Beautiful words

Last night I made a big pot of Al's Split Pea & Ham Soup to share with all my kids. It was nice last night, as the aroma filled my kitchen it brought back warm memories of my husband. He loved to make certain dishes to share with our family....Texas Chili made all the better with spicy chorizo and this soup. There was nothing better than coming home from work and opening the door to that smell. Of course, it also meant coming in to the kitchen to a bit of a mess that true to my husband, was left for me to clean up. :)

So last night as I was making his soup I started to remember his memorial service. I saved these beautiful words that were said by my daughter Lesley and my daughter-in-law Ali. I share them with you now.

First from Lesley:
As many of you know, my dad was quite the character. He had a great sense of humor, told lots of jokes, and he was known to stir the pot. On the outside, he was tough and intimidating but inside he had a huge heart and always had the backs of the people he cared about. My dad was someone you would not want to mess with and you definitely did not mess with his family. I remember when I was growing up he always used to say, “I don’t take shit from anyone.” Those of you who knew him best know this to be a true statement. It’s something he instilled in me, my brother and my sister.

My dad taught me a lot. He taught me to always be myself and to be proud of who I am. He told me that I should always stand up for what I believe in; to be strong and never let anyone talk down to me. He was very protective of his family and he made it his goal to teach us how to protect ourselves for when he was not around. He wanted to make sure that his kids knew how to fight. He taught me, my brother and my sister how to throw a punch as well as how to take one. He reminded us that we should never throw the first punch but that we should always be the one to throw the last. To be honest, I think he kind of enjoyed when one of us got ourselves in trouble at school because it was an opportunity to defend us even if he knew we were wrong.

Sure, my dad was a bit of a bad ass and liked people to think that about him but he was also very loving, generous and funny. He was a tender man who would do anything for his family. I mean anything. He taught us that family was the most important thing in life and to always stick together.

We never had much money growing up but my dad more than made up for that in the way he loved us and spent time with us. I have very fond memories of him taking us kids golfing when we were little, well – he golfed, we drove the golf cart. There were a few times when we missed the bridge, almost ran over someone or came very close to tipping the cart over. It may sound silly to some, but a treat for the Navarro kids was when Dad would take us to the dump. He made even the worst chores fun. It was pretty exciting for us little kids to see the giant pile of trash and watch Dad empty the bed of the pickup. He would always make us laugh in the car ride with his silly jokes and it was a tradition to end the trip at Miller’s Market for snacks.

As my brother, sister and I became teens, the Navarro house was always the house where everyone hung out. There were many parties over the years there and my dad was just one of the guys. New Years Eve parties were a tradition at our house, something my dad enjoyed very much. Some years the parties were huge and crazy, other years more subdued. At midnight, the sky would light up as several Christmas trees would go up in flames in the backyard firepit. This coming New Years will be the last one for my dad. As the Christmas trees go up at the stroke of midnight, some of my dad’s ashes will be in there too, just as he requested.

As you all know there was never a dull moment around my dad. I could go on forever about all the wonderful times I had with him and all the things I learned from him. I am so lucky to have had him as a dad. I would not be the person I am today if it had not been for him. Much of his personality lives on today in me and my brother, sister and mom.

And Ali:
On October 11, 1988, Al turned 40 years old...the same day, his mother passed away. The Navarro family is very close, and it was devastating to lose the family matriarch, especially on a milestone birthday. This was such a depressing time for Al, so much that he began to feel there was nothing to look forward to. The family traveled back to Arizona, stopping along the way to visit Kathy's parents and catch game one of the 1988 World Series, their beloved Dodgers vs. Oakland A's. The Dodgers were down in the bottom of the 9th, with two outs and no hope of winning. They needed a pinch hitter. Kirk Gibson, once a baseball great, had been in the training room all game with two bad legs and a stomach virus, volunteered to hit. The A's pitcher threw out the three-two pitch, Gibson drove it out to right field winning the game for the Dodgers, who went on to win the World Series.

Al immediately jumped up, screaming and cheering, and almost felt as though he had a new lease on life...once again something to look forward to. And he had a new idol, Kirk Gibson. Marshall shared this story with me when we began dating, before his dad was sick, and could not hold back his emotions then.

Years later, while at the 4th Avenue Street Fair, Al came across a piece of Kirk Gibson memorabilia and had to have it. He became determined to one day meet him, get his autograph and share his story.

Kirk Gibson is now a bench coach for the Arizona Diamondbacks. The Dodgers and Diamondbacks were scheduled for a spring training game March 13th of this year, and Marshall had been given tickets weeks before. After Al was admitted to hospice, Kathy, Alison and Lesley all reached out to the Arizona Diamondbacks administration, shared their story, and arranged for Marshall to actually meet Kirk Gibson. An employee of the D-Backs met Marshall at the front gate, Marshall in Dodgers attire of course! He escorted Marshall way back to the D-Backs club house, and was gracious and extremely caring... He even hugged Marshall when he told him that Al had passed away that morning. When Mr. Gibson came out, Marshall told him a little bit about Al, how that winning home run had given Al such hope. He told Marshall that he's heard similar stories, and he loves knowing that his home runs effect more than just a scoreboard. He was very quiet at first, but after spending a few minutes with him, Marshall realized that he was emotional because he had experienced this first hand...his own dad had passed away 10 years prior. He put his hand on Marshall's shoulder and gave him a few words of advice to cope. Marshall was receiving advice from one of his dad's idols, it was so surreal. He said to let Al live on in his own life, and that is exactly what Marshall was doing that day. After such a devastating morning, Marshall was able to take a few moments to live for his dad, and his face lit up with pride and admiration. He could absolutely feel that he had just done something SO right. As soon as the pen hit that photo, he could feel his dad smile.

Not liking this, not at all

So how do other people do this? This learning to live your life differently? And why do I have to do it? I don’t like this and I don’t want to do it this way. I want my husband back. Plain and simple.

Tonight after work as Alison and I walked the three mile loop at Reid Park we had a conversation that got me thinking.

Wait, hold on. Complete side note, quick notation. I jogged. Seriously. Me. It was only for about 50 yards but I jogged. And this is from someone who does. not. run. Actually from someone who doesn’t even like exercise. Go me.

OK, back to what I was saying. I mentioned to her something I had said at my grief support group last night. I am having trouble with the fact that I don’t have anyone to take care of anymore. How do you go from being the person who takes care of everyone else to suddenly having no one who really needs me? I went from a newlywed who was happy and fulfilled taking care of her husband, to becoming a mother and completely satisfied being the one who does everything for my family to once again turning my focus to my husband after our children ventured out on their own. I actually liked doing for my family.
I liked making sure everyone had what they needed, cooking the meals, cleaning the house, washing the clothes, driving the kids where they needed to go, making sure my family was happy. It didn’t matter that I have always worked fulltime; I still did everything for my family. I don’t say this to be the dreaded martyr or to start building support for my quest for sainthood. I say this so you will understand that this is who I am.

Taking care of Al was only natural for me after the kids grew up. I always made sure that he could come home from work and relax and unwind. I prepared the meals he requested and loved. As his health became a little bit of an issue but well before we knew how sick he really was, I would make sure his work clothes were ready in the morning. Because he would leave the house at 5:30 in the morning and the cold had really started to bother him, I’d often start his car for him and turn the heater on. Later when the heater stopped working, I’d put his jacket and pants in the dryer so he could throw them on at the last minute and have a little bit of warmth to get going on his way to work. When he got sicker and couldn’t manage to eat because he always felt full, I made him smoothies with fresh fruit and protein powder and made him drink them. I’d make sure he drank two Ensures each day since he wasn’t eating. Damn, I sound pathetic but this was the way I chose to do things. Again, it’s who I am.

So now what do I do? I’ve been told that it’s time to take care of me and focus on me. I’m trying but it’s difficult. I’m also trying not to become one of those crazy old ladies whose dogs or cats become their lives. I’m thankful I have “my boys”, and those two big, hairy Labs are so nice to come home to and yes, sleep with – but it’s not the same.

So yes, I want my life back. I want my husband back. I don’t like this and I don’t want this.

Epic Failure

Just when you think you’ve got a handle on things; when you feel you’ve done your job, faithfully and fully loved your spouse, raised your children to be respectable, honest and ethical, contributing members of society, lived a life where you’ve put the needs of others before your own, when it’s finally YOUR time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor; it gets ripped out from under you. How does this make sense? Simply put, it doesn’t.

I attended my first grief support group last night. I’ve done a good job of avoiding this until now. Yep, the ultimate queen of denial. But I see now that perhaps talking to people who’ve experienced some of what I’m going through can be good and actually quite helpful. I know that I’m not the first to go through this and surely won’t be the last so I decided to open myself up to the experience, bite the bullet and just go, damn it.

It was odd listening to others as they expressed their pain, confusion and even acceptance. I found it comforting as I identified with each person in the room. From the man who agonized over finding a note his wife wrote to her family and friends, to the man who just came back from spreading his wife’s ashes, to the woman who still struggles with emptying her closet of her husband’s clothes, to the woman who is still in a state of shock and not knowing what to do with herself.

This last woman I mentioned (I’ll call her Dee) was like me in that it was her first time coming to the group and I believe to be somewhat close to me in age. However unlike me who has lived this strange new existence for 10 months, this woman was thrown in to widowhood within the past two weeks. She was lost and didn’t know where to turn. Feeling like she was going crazy, she came. Her pain, anger, guilt and confusion held everyone’s rapt attention. It was clear that she needed someone outside of this group to talk to.

And this is where I failed. Serious epic failure. The man leading this group asked if one of the women there last night would give her phone number to Dee should she feel like she just needed to talk. An older woman, who has obviously been part of the group for a while, piped up and told Dee she would give her cell phone number to her after the group ended. I decided I would also offer my number and get Dee’s and just call her and offer to have dinner with her. You see this kind of help was offered to me by another widow when I needed it most. I didn’t take my friend up on the offer (A million thanks to you Ginny) and instead tried to deal with things on my own. Remember me? The queen of denial?

You see, after the January 8 shootings occurred in Tucson and the call for a gentler, kinder nation was made I decided that I would make a conscious effort to always pay it forward in some small way, each and every day. It’s the way I want to live my life. I’ve done that since then in many ways and this was my opportunity to do so again, in a way that is much more powerful and fulfilling than paying for the guy’s order behind me in the drive thru at Chick-Fil-A or Starbucks.

But I failed. Maybe it was selfishness because the meeting lasted way longer than I expected and all I wanted to do when it finally ended was go home. Maybe it was fear. Fear that if she took me up on it, I’d be forced to feel things I’ve been avoiding. So while I wasn’t so sure that this group was the right fit for me and was unsure about going next week, I do plan to go. I will go in the hope that Dee can bring herself to attend again and I’ll be given another opportunity to pay it forward. I won’t pass it up next time.

Getting help

My community is pulling together and we’re all struggling to make some sense of the madness that has rocked this town, this state, this nation. My employer is doing its part to help by offering crisis counseling both for the community and for my fellow employees.

An interesting and enlightening thing happened today. I was sent to the other end of the hospital campus to check on the counselor that was brought in for today’s session and make sure he had what he needed. I called one of my colleagues in the building that these sessions were to be held to ask if I could “borrow” a bottle of water to take to this man. I trekked cross campus and greeted my colleague as she gave me the water. We talked for a minute about the shooting and she told me of a visit her department had from the father of the congressional aide that was killed. The father was a well known and loved former TMC employee and he came to see his friends during this dark time. My colleague then told me that when he arrived, he said to her that they now have something in common. She went on to tell me her son had been violently killed almost 15 years ago. She said the recent shooting stirred up some feelings she didn’t expect but that she was fine. She deals with it and moves on. I asked if she planned to talk to the counselor and she scoffed at the idea. We walked in to where the counselor was and checked on him together. Suddenly I could see tears in my colleague’s eyes as she introduced herself and offered the water. I immediately told her that I was going to sit at her desk and take care of things so she didn’t have to worry, then left the room and closed the door.

She emerged 30 minutes later and thanked me. We spoke for a minute and I went back to the counselor to do a final check on him before heading back to my office. He then asked how I was doing. He said my colleague had mentioned that I lost my husband. Emotions flooded through my body and I sat down with him.. We talked for a bit and I acknowledged that I haven’t really dealt with my grief. We had a good conversation and he told me I was building a “perfect storm”. The combination of dismissing and pushing down my own grief after losing my husband, recent tragic events that are very personal to every Tucsonan and the upcoming anniversary dates that led to my own devastating loss were sure to bring about feelings I may not be equipped to deal with. He said what I may think is stress, irritability, insomnia or fatigue is possibly my body’s way of trying to tell me I need help. I admitted that I’ve felt increasingly uneasy over the last few days but dismissed it as the emotions that follow such a tragedy as we experienced on Saturday. I have not sought help up to this point, thinking I was just fine and could deal with things on my own. After talking a little longer I made the decision to get some help with my grief. I plan to go to a hospice grief support group next week, just to “check it out.” Who knows, maybe it’ll help, right?

So I can say that while many of us are looking for something positive to come out of this horrible tragedy, I found one little bright shining nugget. I’ll continue to search for the positive and I know my fellow Tucsonans will do the same.

Tragedy in Tucson

Just about every other day I intend to write a new post but I’ve found that while doing so is healing for me, it’s also emotionally draining. But I have to put my best intentions aside because recent tragic events that occurred here in my hometown have become my focus over the past few days.

There is no escaping it even if I wanted to. It’s everywhere. It’s on the radio, it’s on the television, it’s on the internet. I pass the crime scene on my way to and from work. The parking lot is still blocked off with police tape. Police cars still block the entrances with their lights flashing red and blue. National news teams report from a backyard across the street on Ina up on a small bluff; their bright lights, canopy, cameras and national anchorman cause traffic to slow during the commute home. Flowers, balloons and candles line corners and locations throughout Tucson. I see it on the faces of my fellow citizens; I hear it in their voices. Many of us strive to stay busy in an attempt to push past this even if temporarily. Many of us struggle to even function as the enormity of this tragedy envelopes us.

I think most every person in Tucson is tied to this tragic event in some way or another. If they haven’t yet discovered it, they’ll soon find their connection. Personally, there are a number of things that make this just that much more personal to me.
• First and foremost is the fact that this happened in MY hometown.
• Not only in MY hometown but basically in MY backyard, just a couple of miles from my house in Northwest Tucson.
• Gabby Giffords is MY congresswoman.
• I’ve met Gabby, spoken to her, voted for her and stand behind her.
• Several years ago, when she couldn’t reach my boss who was a personal friend of hers, Gabby got me on my cell phone in the evening and she asked for help when her father was hospitalized at TMC, the hospital where I work.
• I’ve met, spoken to and shared a joke with Gabe, her aide who was killed as he worked the Congress on Your Corner event on Saturday.
• I stood with others on the corner where Gabby’s office is located on the day of this tragedy because I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.
• I helped with the organization and coordination of crisis counseling.
• I found out today through that crisis counseling that someone close to many of us at TMC was actually there on Saturday and administered CPR on that poor, little angel who’s life was cut short at just 9 years of age.
• The horribly disturbed young man that caused all of this lived just over one mile from my home.
• He went to the same high school as my kids.
• He attended the same campus of the local community college one of my daughters attended.

I’m sad, grief stricken and angry. To further those feelings, we all learned today that the sick people who call themselves messengers of God, those deranged members of the Westboro Baptist Church, will be here picketing the funerals of the fallen beginning with the service for Christina on Wednesday. There is no lawful way to stop them however there is a huge movement in Tucson to peacefully and lawfully create a human border and line the street to the church to block the family’s view of the WBC crazies.

I’m angry also at the people who are politicizing Saturday’s shooting. While standing on that corner this past Saturday with my fellow citizens helping each other grieve and looking for peace there were a few older women holding signs and chanting “Shame on FOX! Shame on FOX!” I was shocked and couldn’t stop myself from approaching them to say that we were all there to show love and support and this wasn’t about hate. I should have known better. People who so easily spout off political rhetoric no matter which side they are on will always find a way to push their message down our throats. Even in the most inappropriate time and place.

Through events like Columbine and the Virginia Tech shootings I didn’t quite understand how deeply those communities were impacted until it happened in mine. But I’m not ashamed of my hometown. This is not a reflection on the people of Tucson. This was the doing of a mentally unstable person who acted alone. I’m proud of my community and the way we are all pulling together to move forward. We’ll never forget but we won’t let this bring us down. I’m proud to call myself a Tucsonan.