Author: Hayley’s Mom

I have had a task hanging over my head for nearly a year and a half now. Yes it has been 18 months. I am not sure how I have survived without her. One of the things that kept me going was all of the cards, goodies and notes on the porch. The sheer number of cards we received at the service and in the mail was overwhelming. There was nearly 200. I remember opening about 50 and having to stop. I couldn’t take another well intentioned attempt to comfort me. My daughter was dead and no card was going to change that. The cards were a part of the flood of care and love we received that literally kept me breathing. But the cards have been neatly sitting, unopened in a basket. I was starting to feel ashamed. Ashamed that someone took the time to write me a card but I couldn’t open it. I found an idea on Pinterest on how to display those cards. Today I finally sat down, and opened every single card. I read them all. I reread the ones that had been opened. It is unbelievable the love and care that jumped off those pages. I felt like I should send a thank you note for each card. This is my way to say thank you. Thank you to everyone that has been so supportive. I may not show gratitude but the only thing I am grateful for is all of the love and support I have received.

I loved how everyone really got her. They called her funny, strong willed and sassy (her teachers). People knew how kind she was. The memories she left with so many is amazing considering how short her life was. So I honored those cards by taking a little piece of them and making a piece of art. It is not 100% done, I am adding a vinyl cut out on the lower right of the glass frame that says #belikehayley. But here are photos, maybe you will recognize your card. Just know that I recognized the emotion that was in every card. I absorbed it today. It was both painful and uplifting. I choked down the emotion. Some days you can’t let it roll off of you, you must choke it down. Today was one of those days. I have something beautiful that is a piece of all of you to hang on my wall. Thank you.

For a few more minutes I can say that. My daughter died last year. I am struggling with the change to 2019. July 2017 seems so much further away. I can’t say I lost her last year. What do I say? I lost my daughter in 2017; I lost my daughter a year and a half ago; I lost my daughter 17 months ago. Will people hear the time past and think I should be doing better than I am? Time does not heal. Time is the enemy. Time is how long it has been since I have held her or played with her hair. Time is how long I have missed her. Time is what has passed since my heart was ripped from my chest. Time is everything she has missed. Time is unfair.

I really don’t know if I can stop saying she was lost last year. Extending that sentence is painful. We went out with friends tonight. We never go out on New Year’s Eve. But everything else has changed and I thought why not try something different. I was able to drag Scott and 4 friends along for the ride. We saw an acappella group. There was some eye rolling on the part of the men but I think if they were honest they enjoyed it. I am glad to be home before midnight.

Christmas was painful. Everyday is painful. Some days are just extra painful. She should be here. She would turn 21 in 2019. She was looking forward to that day. She made me promise I would go out with her and we would rent a limo. Maybe I will get shit faced on that day for her. Puke for good measure too.

I survived 2018. A full year without her, every single month of the year and whatever special dates they held. Here is to 2019. I have experience now. I know how it is going to feel. I am dreading the dropping of the ball. One minute now….there it goes the ball is dropping on 2018. 2019 is here. It is only a number but for me it is so much more.

The Season has been looming all around me for weeks now. I started off strong. I put up our traditional decorations Thanksgiving weekend. Last year some wonderful women came and decorated my house. I couldn’t touch our decorations so we bought new and I had a coastal theme. This year I got the ornaments out. It was way more difficult than I expected. Each year I would buy an ornament for each kid. Something that represented what they were like or into that year. So many memories. Also, when we travel we always got an ornament. So our tree basically has memories vomited all over it. I got about three quarters of the way done and couldn’t touch another ornament. But both trees are up and look nice. They have fences around them to keep Finn from eating any of those memories. Scott and I decided we would go for it and put the lights up outside this year. While he got them ready I wrapped the trunks of both the kid’s trees. When each were little we planted a tree in their honor. Both have twinkling lights on them. When I was done I went to offer Scott my help. He stood there. Looked at me, looked at the lights, “I am not feeling it”. So no house lights. I did put our traditional wreath above the garage and new homemade ones on the doors. I was almost manic in my decorating. I had to get it up as fast as possible and not really think too much of it. Henry doesn’t say but I can tell he likes the house all decked out like a normal Christmas. But there is nothing normal about it.

The second year has been much harder than the first. I don’t know why. Could be several reasons. Last year there were lots of people around. Invites to coffee, lunch, and outings. People in the house decorating. People saying “I won’t stop asking you”, but they did. This year not so much. People have their own lives to live. The Sad Mom is not exactly a party upper. So no parties. Less invites. The messages are there, the support is just quieter. Maybe it is that the shock has warned off. Or that we have had more time to miss her. It has now been 16 months that I have been away from her. To go from her near constant presence to nothing is beyond tolerable.

I asked a friend who lost a daughter young what it felt like. She would always answer “it is a slow walk through Hell”. She nailed it. It is an excruciating slow walk. When Scott gets home from work around 5ish, one of us will ask the other how early can we reasonably go to bed. We are always in bed by 8:00 and sometimes we are there by 7:00. The quicker sleep comes the better. Laying down relieves some of the constant tension you live with. I used to never be in bed before 11. I don’t always fall asleep until late but I am in bed.

I now know what a trigger is. I have had so many that have really caused my PTSD to flare up. This is impacting my sleep. A trigger can be anything. For me it was having to relive each moment leading to Hayley’s death when trying to get answers from a neurosurgeon recently. I need to understand what happened. A trigger can be a common phrase. It is a place and a smell. At least 20 times over the years I sat at a table under the stairs at Eastlake High selling Senior gear or AHA event shirts. Always Hayley would join me and sit right next to me. She would hug me. Her friends were all happy to see me. She actually seemed proud and pleased that I was her mom. One year she worked the student store and we would have several hours together in that spot. I spent two days for a couple of hours each doing that exact same thing last week. The carpet is the same, the smell is the same, I could see the student store and I expected her to walk out and join me. There were no girls coming to visit me and calling me “momma Dawn”. It was too much. I saw two people that I personally hold responsible for the reasons Hayley wanted to have surgery. Two adults that didn’t protect her. My blood boiled. I saw the school resource officer and thanked him for coming to the hospital to say goodbye to Hayley, she adored him.

I had my Christmas Shopping done very early. Boys are pretty simple to shop for. But girls are more fun to shop for. I saw so many things I know she would have liked. No matter what I bought her she always made me feel like each one was the best present she had ever received. She was such a grateful child. She was the shopper for my presents. I had a difficult trigger recently at the mall. I waited for my friend to do some Victoria Secret Shopping for her girls. I had no one to shop for this year at that store. I always got her underwear for Christmas, it was tradition. So I stood outside the store with all of the fathers and husbands waiting for their person. My person is gone. And Scott and Henry’s underwear got ordered online.

Just like Thanksgiving it will be an odd number at the table for Christmas, three. Like Thanksgiving the food will be good because I didn’t cook it. Thank you honey baked ham and Met market. I enjoy gift giving. I love finding the perfect gift. I like to find things that were not on wish lists but when opened they realize it should have been on their list. Packages were mailed. Dogs gifts are wrapped. Presents are wrapped. The stockings are up, all of them. Hayley’s stocking has an embroidered angel on it. The irony is not lost on me. Above the stockings on the mantel sits a beautiful blue urn. Inside is what I have left. It’s not enough.

It has been two months since I posted.  Time when you are grieving goes at a different pace.  Some days it feels like it is going at high speed.  Other days it drags on and you count the hours until you can go to sleep.  Italy was a real treat.  I was able to spend quality time with a good friend.  I proved that I was brave enough to travel alone.  I did have too much time to myself.  This is when the thoughts would be about how much I wished Hayley was experiencing this trip with me.  My favorite highlights were the museums in Florence and the boat trip around the island of Capri.  But all good things come to an end and I came home to reality.  Reality has kicked my ass.  My grief is as deep and as raw as it was on day one.  Time has only made my pain sharper.  I have not held my child in over a year.  This is what I cannot comprehend.  I also have been shy to write because I feel every post is starting to look the same.  Dawn is sad, Dawn struggles and Dawn writes about it.

Time marches on.  Hayley’s friends continue with their lives.  They are older.  Some have boyfriends, some have changed majors, some have changed colleges.  All of these life moments she is missing.  The outpouring of support has slowed.  I am not complaining, people have their own lives to live.  I am still luckier than most.  I still will get a message, flowers on my porch or just a text telling me I am thought of.  I have done everything I can to not let my grief impact Henry.  He is doing fairly well.  If he is not I am afraid I won’t know.  Scott is doing better than me.  I sometimes am jealous of him.  He has the ability, the skill to compartmentalize his grief.  I don’t have that skill.  Hayley adored her Dad and they were closer than any other father/daughters I know.  But she was my best friend.  She loved me more than I can ever understand.  I feel so lucky to have had the relationship we had.  But it makes living more difficult.  It seems that my grief is becoming deeper as each day passes.

It is time for me to go back to work full time.  I am hopeful to find something I can be passionate about.  Something that will distract me from this pain.  I need to help support my family, I need to be useful.  There is so much that I need to do.  I need to have the bathroom remodel done.  There are a couple of small items to finish but our guy is not available until December.  The remodel was a great distraction, I wish I could move on to Henry’s bathroom.  I need to deal with my office/bonus room.  In the weeks leading up to Hayley’s death we had moved all of her stuff out of her bedroom.  We painted and purchased new furniture.  The plan was to slowly move things back in while she recovered.   In addition to all of those items in that room, she also had dumped all of her dorm stuff.  We had started to pack up things she didn’t needed for the summer that would go to her new apartment.  So I have those boxes to deal with.  I have the messes to deal with in my room.  I have her laundry still sitting in the hamper.  I still find her socks all over, it is like they multiply like bunnies.  Every time I try to attack that disaster I pick up something that triggers a memory and a flood of emotions that send me to find a place to curl up and try to keep breathing.  The last attempt I unearthed a mug she had painted at school at a paint party.  A purple mug with a penis painted on it.  Yep the girl thought drawing dicks was hysterical.  I still find them in my notebooks on random pages or my calendar.  It actually makes me sad to think I may not find any more dicks drawn for me.  Her room smells less like her.  I struggle to imagine how her hair felt in my hands.  Will I forget as time passes.  My brain is damaged from ptsd and grief.  Am I losing memories.  I have lost so much I can’t handle more loss.

The holidays are coming round again.  We have no Thanksgiving plans.  It will just be the three of us this year.  A sad holiday.  I can’t be thankful.  I am feeling like decorating this year with my decorations.  I am scared about how I am going to feel when I open those boxes and memories of each ornament hit.  Will I be able to do it.  Time does not heal.  Time is the enemy.  The more time that goes by the harder the memories are to recall yet at the same time it feels like it happened yesterday.  Grief warps time.  Grief settles on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Saturday night I went to a concert with my Mom.  We saw Cyndi Lauper and Rod Stewart at the White River Amphitheater.  Now this is the 8th time I have been to a Rod Stewart show, it is kind of our thing, my Mom and I.  Years ago I said the 7th was the last time.  That was the time Terri helped me get to the front of the stage and toss my bra to Sir Rod and have it hang on the guitar while they played Maggie May.  Can’t top that can you?  But this was a nice chance to spend time with Mom before I go to Italy and she heads back to Florida.  We probably should have stopped at 7 cause let’s just say Rod still looked good but his voice and his moves are very tired.  The crowd was so old!  It was like I watched a group of people over the past 20 years age as a group.  We did end up leaving early to avoid traffic so who are we to criticize.  But Cyndi was totally worth the trip.  But like many things I had moments of immense sadness.  We totally would have made Hayley come with us.  When they played the anthem of the women’s movement, “Girls just want to have fun” they changed the words to “fundamental rights”.  I was proud of my liberal feminist daughter.  She was going to enter a male dominated field and she would have rocked it.  She was growing into such an amazing woman.  Our #belikehayley slogan, Be Kind, Be Funny and Be Real, those were the three words that I thought of first to describe her.  When she sang “True Colors” it reminded me of some of my thoughts this past few weeks.

I have read that when you lose someone you love your world dims.  Colors don’t seem as bright.  Kind of like a depression medication commercial.  It starts out black and white and sad and then you take the pill and it is rainbows and flowers and birds.  Well it’s not exactly like that for me.  Colors are actually more vivid then before.  Everything is.  I think it is because my emotions are always at the surface.  Everything is heightened.  The trees look greener, sunsets are more orange and the sun is brighter.  But it is too much.  It is like I am over stimulated all the time.  I am sensitive to everything because it only takes a small scratch for those emotions to rise to the surface.  When I see the mountain I remember always telling Hayley look at that isn’t it beautiful.  I drove her nuts making her look at all the beauty around the PNW.  I must have used the word amazing too many times because if I pointed something out she would give me a sarcastic “it’s amazing mom”.  Some of you read that in her voice didn’t you and maybe with an eye roll.  But as she got older she would point things out to me.  I wanted my children to go through life wide awake, noticing everything.  I felt it would make them better humans and allow them to be more aware of others too.  Now these things are so bright it is as if the world around me is going on without me or maybe even mocking me.

I wonder why the colors are brighter.  My light is dimmer.  Is it the contrast to what is inside of me?  This summer has been brutal.  I believe that maybe my brain has helped me cope by thinking she was at school but once summer came that didn’t work any more.  That small scratch has become a festering wound.  I feel like everything reminds me that I am missing half my soul.  I teeter on the edge of completely losing my shit at any moment.  By holding it back and choking it down I worry that there will come a time where I can’t do that anymore and that scares me.  I don’t know if I would survive letting the control go.  I feel that the outside would end up as shredded as the inside is.

Besides colors I have also noticed in the past year that things just don’t bother me like they used to.  We had to wait in line for 45 minutes to get into the concert.  People were bitching about it all around me.  People were accusing others (us) of cutting in line.  Doesn’t even phase me.  It makes me sad for them.  It makes me sad I ever wasted any time letting something like that bother me or cause me stress.  I can’t make the line go away.  We will all be in the venue before the concert starts.  Being grumpy or in a hurry won’t change that at all.  So let it go.  Some may be thinking the meds have numbed me, but I truly believe that the little things don’t matter.  I now know what the worst thing in the world feels like and standing in line to see two aging rock stars is not one of those things.  I see frazzled mothers wave off their children.  I want to scream at them.  Don’t ignore your child, get off your phone.  You can never get that moment back.  You may never lose your child but they will become adults and those moments will be gone.  I see parents getting mad at their children.  I feel like the Yoda of parenting.  I want to tell them pick your battles.  Appreciate your kids.  Getting mad you don’t. (yoda voice)

Last week a man followed Henry home for 20 minutes because he thought Henry cut him off.  He was seriously on our porch wanting to talk to us about Henry’s driving.  It was kind of surreal.  I shuffled like Yoda to the door with the plan to give him a life lesson.  I let the dogs go first, it looked like an dog park gone bad.  I let him start to speak and I had it all worked out what I was going to say to him.  Like did he seriously just waste potentially 40 minutes out of his way to tell us he got cut off.  Does he not know we lost our daughter, Henry cutting him off won’t phase us at all.  But before I could start my lecture Scott and Finn came flying out of the house.  Scott was as angry as I have ever seen him.  On the ring doorbell video you see me backing up like “oh shit this guy is screwed”.  A few brief sentences from Scott with some colorful language and the guy was practically sprinting down our driveway with Finn chasing him thinking this was a fun game.  It even got better.  This guy called the police.  An officer came to our door.  The officer and my boys had a great laugh.  The officer said we did exactly what we should of and complimented Henry.  Evidently this guy wanted to report that Scott had scared him but he did tell the officer how polite Henry had been.  You can’t even make this shit up.  After the adrenaline wore off Scott looked at me and said “can’t we just have one month where nothing bad happens to us”.  He sounded so defeated.  I quickly had to put a bandaid on that scratch before I dissolved in tears.

So basically I am feeling like a wise old person that sees colors.  Maybe that is my superpower.  Maybe it is like being bitten by a radioactive spider.  My grief is radioactive matter running through my veins.  I feel more, I see more.  It is like I have the ability to see the whole picture like when google earth zooms out.  You no longer see the small things but just colors.  Maybe this is what losing your mind feels like.  That pain right at the surface.

I go to Italy Friday.  This trip is so out of my comfort zone.  I know I would disappoint Hayley if I was not going.  Be brave.  I wonder what will it feel like to be somewhere she has never walked, never breathed the air.  Will it be a relief?  Will it be more sad because she will never have the same experience?  Am I overthinking this?  Hell yes.  I am far from a seasoned traveler and probably won’t be very good at it.  I plan to write about the trip as I go.  I may not post it until I after I get back.  I hope I have fun.  My fun cells have been gone.  I do things that should be fun but I don’t have fun.  I go through the motions.  Maybe this trip will restore some of those cells.  Maybe I will come back with new superpowers.

 

They say that when you hit rock bottom there is only one way to go, up.  I call bullshit on that.  I have hit that rock bottom only to find that there is another much lower bottom.  That is where I am at, rock bottom.  I literally ache all day and all night for Hayley.  There is not a moment that goes by that she is not on my mind.  My brain seems to have the capacity to grieve while going about the business of living.  All at the same time.  I function at the most minimum level when I am at home.  I started a part time job at the local YMCA.  The idea is to slowly introduce myself back into the real world.  I need to be back into the full time workforce as soon as possible for financial reasons.  I have worked two weeks and had two meltdowns.  The first when they were setting up my employee membership and she asked if I wanted to leave Hayley and Henry on the membership.  Ouch.  I started to cry much to my embarrassment.  At this exact moment, Hayley’s best friend, that works the front desk came into the room and wanted to know what was wrong.  Our pain was palpable.

The second trigger happened Monday night and has sent me down another notch of the rock bottom ladder.  I had to get CPR and First Aid certified.  I happily signed up, because come on, CPR is my jam.  I survived cardiac arrest and spent five years teaching it to hundreds of kids in my previous job.  As we practiced compressions all I was thinking about was the kids I taught and wonder if any of them have saved a life yet.   Then it happened.  She brought out breathing respirators.  The big balloon like contraption that you squeeze to breath for someone.  I started to sweat and shake.  The tears were on the edge.   The image of Hayley being bagged as she was taken away from all of us to head to surgery.  Surgery to save others.  But the last time I saw her beautiful face it had one of these respirators on it.  Then I saw that night when I rounded the corner and found the nurse doing chest compressions on my daughter.  I was on my knees already in the class or it would have knocked me to them.  There were people doing compressions and using the respirators around me and the room began to spin.  I went to the instructor.  Thankfully she was the one that had been involved in the removing of Hayley from the membership.  I choked out, It’s Hayley, this was the last image, I need to leave.  I was told I had to be evaluated on all steps or I would have to take the class again.  OH MY GAWD, are you kidding?  I got out of the room clumsily before I became an unconscious real life victim for them to practice first aid on.  I sat outside the room trying to get my shit together.  PTSD is not like sadness or depression or normal anxiety.  PTSD takes over your mind and like a movie in your mind, replays the images over and over.  I can relate to soldiers with PTSD.  Everyone’s movie reel is different but the physical response is real.

I know I should have left.  My manager would have understood.  But all I could think was “Be Strong”.  So I went back in.  I had to participate in rescue breathing, chest compressions and other life saving techniques.  I kept my eyes on the floor.  Every compression I saw Hayley.  Touching the respirator was actually painful, my hands were shaking.  But I did it.  I am certified.  I went home and could not take a xanax fast enough.  The next day I felt like I had the flu.  I spent the entire day in my pajamas just trying to shut down the movie reel.  My entire body hurts.  I didn’t go to work.  The bottom is lower.

This makes me question how can I function in the real world?  When I worked Aquatics on Saturday I watched the parents with their children and remembered Hayley’s swim lessons.  Henry too.  Will I ever not see my memories everywhere I go?  Do we need to move?  How could I even leave the home she loved so much?  What would we do?  This is an example where one thought leads to another.

So I have been so low lately, rock bottom.  Ironically it has been Rocks that have given me moments of pride and happiness.  I still paint rocks.  Recently I asked for help hiding them.  On the back I put a sticker that has the be like Hayley website on it.  This leads people to her story and directs them to post in the Sammamish Rocks Facebook page.  It has also led some to this page and to email me.  I have received several messages about what my rocks have meant to the finder.  Here are two of those messages:

Dawn,
My 3 year old daughter LOVES rocks. Anytime we go anywhere we always manage to come home with no fewer than 5 hideous, dirt covered rocks. Last week, we were on a hike and she found a rock that had a heart painted on it. She immediately started calling it her ‘treasure’ rock. With the new paint a rock and hide it trend, I know people put things on the back to encourage pictures and the use of hashtags to see where the rocks end up. On the back of this one was ‘belikehayley.com’ Something about this rock, with its smiling heart told me I already knew some part of the story.
You see, hearts have a extra special place in our family. Of course each of us has a healthy beating heart, but for my husband, it is all thanks to families like yours and heros like your daughter. My husband is a two time heart transplant recepiant. This past June marked his 25th anniversary with someone else’s heart and his 2nd anniversary with his newest.
I don’t know your pain and suffering, but i want you to know that because of donors like your daughter, my own daughter will grow up with a father. One who loves her, with every beat of his heart(s).
Thank you for sharing your story as hard as it is. Know that those of us on the other side will never know how to say thank you enough.
With endless gratitude
Rebecca

Hi Dawn,
Last night, my family went to my parent’s house in Sammamish for dinner. My 75 year old dad had picked up a rock with a unicorn painted on it at Beaver Lake Park. He brought it home because he thought my 9 and 7 year old daughters (Lucy and Lily) would like it.
Lucy noticed the website on the bottom, so I looked it up. We then had a great dinner conversation with my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my 3 kids (there’s also Zach, who is 5) about organ donation, bone marrow donation, blood donation and how we can all help each other.

I’m so very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you have gone through and I think that it’s amazing that you have used your grief and her memory in such a wonderful way.

The rock is now part of Lucy’s unicorn “collection” 🙂

Take care,
Kate

Amazing what a Rock can do.  It makes me want to continue painting.  My rocks have been hidden by friends in Laguna Beach, in Hawaii and of course around Hayley’s beloved city of Sammamish.  My “job” is to keep telling her story.  That is all I can do for her.  Make sure she is not forgotten.  

Just when I was at my lowest recently I was given something to look forward to.  A dear friend from High School is taking me with her on a business trip to Florence, Italy!  I have not left our continent in my whole life.  I am going to Italy  in September.  Something Hayley had talked about doing with school.  I will do it for her.  When my friend has to go home I am staying on and going to Rome on my own.  This has given me something to focus on and to be honest obsess about.  I already have all my travel size toiletries.  I have books I am reading about Italy.  My suitcase is going to include some rocks and cause bracelets.  Maybe this will be a start to the #belikehayley movement going international.

Thank you to everyone that messages me and lets me know that they are thinking about me.  I read them all, I may not respond because I don’t know what to say.  I say it here.  Thank you.  I guess there has to be a bottom eventually.

Dawn

The two weeks of anniversary dates are over.  I am too tired and drained to reflect on what they meant to me.  They were even more brutal than I expected.  I will talk about it when I regain a little energy.  I want today to be about Hayley’s gifts.  Her organ donations.  She ended up able to donate four major organs.  In addition she will save or improve the lives of countless others with her tissue donations.  We are so thankful that we have made a connection with three of her recipients.  Her heart and both kidneys have made us a part of their beautiful lives.  With his permission I wanted to share with you the letter we received from Chris aka “left kidney”.  All we knew at first was that one kidney went to a man in his thirties and the other to a woman in her thirties.  I have not told Chris this story but the way I remembered which one got the left or the right was that women are always right!  I am sure Wendy will appreciate that.

With his permission I wanted to share his beautiful letter that he sent to us.  This is the power of organ donation…

 

Well it is finally here.  The kick off day to the worst dates of my life.  July 11th.  I fucking hate this date.  I know it is just a date.  I know that it is a different day.  But that date was so exciting last year.  Hayley was so happy about that date, the surgery date.  One year ago this morning was the last time she smiled.  It was the last time she was whole.  When she woke from surgery the hell began.  We entered that doctor’s office with a child that was excited about her future and we left with a child in pain and ill.  By the end of that day she was in the hospital.  The hospital of incompetence.  I am so pissed about July 11th.  Why did I let her do the surgery?  I want a do over.  I want my old life back.  I can’t handle this new one.

I feel angry but only in my head, the rest of my body feels numb.  I feel like if I don’t move today I won’t rattle the awful feelings this date dredges up.  I wonder if her surgeon and the anesthesiologist  remember today.  Have they moved on, hundreds of other patients.  Do they know today is the day?  The day that started our 12 days of hell, regret, pain, and helplessness.

I hope I can feel numb all day today.  I know the worst is coming.  The day I watched her die (18th), the date hope was gone and the date on her death certificate (20th) and the date that she left us to save others (23rd).  I hope that on the 24th I can celebrate the lives she saved that day without anger and regret.

I am lucky to be going to our friend’s house in Hood Canal on Saturday for the week.  I hope that I can find peace and relaxation there.  At a minimum I will have different scenery and maybe that will be enough.

Fucking July 11th.

 

Tonight I thought my life might be over.  It was a brief moment in time.  I am trying not to be a drama queen but Henry is my reason for going on and living with the excruciating pain of losing Hayley.  I had just said to Scott, Henry is out, I am owning the fact we are not going anywhere and getting my pjs on.  I sat back down at 5:34 with my penguin jammies on.  I looked at my text and Verizon had text me at 5:28 to tell me that Henry’s phone had called 911.  I looked at Scott and asked him to track Henry’s phone.  It was in Redmond and not moving.  His phone went right to voicemail.  He had been in an accident.  I was upstairs getting dressed before Scott even talked to Henry.  I planned to go to exactly where his phone was.  I told myself he was okay because he had dialed 911.  The voice said well someone else may have used his phone to call because he couldn’t.  I saw the look on Scott’s face when he got Henry on the phone, I was already getting my shoes on and putting Finn in the kennel, turn the oven off and waiting for Scott in the car.  I had backed down to get it pointing heading out taking out one of the garbage cans Henry had not brought up when I asked.  So when Scott said he would drive I quickly relinquished the wheel.  On the way there Scott admitted that he had been imagining something happening to Henry because of the Hayley anniversaries looming.  Like it was time for something else bad to happen.  I felt less alone.  I was not the only one constantly worrying about Henry.  Henry called me, where are you mom?  He sounded hoarse and really upset.  I calming told him we were on our way.  I text him along the way telling him how close we were.  When we got to the parking lot I saw his wonderful group of friends standing to the side, Henry was with a police officer.  He immediately headed my way and we met in the middle.  He actually hugged me and let me hold him as long as I needed.  I searched his face and body for injuries, his face looked red.  This was when he told me that he had been punched in the face.  I went in for another hug to hide the horror on my face.  He is so much taller than me and it felt like I was the kid being hugged by a parent.

I was ready to destroy something.  I wanted to leave, hunt down that car and do serious damage to the man that hurt my baby.  Shortly after we got there we were told that the carjacker had caused a major multiple car crash and was in custody.  They needed Henry to go ID the man. I asked for one of us to go with.  I nominated Scott knowing full well I would be out of that police car and kicking that guy in the nuts before any officer could stop me.  Although they did put Scott in the back of the police car so I would not have had the chance with the whole doors lock from the outside thing.

Henry was calm and mature.  The police were surprised he was only 16.  I thanked the 19 year old that had followed the car shortly called the information in to police and went back to be with Henry.  He was the only one.  Others drove by Henry in the intersection screaming for help.  What kind of adults do that?  Evidently several.  I am so pissed.

The officer in charge was a young woman.  She had a pony tail like Hayley.  I imagine this is what Hayley would have looked like in her uniform and how kind she also would have been as an officer.

With the dates looming, how could we have something else crappy happen?  We are already facing my unemployment ending and taking a low paying part time job.  Now we have to buy another car with deductibles and you know the insurance company will hose us on the amount even though we have had the car 8 weeks.  It is never ending.  My life has been one challenge after another.  Nothing phases me now because nothing could be worse than what we faced this month a year ago.  But the fact that someone tried to hurt my baby and all of the “what could have happen”, I am just so done.

I am in bed, xanax on board, dogs all in the room listening to the fireworks going off.  Not one of our 4 dogs seem to care about fireworks.  At least that is a blessing.  I have a 16 year old shaken up, it could be worse if I had four dogs freaking out about fireworks.  So there that is as close to glass half full I am going to get.

I am ready for good things to happen.  Maybe I won’t recognize them.  Maybe I won’t smile, but for f&%k sake give me a damn break.

 

July is bearing down on me like a freight train.  It is the month our lives hanged forever.  This time last year I was spending all my time with Hayley.  We were shopping for her new room, painting (well Scott was doing that), the color, Kensington Gray and preparing for her surgery.  She was so full of life and so excite about it.  A new start, Hayley getting her groove back.  I wonder sometimes if the person that made her feel less because of her chest knows that she is responsible?  I lost my window of opportunity to write her a letter.  She moves this summer to another state.  I am happy because I won’t have to see her at Henry’s school, but I wish I had sent that letter.

Someone asked us today about our 4th of July plans.  A waterfall of sadness washed over me.  Scott answered in a generic way.  I had to keep myself from ruining this gal’s day.  In my head, I said, well 4th of July was our last truly special day.  Henry had other plans.  Scott, Hayley and I spent a wonderful day at our friend’s house in Gig Harbor.  We went out on their boat. I can still remember Hayley looking back at me from the front of the boat, hair blowing, big smile on her face.  It was our last day to parent her together that was peaceful and celebratory.  I am dreading the 4th.  The partys will go on.in   We will do what Scott said today.  We will stay home with our dogs.  Although none of our dogs could care less about fireworks.  I want to see her on that boat, happy and excited about the next week.

Once I survive the 4th, a week later we have the anniversary of her surgery and then the dates just roll in.  The date she crashed, the date she was declared, the date she donated her organs.  2 weeks solid of nightmares.

I went for my first walk in over a year this past week.  It was a good walk.  3/4 of a mile.  Pretty good for 4 weeks out from bariatric surgery.  Finn did pretty well. But, I felt really isolated.  Vulnerable.  I was out in the world, unprotected.  I think one of the reasons I have not been able to get my house in order and it is always a mess, is that then I won’t have people over.  I sit on my couch, on my spot.  I sit.  I cry.  I scream.  Then Scott gets home and we count the hours until it is reasonable to go to bed.  We have decided that this time is 8:00 p.m.  If we go earlier than we have a problem.  Normal people don’t go to bed before 8.  It is our unspoken time.

I used to be so sad when it was 8:00.  Another day gone.  Sometimes I felt I had taken advantage of that day, but more often than not I felt maybe I had wasted it.  It was one less day with the kids.  Did I parent well?  Did they feel loved?  Did I accomplish anything?  I felt that time was going way too fast.  It felt like it was slipping away, one day closer to being empty nest, one day closer to being done.  Now the time crawls and I want it to go fast.  I no longer care what I accomplish.  If I got out of bed, which because of Finn I do before 8:00 a.m. every single day.  If I got dressed sort of.  Did I put clean pajamas on? Did I wear a bra?  Did I shower?  Those are things I use to judge a successful day.  But it goes by so slowly.  I feel so ungrateful that I want time to go by fast. In my mind I know that it means one day closer to Henry spreading his wings.  But I can’t get myself to care.  The pain is so deep and so raw, I just want that day done.  I want to take my medication and go to sleep, where I have 8 or more hours of relief.

The Puppy was a good idea.  My friends were brilliant.  I would be sleeping most of the days and have long sad nights without this puppy.  That would be worse.  He is basically an 80 pound toddler.  He needs constant supervision or he would destroy the house.  He also has to be with us or he will be sad.  When I cry he licks my face.  When Scott gets home he is so happy to see him.  He won’t stop until Scott lets him up on his lap for a Golden Retriever hug.  I still cannot believe Scott lets him lick all over his face.  That dog gets more love than any of us.  He plays with each of our other dogs.  They are all in better shape and healthier because of Finn the Monster dog.  But my favorite Finn accomplishment is that he makes Henry smile.  Not his half smile, but the one with the dimples.  The one that has disappeared over the last year.

So Happy 4th, the weather looks great.  Please have a slushy for me and fun for Hayley.  Enjoy your family time, every minute.  Be thankful.  Be alive.