know I have talked about the “Be”, but I want to revisit it and share a recent peek into my personality and behavior.  Knowing me, you know Hayley.

In our kitchen we have Family Rules; Be thankful. Be kind. Be Funny. Etc.  This past Spring around the time of Hayley’s 19th birthday we started talking about tattoos.  She had met the all of the requirements for me to support a tattoo and keep her Dad from totally losing his shit.  She had to want the same tattoo for 3 years.  She had to have some college under her belt.  She had to be doing well in her classes.  She still wanted my heart rhythm on her wrist.  She kept asking me to get a print out and I kept “forgetting”.  I am not sure why I didn’t want her to do it.  I think I was uncomfortable with that amount of love being directed at me.  We talked about doing matching tattoos, a very small one.  I don’t have any and I am a big wimp.  We started Pinterest Boards.  We were looking at a minimalist wave.  We both loved the water, any body of water.   She asked me what phrase I would use to represent what I wanted to accomplish.  I said I would do “Be Present”.  Having just lost my job I had realized how little time I was present.  There was the next school to get to, the next goal to meet, the emails to return, the work that had to be done late into the evening.  I was not present for my kids.  I was there, always there, but not truly present.  She said you always say Be like the sign in the kitchen.  You usually end calls or talks with “Be Something”.  Be good, Be nice to your brother, Be on time, Be strong, Be confident…it was always a “Be” she said or “make good choices”.  So we talked about a tattoo on our wrists “Be…”.

The two weeks after we came home without her and before the service I was manic.  I was in a fog, numb and needed to be doing.  But then just as fast as I was busy I was sleeping.  I wanted her death to “be” meaningful.  I was learning more about how extraordinary her gifts to total strangers were.  I read the statistics.  I saw how many people die in our country every day waiting for an organ transplant.  I thought why can’t more people be like Hayley.  Bingo!  That was it hashtag (in my head I still call it a pound sign) be like Hayley was born.  Bracelets, we need them for the service.  I researched and reached out to a great company, they gave me such great service and made sure we got them on time.

She was so much more than just her donations.  I was starting to hear from people, many I didn’t know, about how she had touched their lives.  I knew the target market for organ donation awareness is teenagers.  Once someone checks “yes” on their first license they rarely will go back and change it to a no.  But I had worked with teens for the past five years, I have studied them.  Teenagers are about how does this impact me, what is my role, and they want a cause.  I had this idea of an awareness campaign, a foundation, and a movement.  It is a long term goal but I was totally obsessed with at least starting off prepared.  I used #belikehayley on the bracelets.  To engage teens and adults, I chose some of Hayley’s strongest qualities.  Be Kind, Be Funny, Be Real.  The next batch will probably say Be an organ donor.  I purchased the domain for Be Like Hayley.  I snagged the Instagram, Facebook, Gmail and Twitter for be like Hayley.  I needed to be prepared for when I was strong enough to move forward with these ideas.  It gave me a sense of purpose those weeks.  I was so proud of who she was and what she accomplished.  The bracelets were my tattoo, the reminders of what I needed to be.  Scott loved the bracelets and he never takes his off.  This made me feel really good.  He is the introvert in this relationship.  People know me.  He had a spectacular relationship with Hayley but bottom line she was all about Mom.  What makes him amazing is that he didn’t mind.  He had his Hayley time that did not include me.  It was all good.  So here is an example of a typical Dawn experience.  I hope that any tears today reading this post will be from giggling too hard.

The week prior to bringing Puppy Finn (@belikefinnthegolden on Instagram) home I had so much fun shopping for him.  I loved picking up little things for the kids.  I know Henry appreciates these little gifts in his own quiet 15 year old boy way.  But Hayley was always so thankful even if it just happen to be paperclips that matched her colors in her dorm bedding.  So I shopped for “the Puppy”, Scott had not told us the name yet.  To negotiate a yes, he got to pick the name.  I ordered some items off Amazon.  I asked the breeder what kind of food he was eating and picked that up at Mud Bay in addition to harness, treats, toys and balls!  I hope he likes tennis balls, our other dogs never would fetch.  Henry would love to have a dog that would fetch.  Just one that liked a few tosses here and there.  Not like my Brother’s dog that could fetch until he passed out from fatigue.

I went to Homegoods.  I finally had a reason!  They have several aisles of pet items.  I picked out a very cute basket made of rope, so he could chew that too.  More toys to go in the basket.  YES!  There is the  matching food container to the one we already had.  I could make labels!  “Adult Dog Food”  “Puppy Dog Food”  I can be easily entertained.  I got him a blanket.  I smiled.  Hayley had a blanket fetish.  I have to say I also participated in this hobby.  We were at the point where we would have to sneak them in so we didn’t get the lecture from Scott.  “For every new blanket you have to get rid of two old ones”.  She loved her blankets.  I want to point out that he enjoys using them right now, like a hug from her.  She had snuck one in right before surgery. She needed a recovery blanket, she said.  It was on her when she was in the hospital.  My thoughts wandered and tears threatened.  That is when I saw gates.  Several panels that would stand up for large openings.  Most of them were wood.  Puppy would love to chew on that and then he will knock it over.  But there was two of the same, pretty metal within the wood frames.  It would be pretty in the family room.  But did we really need it? Would it be long enough?  I will go home and measure and come back if it will work, I will not go overboard (um too late Dawn) and wait.

Second day of chasing the Puppy.  OMG, we need to do something.  I just want to stay in the family room and play with the puppy while I watched CNN.  I need to block that opening!  The sectional couch takes care of the other exit.  I need that gate.  Why didn’t I just buy it?  I know it is like Costco, you buy it when you see it cause every time it will be gone when you go back.  I picked Henry up from school.  I put him on  puppy duty and said I would be back in less than an hour.  Hardly.

I was in my usual uniform of sweats and pony tail.  No make up, why bother it runs down your face when you cry.  I don’t think I had showered, I was uncertain if I brushed my teeth, and I was sweating like a waterfall!  I find the emotions and grief really wreck havoc with my hormones.  So I strode in with a purpose.  I was so excited, for the first time in days I could sit in my recliner and not have to get up for like a whole 15 minutes!  I grabbed a cart and headed towards the gates.  This is where it starts.

There was my gate leaning up against the shelf.  Phew one is still there.  Hold up honey!  There squatted on the ground was a woman looking at the other gates while she had a deep discussion with clearly her Bestie.  My gate was at least 12 inches away from her.  It was not in a cart and no one had there hand on it.  This is where I should have been smart and fast.  I should have grabbed it, throw it in my cart and race to the check out.  But noooooooo.  I had to “Be Kind” like my bracelet said.  Is this your gate?  She snapped, “yes it is”.  Oh she didn’t have a bracelet.  She did not know it was Be Kind day.

Me:  “Really, are you sure?  It looks like you are still deciding.  This is the one I had my heart set on.  It is the only one that will work for my puppy’s.  (smile, chuckle a little) this gate is the only way I am going to get any rest and I am so tired”

Bitch: “I am buying them ALL”

Bitch #2: ” I will go get you a cart”

Me: ( a little surge of adrenaline hit me, oh it’s on) “Really cause it looks like you are still trying to decide”  “How about I wait here and if you don’t buy that one I will take it”  to bitch 2, “that is my cart”

Bitch 2:  ” I WASN’T going to take it”  Leaves in a huff.  Really cause you had your hands on it.

I stood there in the aisle.  I was in the “gate section”, otherwise known as their space.  Bitch 1 kept glaring at me.  Bitch 2 was very uncomfortable.

Hag 1:  ” I am taking all of these, you don’t have to wait”

Me:  “That is okay, I am just going to take a rest on this nice blue couch, maybe I will get lucky”  This is when I start typing in my group friend’s chat.  I tell them about the situation.  At this point I notice there are three gates laying on the shelf.  Not out where she was comparing the other 4 and my gate.  Well I have to have a gate.  So I invaded her space and grabbed all three, put them in my cart and then sat back on the blue couch to wait them out.

I had heard Ho 1 say that maybe the short ones would be better because it would match the ones she already has.  She must have a small dog.  Probably an ugly Rat Terrier or one of those hairless things.  It probably can’t even do “sit”.  So this is when I realize that I am moving away from the messages on my bracelet.

Ho 1 and Ho 2 whisper and load the remaining gates into their cart, I hear that they are going to take them over behind the framed art rows so they can lay them out and get a better look.  Clearly I was making them uncomfortable.  Good.

This is when my wheels really start turning.  I realized that she was full of shit, she wasn’t buying all of those, and she was not going to choose my gate.  She just didn’t want me to have it.  Wow, I think, that is not very kind or nice.  I truly believe that she is going to take that gate and dump it on another aisle, probably bedding or framed art and hide it.  Do you know how I know?  Because a friend and me would do the exact same thing.  At that moment as that thought rolled around in my head, I looked at my messenger app, there it said “well we would do the same thing”.  Jinx!

I was ready to admit defeat and see which one of the three I had would work.  Compared to my gate they were ugly.  I was so upset.  I went and picked a couple of dog toys to soothe myself.  There I see another low gate half hidden by toys.  Won’t work for me but pretty.  My messenger app was hopping like it was a party.  “You are not allowed to leave that store without that gate”  ” get the gate”  ” don’t let that bitch take your gate”  It seriously was like the cartoons where the angel sits on one shoulder and the devil on the other.  The angel says just get the ugly one and go home now while an hour has not past.  The therapist said that Henry needed us to be consistent and available.  I looked at my pound sign be like Hayley bracelet.  “Be Kind” too late I was already calling them names in my head.  “Be Real” okay I am going to do me.  I am smart.  I am going to Outwit, Outplay, Outlast these two assholes.  I wish I had a partner in crime, but I don’t, I am going to have to go it alone.

I am a Survivor fan, never missed an episode.  Hayley and I always watched it together.  Sometimes I caved and watched and she would find out.  She was scary when pissed.  This is the only show I watch every week.  Now I watch it with my cousin Sandy.  She lives in Vegas.  We record it and that night start it at the same time synching them up.  We let the commercials run so we can discuss what we saw on messenger.  She will be here next week and we can watch it in the same room!   So this felt sort of like a contestant looking for the idol.  You have to look like you are not looking for the idol.  So I am on the hunt for the gate.  I truly believe there is no way they were still in the store, we were approaching the end of hour one.  I was convinced that gate/idol was on one of the aisles.  I start on the right side of the store in the framed art.  I am hunting for my gate while I appear I am browsing the inspirational sayings art.  Oh look, a Winnie the Pooh quote, “you are braver than you think…”  Mind wanders, who was that directed at?  Must have been Piglet.  He was annoying.  Phone vibrates.  “Do you have the gate?”  “no”

“Dawn step up your game.  You and I both know they dumped that gate.  Find it”

” But I have to get home, I have been gone an hour and a half.”

“It is good for him to take care of the puppy.  Find your gate”

I move slowly towards sheets and towels.  I pick up a pack, discard it as if it was not the right size.  I circle to the other back corner.  Office supplies.  There are the pink metal desk sets Hayley and I got for her dorm desk.  Remember when she and I were here a year ago looking for the exact right things for her dorm room.  I was obsessed with it being perfect.  I was totally disappointed that her roommate did not want to match bedding.  Now I am crying in the back corner.  Trying to conceal it.  Through the haze of tears I spot the suspects with their gray roots showing.  They were browsing the dishes, holiday ones.  Good play.  That will waste a lot of time and look good.  She still has 5 gates in her cart.  I see mine.  I “happen” to cross their path.  “Oh Hi, you are still here.  Are you still planning on buying that gate?” “Really?  Oh darn, I will make do with these.  Hey I saw another one hidden on the toy aisle it is gray blue like the one you have there in the cart.”   I saw her eyes light up but she plays it cool.  I see my bracelet “Be funny”.  “Yeah, I bet someone hid it there so they could go home and measure and then come back for it.  Funny huh?”  Insert awkward laugh.  Okay, it was kind of funny.

I head towards the front of the store like I am heading to the cashier.  But I detour and find a comfy chair near the exit where I can observe the check out line.  I needed to see what was in that cart.  If my gate is not there then I know I need to stay and hunt it down.  If it is in the cart I must gracefully accept defeat.  I see my marks enter the line, but damnit, I can’t see their cart.  I am just going to have to “Be Real” and just go get in line and look.  About this time I see Hag 1 walking towards me carrying my gate!!!!  She is holding it on the side I was sitting so she didn’t see me.  She looked so smug.  I let her get past my chair.  I dramatically turn in my seat, “oh hey, are you not getting that gate!”.  I have never seen someone so obviously flustered.  She recovered quickly and with narrowed eyes said “Wow, I am so glad you are still here.  I was hoping I would find you”  Uh huh. “I am getting that blue gate you told me about”

“Terrific, hooray for us we are both happy, I am so glad I could find that for you”.        I take the gate from her, damn it is heavy.  I add it to my three other gates.  I head back towards the pet section where I put back the three I was hoarding. I head to the check out.  Shit, there they are at Cashier number one.  “ding, Cashier two is ready”.  I head down that way as they are moving towards the door.  Guess how many gates are in their cart?  ONE, just ONE fucking gate.  I am buying them all; Bullshit.  I can’t believe we were right, they were doing exactly what I thought they were and on top of that they ditched the other gates somewhere in the store!  Wow.  I was sort of impressed.

I head out with my prize and there they are in separate cars parked in the adjacent spots from me.  I know they notice I only have one gate in my cart.  I see that their mouths are gaping, one has her hands on her hips.  I load my gate with a flourish and climb into my Explorer and message “mission accomplished, I am the sole survivor”.  I made a little victory fist in my car as I drove off.

I get home and set it up.  An angry Henry says you were gone two hours!  Sorry Henry I had an adventure, I start to tell him the story because I would be on the phone to Hayley immediately to tell her how badly her mother behaved.  I think I got two sentences in and Henry said “Mom I really don’t care”, as he looks at the price sticker.  You spent a hundred bucks on this!  Yep and I bet you will all be thanking me in a couple of days.  But don’t tell dad, get the sticker off.  Scott walks in, “What is that?”  “Our Sanity” I say.  Henry says “Mom spent 100 bucks on it”.  Traitor.

Three days later as Scott and I relax in our reclining sectional, watching the puppy play with water bottles in his giant play pen.  Scott says, “I love that gate”   Me too.  Me too.

 

 

 

I made the mistake recently of searching grief on Pinterest.  Now Pinterest fills my feed with poems and quotes about grief.  Right beside the memes and barn doors I normally search.  This poem was right at the top.  It describes what one part of my day is like.  I could not have written it any better myself.

Silent Tears

Each day as evening starts to set

The ache builds in her chest

She knows that she must go to bed

And try to get some rest

She hugs her tearstained pillow close

When no one is around

And cries for one she loved and lost

And screams without a sound

Others see her in the day

And think she’s doing well

But every day as evening sets

She enters her own hell

Time hasn’t healed her pain at all

Or quieted her fears

So every night, alone in bed

She sheds those silent tears

~KP

I have mentioned my witching hours before.  When Hayley was an infant she would start screaming her head off at 4:00 p.m. every single day and continue to be the most unhappy baby on the planet.  Shortly after 7:00 p.m. it would just stop for no explainable reason and our little sunshine was back.  Nothing we did or didn’t do started it or stopped it.  It just was.  Just as we had done the first time she horrified us by having projectile poop, we rushed her to our pediatrician.  Just like when we told him something was broken in her digestive track, he told us this was something that happened to some infants and that she would outgrow it.  It was at this visit that after examining 4 month old Hayley he turned to us and said “you two are in for it, this one is going to be a handful”.  We looked at the little angel who was already sitting up on her own.  How do you know?  He said I have seen thousands of infants in my career and I can always predict which ones will be stubborn, outgoing and spirited.  He said watch this.  He showed her the shiny end of his stethoscope while also moving a popsicle stick with an Elmo sticker on it around in front of her.  No matter how hard he tried to distract her with the stick she would not give up on trying to get a hand on the stethoscope.  He explained, that single minded attention at 4 months was not average.  We found a new and even more wonderful pediatrician when we moved to the Eastside, but I have always wished that I had found him and told him how incredibly correct he was.

Ironically my witching hours start at the same time as baby Hayley.  When 4:00 rolls around I find myself starting to feel even more exhausted, emotional, tears come easily and the pain starts to ratchet up.  This goes on until I finally can go to sleep usually between 11:30 and 3:00.  My grief counselor helped me talk through why this time might be worse than others.  I didn’t miss her any more than every other minute during the day.  It is because as parents this late afternoon through bedtime, that is when we were truly “on duty” most of our children’s lives.  That was the time that we picked them up from daycare after work.  That was the time school and activities ended for the day and all the birds were back in the nest for dinner.  Of course as they get older sports, activities and friends kept them busy from the time they woke up until they went to sleep.  But still there is something about the sun setting and the world going dark that would make you hyper focused on your children.  When it is dark your parental instinct to protect increases.  Maybe it goes back to the days of the caveman.  Their children were probably more likely to be prey after dark.  It was a matter of physical survival to have them in the cave when the sun set.

Most recently Hayley would generally be coming home from work around that time.  I would be waiting for her in the front room and we would each take a red leather chair before she went to change her clothes.  She would tell me about her day and usually take the remote from me and change it from CNN to one of her many favorite shows.  Most of the time it was one of the reality shows about little people.  She loved them.  When she was at Western Washington University, she was always in her dorm room in the late afternoon.  I would always hear from her around 4:00 before she went to dinner.  As many of you have gathered Hayley and I were close.  Close in a way that is not generally the norm among teen daughters and their mothers.  Hayley would call me between classes to say hi.  We would face time when I was home.  Sometimes she would face time me from dinner or another activity so I could also say hi to her roommate or other friends.  We never went more than 2-4 hours without some type of communication.  I didn’t really notice this until it was gone.  I still find myself checking my phone.  I briefly think if I don’t respond quickly she will give me a hard time.  The messages are not there.  She had become an independent and wonderful student.  She didn’t need anything most of the time, we just had to communicate.  Prior to college we had never been away from each other for more than a week.  That week was one time when she went to Mexico with a friend’s family at the end of Freshman year.  She wasn’t a big lover of sleep overs.  She tried.  But I would always end up having to go get her at about midnight.  Once she could drive, she would say, bye I am going to a sleep over.  Both Scott and I would laugh at her and say “see you about 11”.  She would leave in a huff.  But always came home before midnight with a big smile on her face and threatening us not to say a word.  We would say, glad you are home, good night and love you more.  Sometimes I would poke her and say things like, nice try, maybe next time or did you forget your sleeping bag.  This girl was a homebody.  She went out, she socialized but she was very picky about it.  Her favorite place in the world was home.  Her second favorite place was her bed in her room with her dvr.

Let me tell you about one of the films that go through my head during the witching hours.  I am in that time right now as I write this. The films are a combination of thoughts, questions and images.  It has been 119 days since I had a conversation with her.  She was laying on my bathroom floor.  I had helped her shower on a stool and she had to crawl out of the shower and lay on the floor because of how badly she felt.  She knew Scott and I were exhausted.  She kept apologizing for being sick.  This made me mad at myself that she felt she needed to apologize.  I told her not to do that.  I snapped out of my stupor briefly to tell her that I absolutely adored her at all times.  When I put her to bed I sat on the stool on the side and held her hand.  I have a photo on my phone of my view at that moment; our hands, her washcloth covered face, her new bedding, the new artwork above her bed that said “HOME”.  She couldn’t handle having anyone lay on the bed.  Who would know that was her last night.  I will regret forever telling her to try to let us sleep.  To only call us if things got worse or she threw up.  I wish I had stayed with her for every last minute that she was conscious.  I wish that I had stayed that next night at the hospital and let Henry take care of himself and the dogs on his own.  But the room only had space for one of us to stay.  I felt safe.  I felt she was safe.  Scott needed to stay and watch over her.  She was in ICU, they now finally knew what was wrong and the best doctors would take care of her.  If it was a truly critical situation they would not have let me leave, right?  Someone would have told us.  One of the dogs had hurt himself that morning trying to get to the paramedics.  I needed to check on him.  I should have sat on a chair all night so that I was there when she woke and said over and over “Call Mom”.  I wasn’t there when she was the most scared.  I was not there when she left the conscious world.  When my friend and I got there, within in a handful of minutes, I watched her die.  I saw her naked body on the bed as a nurse performed chest compressions.  I screamed her name over and over as Scott restrained me from getting to her, the voice of reason, let them do their job.  I thought if she heard me and knew I was there everything would be okay.  I lost control of my bladder as I made animal sounds and kicked and scratched Scott to try to get to her.  I truly believe that she waited until I got there.  It happen so fast.  It was July 18th at 2:09 am.  I know this not because I looked at the clock, but because my pacemaker recorded the event for me to see in black and white.  I have a print out that shows my heart’s reaction to her leaving me.  It was 2:09 am.  If I fall asleep early it seems I always wake up around 2 am.  Once I am awake of course being 46 years old, I have to go pee.  When I go pee, I wake up more.  When I wake up and it is 2:00 am I am alone with my thoughts.  This is one of the most common reels that my mind plays for me at night.  Believe it or not there are some that are equally traumatizing.

I learned that you never take a day for granted.  You never assume that modern medicine is perfect.  The dog could have waited.  Henry could have gone to a friend’s.  But you know what, my mom was coming to town, I needed to clean up my house.  I knew I was going back to the hospital around 4 or 5 am in order to make sure I was there for rounds.  I knew I wouldn’t be coming home until she did so I felt the compulsive need to make sure everything was in order.  I felt it had to be me to do it right.  But I was wrong so wrong.  Our house is always a mess, cluttered.  None of that mattered.  In fact the dog was not fixable, hundreds of dollars in vet bills tells me this.  He continues to use only three of his legs most of the time.  He is a constant reminder of that day and what was going on when he hurt himself.  He sleeps at my feet every night or curled up against my back or the back of my knees.  When I have a sliver of my sense of humor surface I refer to him as “tripod”.

The witching hours are brutal.  But every minute of every day is difficult.  It is just that during the day there are times and activities that make it easier to hide the silent tears.  I hate to say this because I know you will read and be thinking, I have told her to call me any time, I told her we are here for her.  But honestly I am telling the truth when I say it does not even occur to me to call at these dark times.  I have this strong maybe misplaced desire to protect everyone from my pain.  I really like getting the texts, emails and messages of support.  Just knowing it is there is a life raft in a sea of tears.    I know I will eventually ask you for that support.  I can feel it coming as I become more and more weak.  Unable to control the emotion, unable to hide the pain and the rock in the pit of my stomach gets heavier.  There are a handful of people that I have chosen to bear some of the rock’s weight for me.  I know I can call and cry.  My bottom is when I say to them “I can’t do this”.  Sometimes I will say, “Henry doesn’t really need me”.  I am ashamed when I do.  I know he does, what I mean is he just won’t ever need me the way she did.  When I say I can’t do this, what a stupid thing to say.  What do I mean?  Am I going to leave, am I going to end the pain? No, Hayley would never forgive me.  So when I can’t do this, I mean I can’t bear this pain right now.  At that moment the rock is too heavy for me to carry.  I can no longer show my pain in front of Scott.  He can’t, he just can’t.  We are opposites in how we express ourselves, how we deal with emotion.  It hurts that I can’t, but if I am honest I couldn’t handle seeing him cry too.  I have witnessed his grief and it is unbearable.  It is like seeing my own pain reflected back at me.  They say the divorce rate is very high for couples that lose a child. I can understand.  Seeing your pain reflected back at you every day takes strength and commitment to navigate.

This past weekend I attended the Holiday Bazaar at our high school.  My oldest friend joined me.  She seems to know when she needs to come and give me a few hours.  She does this even though she lives 45 minutes away, works full time, has three kids and two dogs.  As we wandered the halls, the booths disguised the fact that I was at the school.  I volunteered a lot at the school.  I was there often manning tables at lunch.  Hayley would joke about how mortifying it was to see me at school.   I knew she lied because she always acknowledged me, she sat with me, she even asked for bathroom passes when she knew I was there.  On Saturday I stared at the student store.  She spent a semester there, her last semester senior year.  I was thrilled that she spent this time with another mom that I grew to admire and love.  Hayley was spending time around another strong female role model.  I would sit at my table and see her in the student store from my view.  On Saturday the store looked the same, the same woman was there waiting to hug me.  It felt surreal.  We ran into the school janitor.  She was someone I really got to know during my time hanging out at the school.  I know about her taking care of her ailing mom.  I knew when her mom was not going to make it.  Hayley always made a point to see her when many students don’t see the staff that keeps a school running, they blend into the background.  Hayley greeted her every day.  She was working Saturday.  I went to say Hi.  I could tell immediately from the tone of her greeting she did not know about Hayley.  I hugged her and while I held her I told her Hayley is gone.  She didn’t understand, she pulled away, I think briefly she thought I meant she was at college.  I had to say bluntly, Hayley died.  She immediately teared up and I had to go.  I felt bad, I had dropped a bomb on her and then left her to continue to do her job.  I told her I would seek her out in the next couple of weeks.  My friend and I continued.  I noticed on the walls above the lockers were framed photos of teams from over the years.  We were at 2011.  I almost frantically followed the frames until I found the one of the dance team 2012-2013, her freshman year.  There she was in the top row, fourth from the right.  I started to cry.  Many of the people that have reached out to me were there.  They seemed sincerely happy to see me.  I was surprised that I was happy to see them too.  For no other reason than I thought it would be awkward or when they say how are you, I wouldn’t know how to answer.  My advice is to always answer as honestly as you can.  Of course I don’t say in public with Christmas music overhead from the student band that I am barely surviving and am in the depths of hell.  But I don’t say the automatic “good” any more.  I might say Ok, but usually the honest answer is “as good as I can”.  Last week was constant crying.  That hour of hugs and greetings gave me a small shot of strength.  It reminded me that a lot of people care even when you feel so very alone.  Hugs are fuel.  I no longer pull away.  I have thrown the “rules” out the window.  I will hug as long as it feels ok.  If it gets weird I end it.

The rock I am carrying around is so very heavy right now.  It feels like it is growing every day.  Maybe I have been numb some of the first 119 days.  I know I was the first 4 weeks.  I got through a candlelight vigil, a memorial service with over 500 people, started a blog and a website, created a legacy for Hayley and put it on a bracelet.  I must have been numb because I cannot imagine doing any of those things right now.  Grief is all of the love you had for that person.  It is the love that has nowhere to go right now.  So it manifests itself into pain, guilt, regret, sadness, depression, anger, denial, anguish, headache, misery, sorrow, bleakness, darkness, agony, and bitterness.  All of these emotions form this heavy rock that makes your body feel so very heavy. You are exhausted carrying it around.  It has jagged edges.  If you are not careful, if you come upon a trigger of a memory those jagged points will cut you and make you cry.  So you move and navigate very carefully.  You withdrawal.  You isolate yourself.  I have spent many of these 119 days sitting on the couch as motionless as possible.  Hoping if I don’t think, if I don’t move, it won’t hurt.  I could do this because Scott was home.  He didn’t need to sit still, he needed to keep busy.  He could give rides and go to the store.  He has been my crutch.  Tomorrow he has to return to work.  I know he has so much anxiety about it, I feel helpless.  I feel guilty that I don’t have a job.  I don’t even have any prospects of a job.  My job right now is to keep breathing.  So I will have to move off the couch this week.  A new puppy a week ago has had me moving more than probably all the prior weeks combined.  So the rock is going to be jostled and tossed around.  I can only hope that it will be like rocks and glass in the ocean.  As items gets tossed around in the sea the jagged edges become smooth.  Smooth edges would really help.

I will end this post with another Hayley memory that just came to me as I was considering the Rock metaphor.  Remember where this started, the infant that didn’t sleep much and was stubborn.  That never changed.  She always has been unique and did things her way regardless of social norms.  She must have been about 18 months old when she found a rock in our Snoqualmie Ridge yard.  Trust me this was not hard as all of the land there was covered in rocks, making planting a yard a challenge.  The rock was about the size of her little hand.  Even then she had beautiful hands.  Not cute chubby toddler hands, but long graceful fingers and a firm, confident grip.  When it was time to go to bed, she didn’t want a special blanket or stuffed animal or even a toy.  She wanted her rock.  She went to sleep with a rock in her hand.  Just one.  Didn’t have to be the same rock.  She would bring them in and out of the house daily.  I was telling a coworker about her rock habit.  As a first time mother it drove me nuts to think of a dirty rock being in her clean crib with the clean sheet and her clean hands.  What if she put it in her mouth?  What if she got dirt in her mouth?  What if an animal had peed or crapped on that rock?  It was not like I could disinfect the rock every night.  We would try to talk her out of it but the tantrum that might trigger had us giving in very quickly.  I would try to sneak back into her room later and try to pry the rock out of her grip.  I gave this up when she would wake up and think it was morning cause why else would Mommy wake me up.  And those were long nights.  My coworker laughed.  I told her about the rock collection I had bought her.  It was a little plastic case with dividers that contained shiny, smooth, quartz and minerals.  They were labeled and were meant to encourage little geologists every where.  In fact that only got given away in the last 4 years.  I thought this would satisfy her rock fetish.  She suggested I give Hayley one of the shiny pretty rocks.  Nope, I can’t they can fit in a toilet paper tube.  She might swallow it while she slept.  About a week later she left a gift on my desk. It was a shiny, polished rock.  It was brown.  It kind of looked like petrified poop.  But it was the perfect size.  It was the exact size of Hayley’s little hand.  Plus, it could be cleaned!  Heck, it could go through the dishwasher.  I brought it home and presented Hayley with her brand new “night-night rock”.  She loved it.  It fit perfectly.  She slept holding that rock for many years.  I know that the rock is currently sitting in her jewelry box in her closet in her room.  I can only hope that my rock will fit in my hand some day.

 

I have not written in nearly a month.  Not because I didn’t want to, but it never seemed the right time.  I was making a commitment to go to bed early, take my evening medicines according to Doctor’s instructions and just being painfully exhausted.  The beginning of October was a huge challenge.  On Monday the 2nd the day was a roller coaster of horrible events, emotions both good and bad.  On that day, Hayley’s classmate, Ben, died.  On that day, so many people died in Las Vegas.  We thought about cancelling the Glassybaby event that evening but I am so glad we didn’t.  It ended up being a beautiful event.  It felt like an all female celebration for Hayley.  Moms everywhere.  We ended up selling over 350 “hayley” glassy babies.  Scott was there in the corner with a couple of our close friends.  I was an unintentional receiving line.  You wouldn’t think it was possible but it was more emotional than the original service.  This was intimate, these were people from all the phases of my life and I was not as numb as I had been on August 6th or as medicated.  I had been communicating with Ben and his Mom since Hayley’s death.  I wanted Ben to know how much Hayley admired his strength and how I believe that he helped her be so strong during her week of hell.  That same week Eastlake honored both Ben and Hayley at the Football Game.  Prior to the game with all the players lined up and the spectators standing, the six of us, the two families both missing a puzzle piece stood on the field together.  Henry does not like any attention right now and I know this was a hard thing for him to do.  He stood in the end zone and watched his school honor his sister.  If any of us had any kind of denial going on, this was in our face real.  The amazing couple that organized this honor, they did such a nice job.  It was more than the minute of silence we expected.  The words and Hayley and Ben’s photos on the scoreboard screen were heartfelt and just right.  It ended with both Hayley and Ben’s photos and legacy phrases.  “Be Like Hayley and Cush it to the Limit”.   We will support each other.  Strangers that share the ultimate pain.  It is like we are both missing the complimentary pieces to the puzzle of our families.  Their kids are 4 years older than ours, but the similarities are not lost on me.  Girl and then Boy, 4 years apart.  Married since college.  Husbands named Scott.  They are missing the Son and we are missing the Daughter.  What a cruel world this is.

That same week seem to go on forever.  Death and Love on Monday.  Honors and Football on Friday.  A Parade, a wedding on Saturday.  We were happy to witness the wedding of two wonderful people.  At the same time it was a very difficult time for me emotionally.  Hayley had been talking about this wedding for months.  She was so excited.  She talked about dress shopping with her new body.  It was the first wedding we would all be going to that the kids would remember.  Hayley joked about drinking and making Henry the designated driver.  I felt so outside of my own body.  I wanted to appear happy, I didn’t want to be the sad mom at the wedding.  I decided to have a couple of drinks to help, so one thing did go as planned, Henry was the designated driver.  Nothing like a permitted driver at night in downtown Seattle.  The table we were at had a missing seat.  Again, a day of happiness and sadness.

The second week included several lunch meetings with friends.  Talk of Scott’s return to work.  Homecoming week.  On Thursday I had my bi-annual sonogram of my legs.  In 2012 I survived a DVT, blood clot, in my leg shortly after ankle surgery.  Why did I survive a blood clot and she didn’t?  I now have it monitored twice a year by a vascular doctor.  I had the opportunity to see him and tell him what happened to Hayley.  He was shocked and appalled.  When I told him I believed that blame lied with the Issaquah Hospital, not only did he agree with me but he talked about how that hospital is only a transfer station and how he would not have left her there that long.  I know it was not his intention, but I walked away with my mom guilt suffocating me.  I barely made it to my car before screaming and crying.  I startled an elderly couple screaming Hayley’s name over and over.  I screamed until I was hoarse.  I failed my child.  She should have had a chance.  It was taken away from her because of the arrogance of a handful of specialists and incompetence of an entire hospital.   I should have known.  I should have made it all better.  Saturday was Homecoming.  Henry went with some friends but was reluctant to share his plans.  I found out there were “pictures” at all places the Bellevue Botanical Gardens.  This is where I have done most of my photo shoots of Hayley.  I felt left out.  I felt like he was shutting me out.  If he didn’t need me, what was my purpose?  When I confronted him, he thought I would embarrass him.  I went down the rabbit hole that night.  I passed my guilt along the way and kept going towards the bottom.  My son did not want me involved.  It became an out of control mess that night.  I was distraught, emotional and irrational.  I still feel bad that I subjected him to that. It was real and it was raw, but it was not his fault or his responsibility.  That next morning we had to drive to Mount Vernon and clear my in-law’s sold house.  We were in over our heads.  Scott had planned to spend time there earlier in the week taking loads but he ended up having to silver-sit his Mom at the same Hospital and a few rooms down from where Hayley lay and ultimately lost her life because of it.  I knew we were in over our head and sent an SOS.  They say you find out who you can count on when things are bad.  It is absolutely true.  The people that have stepped up, provided support and reached out have proved what they are made of.  This is the type of situation most people don’t want to face, it is too painful.  If they get involved they have to be able to go home and look at their own children and instead of seeing fear or guilt they need to see gratitude and love for them no matter what.  Not everyone can do that.  With the support of the person that is always there and my brother and sister in law, we actually accomplished what seemed like the impossible.

The third week was a new shit show.  Literally.  Scott had briefly annoyed me the previous week.  Long enough for me to check one thing off my to do list.  Scheduling his overdue Colonoscopy.  I have had three.  I have had three horrible experiences.  I am a little ashamed at the joy I felt when seeing his 2 liters of prep sitting on the counter.  I am also a little chagrined by how mad I was at the ease he rolled through the experience.  Since it was an afternoon appointment, he was able to split the prep between the evening and the morning.  This seem to make the cleanse not so violent.  Then when we get there, we find out he gets to be in the one unit that is able to use Propofol for the procedure instead of the usual conscious sedation.  This meant quick and easy wake up in recovery.  No hangover at all from the experience.  Just ready to go.  I know it was not kind, but I was super pissed.  It did not help when he said “I don’t know what you have complained about all these times, that was easy”.  By the next day I had developed a virus that gave me laryngitis and an ear infection for extra fun.  I was due to go to the Hood Canal Property of my friend to have some alone time.  I ended up going Friday with my friend joining me.  She left a night early, I was not much company since I could not talk at all.

The next week Scott came to the Hood Canal house and we traded places.  He spent the entire week there.  This made me the 6:45 am ride to school for Henry.  I am not a morning person.  This week I finally pulled Hayley’s laptop out of its spot in her room.  With my friends help I was able to get it signed in and learn to navigate a MAC.  Her photos, her messages, her schoolwork  stared back at me.  Her computer, her phone and her car were her most valued possessions.  All three are still waiting for her to return.  I am now able to sit in bed tonight with her laptop on her laptop tray and finally write again without sitting at my PC.  Henry came to say goodnight to me.  “Mom when did you get a MAC?” It’s Hayley’s.  He reached out and gently touched the stickers she placed on her cover.  It was a moment.

Now that you are caught up on my month I can talk about the biggest event.  Back in September a friend took me to Stanwood to visit a Golden Retriever Breeder and her farm.  She had a litter of 3 week old puppies and we were going to have puppy therapy.  A field trip to get me out of the house.  You really can’t be sad when you are holding puppies.  When Henry’s friend lost their Golden Retriever later that month, I took them to the farm for Puppy time.  They were 5 weeks old.  At 6 weeks I went back with another friend for Puppy time.  On the way home from working in Mount Vernon we all stopped to meet the puppies.  Scott was hooked.  At 7 weeks and some wine, Scott agreed to a fourth dog in the house.  I had a secret weapon, a card Hayley made me.  On my birthday last January, Hayley and I met half way between home and school for a mid week birthday dinner.  We shopped at the outlet mall, she bought me some earrings.  At dinner she gave me 15 “open when” cards.  She had hand written all of them.  They were sealed.  They said things like “open when you miss Dudley Dog”; “Open when you want a dog”; “open when you have a bad day at work”; “open when you don’t feel good”; “open with dad is being an asshole” and the heartbreaker, “open when you miss me”.   When she came home in June, she asked me how many I had opened.  Oh Shit, I had totally forgotten about the cards in my nightstand drawer.  “Oh honey, I have only opened a few, I am trying to make them last the whole year until my next birthday”.  I felt my pants on fire.  I have not opened the “open when you miss me”  or “open when you need to know how much I love you”.  I know that when I do I will collapse into a puddle of pain.  Thanks to Hayley we are now the proud owners of a 9 week old Golden Retriever Puppy named Finn.  

He came home on October 28th.  I thought  my friends would be the voice of reason.  How can I take care of a puppy when I can barely take care of myself?  Nope.  They thought it was a great idea.  They were worried about me not getting out of bed when Scott went back to work.  They are concerned by how little I move.  Well they were right.  I have barely sat down in 6 days.  I have not had more than 3 hours sleep in a row in 5 nights.  My knee and bad ankle are actually sore from getting up and down and going in and out.  It is hard to think about much else but his need to pee, poop, eat and sleep.  It is like having an infant.  Henry and Scott are both smitten and I feel like for the first time since the nightmare started the three of us have a project, something we are doing as a new family.  

The month ended on Halloween, Ben’s Birthday.  One of Hayley and Henry’s favorite holidays.  I always had parties for them and their friends.  I made Henry’s costumes most years.  They shared their twizzlers and peanut butter cups with me.  I have many boxes of decoration.  We have an inflatable yard pumpkin that has been in our yard every October for 14 years.  Not this year.  This year we bought no candy.  We turned the lights off and the pumpkin stayed in the garage with all the decorations.  No dog costumes.  The boys didn’t care.  I realized it was Hayley that appreciated my decorations.  It was Hayley that insisted we maintain traditions.  She knew it made me happy.

This past month I have learned what it means to have “triggers”.  Triggers have been everywhere.  They were at Ikea.  Hayley and I had been the week before surgery to get her a nightstand to match her high end bed and a ottoman for the dogs to get up on her bed.  Everywhere were reminders.  The one that left me in the maze of aisles in tears was the doll bed.  Hayley still has hers.  It lived on the side of her bed hidden from others, with the bedding I sewed for it and her dolls,  Susie and Sally.  She appreciated the emotional value of “things”.  When she was very young we made a tie blanket for my Grandmother that lived in Vegas.  That blanket was displayed on the back of her couch for many years until her death.  Hayley knew how thankful I was that she had gotten to know my Grandmother.  My Grandma was one of the most important people in my life.  She asked for the blanket.  It was always with her.  Vacations, College and home.  That is a trigger.  The Holiday decorations in Home Goods flipped the switch.  What was I going to do for the holidays?  Hayley loved our decorations like I did.  We always got a new one each year.  She remembered stories about them all.  We had ones from our mother/daughter travels.  An Ulta trip was a huge trigger.  I ran in quickly to get skin care products for Henry.  Holiday shit everywhere on fucking Halloween.  All of the great stocking stuffers that I would shop.  But I have no stocking to stuff with those items.  Waiting in line there on the counter were the new naked palettes.  Hayley was so good with eye make up.  She loved her eye shadows, the brand was naked.  They were always on her Christmas list.  I was standing in line waiting behind someone really high maintenance.  Hurry, Please, Hurry.  I want to make it out of here before I lose it.  Seriously, Bitch, you are going to witness a meltdown if you don’t pay and stop asking stupid questions.  By the time she left and I approached the cashier, I was already Ugly Crying.  I know it was an Ugly Cry, I could tell by the look of horror on this poor girl’s face.  “What is wrong, are you okay?”  Ugly Crying; “no I am not okay, my daughter died and this was her favorite store, please get me out of here” Snot, hiccup, tears running down my face.  She said I will get you out of here fast don’t worry.  She was the perfect example of professional and fast.  She even still got my rewards number out of me.  I made it to the car crying for Hayley and finding no kleenex only Drive Thru napkins.  They work.

Triggers are everywhere.  I get it now.  I saw a Psychiatrist the last month in addition to the weekly counseling sessions.  He explained my counselor would be there to help me with skills and he would be there to help me with pills.  Yes, he rhymed.  We did talk about PTSD.  I wasn’t in a war I said.  He said what you witnessed at 2 am on July 18th, that is your war.  In addition to depression and grief, we can add symptoms of PTSD.  How am I going to work?  How will I find a new job?  How do you go to an interview, “don’t worry I only cry 8-10 times a day, but hire me”.