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.

Dickens said it well

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Dickens really had quite the opening line didn’t he? Kind of describes my year in a nutshell.

2010 holidays were THE worst. Mother’s Day wasn’t quite the same. Father’s Day was painful. Our anniversary brought a wave of emotions that rocked me like no other. Independence Day and fireworks just didn’t seem so spectacular this year. The Cordova Descendent Family Reunion was bittersweet and tears were shed. The hot days of summer were different without him here to take a trip or two to the beach in Mexico for some R&R. His birthday was celebrated in an emotional scattering of ashes in Cholla Bay. Halloween….my favorite fun day. I could always count on him to shake his head and laugh at my usually ridiculous homemade costume but he wasn’t here. Thanksgiving brought a few tears as I worried about making his gravy and hearing our son offer thanks around the table. My birthday was, well, different. The Christmas holiday has been among the most difficult of times. I felt it important to hold tight to the traditions he loved so much. The huge Douglas Fir purchased from the same lot year after year, the same home baked holiday treats, the tamales, the Navarro family boozy eggnog, watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” on Christmas Eve, having all the kids here on Christmas morning and watching their faces as they go through the stockings and open their presents.

Yes, 2010 brought me the worst imaginable moments of my entire life. But it also brought immeasurable joy.

We all lived true to what was most important to him. Family. True and simple. Money, success, material things….they didn’t really matter to him. The thing closest to his heart was the love of family.

2010 holidays were amazing and filled with the love of family. Mother’s Day….my kids made sure I felt loved and appreciated. On Father’s Day we felt the love as we gathered as a family for a King crab leg extravaganza while the Open played in the background. Our anniversary was beautifully acknowledged as I received flowers and a great night out with my two loving girls. Independence Day was a blast as we watched the Dodgers beat the Diamondbacks at Chase Field in Phoenix as guests of the Diamondback organization. The Cordova Descendent Family Reunion was an amazing celebration of the lives and loves created by those who have passed on like Grandpa Raymond, Grandma Lela, Corky, Auntie Toni, Uncle Bob, Buford, my beautiful husband and father of my children Al, and many, many other fabulous family members who are still with us. The hot days of summer meant creating something new as I brought a couple of friends to the beach in Mexico where we celebrated our own lives and friendship playing in the sun and surf. We rejoiced in the familiarity that is Mexico for his birthday as a large family unit all spending a few days in the house on the beach where our daughter Lesley was married and reminisced about good times. Halloween was fun and I felt the love of family and friends as my costume made people shake their heads and laugh. The gravy was replicated, the meal amazing and my entire family gathered around the Thanksgiving table as Marshall offered words of thanks and appreciation over what his father taught him (and all of us); that family is the most important thing in life. My birthday was celebrated with a fun filled night of pizza, beer and family. The Christmas holiday was something to behold. Traditions were upheld and appreciated. Family gathered on both the eve and day of Christmas and it was warm, inviting and full of the love of family. A new family focus for Christmas is in the forefront; that focus is on children. He now has two gorgeous granddaughters and that means two more members of a loving family that will forever be a part of him.

So with just two more milestones ahead in this time of unusual firsts (New Years and the anniversary of his passing), I know I can get through it because he taught us well. Yes, it’s been the best of times, it’s been the worst of times. But the future holds so much promise thanks to what he taught us. The love of family.

A conversation between a father and his daughter

All three of my children have an amazing love for their father and feel the pain of losing him each and every day. Whether it be in the little things like calling his cell and him answering, “Ajax Liquor” or just the familiarity of coming over and seeing him sitting in his chair in front of his giant TV watching golf or Law & Order marathons or the more monumental emptiness of knowing he’s not here to see the milestones his children have reached in their lives.

My daughter Alison and I have talked about seeing a psychic here in Tucson to help ease that emptiness. She actually helped a friend as she was struggling with a huge loss in her life but we haven’t made that happen yet.

Alison and Brad spent last weekend in Sedona, AZ. Many of you know that Sedona seems to be the Mecca for all things metaphysical. Now they didn’t go there to have a vortex experience or to have crystals laid upon them, they went for a relaxing weekend that was somewhat forced upon them by their time share company. (They needed to use a weekend somewhere before the end of the year or else lose the time and since Sedona is an easy drive, well….) While there Alison decided to go ahead and make the leap and sit down with a psychic. They happen to be all over Sedona and Alison and Brad drove past many until she “felt” she had found a location that looked welcoming to her.

After meeting the psychic and telling her where Alison was from and introducing Brad, the psychic began with an invocation “prayer”. The woman closed her eyes and the first thing she did was draw a picture of a pirate hat on a piece of paper. She said the word “pirate” to Alison and then said something about not knowing what that meant, perhaps someone wanted to be a pirate or was a pirate in a past life. Alison knew EXACTLY what it meant. You see, there was a running joke in my family started by Brian, where we called Al, The Pirate. Sometimes when we’d be at family gatherings around the pool at Brian’s or when Al and Bri would go on a trip together and Al would have a few drinks in him, he kinda sounded like a pirate. Brian definitely exaggerated the pirate speech when making fun of Al and it all just stuck over the years. There is absolutely no way this woman could have known anything about that and it was very obvious that Al was showing her that he was there. Alison simply acknowledged by saying that she knew what the pirate reference meant.

The psychic went on to talk about other things in Alison’s life. At one point she felt the need to validate what she was saying to Alison. The psychic said she needed to tell Alison something so Alison would know this is for real. She told Alison that she saw a dog, a two-toned dog that was tan and white. She went on to say this dog pushes a ball all around with his nose. Alison told her they had three dogs. The psychic replied that this is the only dog that does this. Now you should all know that Alison and Brad have a dog named Zero who is a tan and white dog and he is a complete spaz and loves nothing more than pushing a hard plastic ball all over their backyard with his nose. It’s a ball that is impossible to bite and Zero is like a soccer player the way he plays with it. He runs all over the yard using his nose to push and guide the ball. They actually have to take the ball away from him because he rubs his nose raw against the spinning ball. And Zero is the only one of their dogs who plays like this.

One of the last things the psychic said to Alison is that her dad was saying “My baby girl” and then the psychic saw him holding his hand up to his mouth and say “Oops, I’m not supposed to say that.” I can say that Al called his two daughters his babies, often saying my baby girl to each of them. The surgeon who was to operate on Al’s gallbladder but instead ended up giving Al that fatal diagnosis works for the surgeon’s group Alison is employed by. His name is Dr. Sahai. Before Al went to see this particular surgeon for the first time Alison told her father to please not refer to her as his baby girl or anything like that during the appointment. She said that while the surgeon belongs to the group, he didn’t really KNOW Alison and she didn’t want her father to refer to her like that in the business setting. On the day of his appointment with this surgeon, I reminded him not to refer to Alison like that during the appointment.

It’s clear that Al was using this psychic to have a conversation of sorts with his daughter. He needed her to know that he’s here, he’s with her and that he loves her. When Alison called me from Sedona to tell me about the whole experience, I cried. I felt so validated in everything I’ve been feeling. I couldn’t help but wonder over these past 8-9 months if I am so desperate to feel Al’s presence that the signs I receive are really my imagination stretching to it’s limit. But now I know it’s not. It’s all very real. Very spiritual and very real. And very much a show of love.

An interesting little side note. My coworker and I were sitting in a conference room applying labels to over 800 holiday cards….the over 800 physicians affiliated with my hospital. I was telling my coworker about Alison’s experience with the psychic while somewhat blindly and automatically affixing the labels to the envelopes. While talking I realized I had mistakenly applied one of the labels very cockeyed and lifted it off as best I could to reapply it. Who do you think was on that address label? That’s right, Dr. Sahai.

Just a little reassurance

My son Marshall and daughter-in-law Ali are getting ready to have their first child, Ashley Jude Navarro. She was due a couple of days ago and is now in the hospital getting ready to be induced. They've been there all day and I've hung out with them twice today. It's looking like Ashley will make her way in to this world sometime on December 6.

Marshall called me just a little while ago and asked if I would go to his house and pick up their bed pillows and bring them to the hospital. Of course I obliged. So I drove over there in my pajamas and robe, trekked up the stairs, went in and grabbed the pillows so they could be comfortable tonight.

I'm really happy and excited about this birth. It's a beautiful, wonderous thing to welcome a child in to the world and this family needs something beautiful and wonderous. I think we're all starting to get used to Al being gone. I still think about him every single day but I don't cry every day anymore. I know that's a good thing. I also think that he knows that we are accepting of this and understanding that he really is gone and that life moves on. I believe that he came to me so frequently in the first seven months after his death to help me. He knew I wasn't grieving properly, that I was holding back. I was holding back and putting up a front. Over the past month or so I've cried more openly in my home and been more open about grieving. But with that acceptance comes a price. My signs from Al are less frequent. I think he feels better about where I am emotionally and is letting me move on a little.

But he gave me a gift tonight. As I was turning out the lights in Marshall's home, I turned towards the kitchen and caught sight of the clock on the stove. It was 11:11 ~ a huge wave of emotion took me over. It was different than the earlier days when I'd happen to catch a glimpse of the time at just the right moment. Those 11:11's felt different. This one gave me a definite physical feeling within my body. I cried as it rose up within my body. It was such a strong feeling of love. I know it was Al letting me know that he'll be with us for the birth of this baby. He'll be right by our sides welcoming her in to this world. He wouldn't miss the birth of his son's baby. Al and Marshall had an extremely tight bond and there is no way in hell Al's going to miss this. And he wanted us to know that.

Not exactly Trans Siberian Orchestra worthy

The thing that makes me happiest during the holiday season aside from spending time with my family is Christmas lights. Al always indulged me and made sure our house was strung with bright, cheery Christmas lights. It’s funny because while it was a pain for him to actually put the lights up, he was a perfectionist in HOW the lights were strung. When I was growing up my dad put little hooks under the eaves which made it really easy for him to just attach the string of lights to the roofline using the hooks. But Al would have none of that. Doing so would mean the lights might hang a little cockeyed here and there. Nope. Not for Al. He used a staple gun and carefully held the lights in position and then stapled them just so in order to have each light hang straight down at the correct angle. He was in charge of those lights and took great pride in them. Me on the other hand? I was in charge of doing the rest of the outdoor lights…around the porch, on the front pillars surrounding the porch, in the mesquite tree, up and down the ocotillo, etc. I’d start bugging him to get the lights up as soon as Thanksgiving was over. Sometimes the lights would go up by December 1st; sometimes it would be the 2nd weekend in December.

I take such pleasure in Christmas lights that I drive a slightly different route through our neighborhood each and every time I'm out so I can see the different lights at night. The kids and I always used to search out the best holiday display in the area. There was the house up off Shannon and Overton where the owners dressed as Santa and an elf, had crazy displays in the front yard that included teddy bears playing football on a football field and a ton of other things. They lived on a cul-de-sac and traffic in and out of that neighborhood was Ri.Dic.U.Lous. They even handed out candy canes and hot chocolate to every person who came by to enjoy their lights and took donations for the local food bank. They did this each and every night up to Christmas.

Then there was Disney Lane. Another neighborhood in our area where on a particular street, every single house on both sides was decorated in a different Disney theme. They all had huge, similarly painted wood cutouts in their yards of different Disney characters. There was a Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs house, a Mickey & Minnie house, an Aladdin house complete with a “floating” magic carpet with Aladdin & Jasmine and music pouring out of the house and one of our favorites was the 101 Dalmatians house with the roofline decorated with wood cutouts of stockings, each holding a different Dalmatian pup.

One year my Christmas lights stayed up all year long and it annoyed the hell out of me. By the time December rolled around and we plugged the lights in, they were no longer bright and vibrant. The sun had bleached them and they had become pastel colored. But what the heck, we just lived with them that year and then took them down after Christmas and put brand new strings up the following year.

Well this past Christmas was very rough for Al. He didn’t feel well, was weak and not eating properly. Marshall put our lights up for us. (Funny that Al’s obsession with hanging the lights just so was passed down to Marsh) Everyone got busy after the holidays and then Al went in the hospital. He was there for three weeks before passing away. The lights never came down. Now that the holidays are upon us, I was a little annoyed that I’d probably be looking at either having pastel lights again or having to buy new strands and have Marshall put them up. My kids all understand how happy Christmas lights make me. As we wrapped up Thanksgiving evening and they were each leaving, Les & Trevor plugged the lights in and called me outside. They were beautiful! I don’t have pastels this year! Granted, the blue bulbs need to be replaced but that’s an easy job and Marshall has already volunteered to help with that task. The lights on my house may not be like the famous display set to the music of the Trans Siberian Orchcestra that is such a hit on youtube.com but that's just fine with me.

I know the holidays will be tough this year but I’m going to do my best to make this season as happy as I can. Life goes on and I'll keep our traditions going. There will still be homemade eggnog (Yes Trevor!!), tamales & beans, snowballs and fudge, a massive live Christmas tree and the lights hung just so.

Painful, emotional documentation of Al's hospitalization

I had dinner last night with two former coworkers who I am happy to say are now friends. It’s interesting because as we sat there catching up and telling each other of the strange twists and turns our lives have taken over the past year, I realized that no matter how happy each of us appear, what often brings us closer to each other is the fact that we’re all in pain to some degree. Some of us have deep-rooted pain from a long ago tragedy. Some of us feel the pain of thinking we’re all alone with no one to understand what it is we’re trying to cope with. Some of us may be embarrassed to reveal our pain for fear others may brush it off or make light of it. But honestly, no one’s pain is any less than the next persons. We can’t judge what someone else is feeling, we can only acknowledge it and try to understand. And while my friends and I each revealed bits and pieces of our pain please don’t think that was the focus of our evening. It surely wasn’t. Along with the few tears that were shed, there was much laughter. And noise. And fun. And Mi Nidito’s Mexican food. And a Michelada here and a Sangria there.

Last night's little adventure and relaying to my friends the recent twists and turns my life has taken (albeit Readers Digest version) has made me feel the need to tell the story of what happened to Al here in this forum.

I warn you, this is EXTREMELY long, EXTREMELY personal, and perhaps a little tedious to read. But I need to write this. I need to document it somewhere so I never lose these memories and the sequence of events. I'm sure I may have lost a few details or mixed a few things up here and there but I'm trying hard to be as accurate as I can. Again, I NEED to do this. So here goes.

Over the past 10 years, Al’s health was starting to decline somewhat. It started years and years ago with various sports injuries and many laparoscopic knee surgeries. (OMG, random memory from the Al joke file. Before he ever had his knees replaced he used to tell everyone he’d had five knee surgeries. Two on his left knee, two on his right knee and one on his weenie….(vasectomy).) He had little to no meniscus in either knee, resulting in terrible arthritis and eventually two full knee replacements, a torn rotator cuff which resulted in surgery, a broken hand with a metal pin installed, a disc problem in his back, diabetes and things I’m sure I’m forgetting. The man had a very high tolerance for pain but was living in so much constant pain for the past 8-10 years. The pain made working very difficult too. Al began self medicating to ease the pain by drinking a little more and taking Tylenol to excess. When I say excess, I’m talking 10-12 500mg capsules every day throughout the day and night. I know we were somewhat stupid because neither of us really realized the harm in doing that. In addition, Al always drank. Since I met him over 32years ago, he was always the guy with the beer in his hand. I never realized it but now I see that he would be considered a functioning alcoholic.

Well for many months Al had been having a lot of pain and discomfort in his abdomen. He didn’t enjoy eating anymore and always felt full. He’d already been diagnosed with Barrett’s esophagus a year or so prior and had some problems with vomiting blood. He pretty much stopped eating and I began forcing him to drink Ensure and a daily fruit smoothie with protein powder just to get some nutrients in him. Finally we got what we thought was a diagnosis that would solve the problem. He was told he needed to have his gallbladder removed. So tests were ordered and we met with the surgeon who would remove his gallbladder. During that appointment the surgeon turned to us and said, “I can’t do surgery to remove your gallbladder. You have cirrhosis of the liver.” We were stunned. The date was January 29, 2010. He explained that if you looked at cirrhosis severity as a level A, B or C with C being the worst, Al was at a B level. The surgeon scheduled a procedure called paracentesis for Al to have fluid removed that was building up in his abdomen. They basically use a long needle guided by some form of x-ray or scan and insert the needle in the belly and let the fluid drain. On Feb. 12, he had 3.2 liters of fluid “tapped” from his abdomen as an outpatient procedure. This gave him some relief for a short time. Over the next week, his belly started to swell again and Al was becoming very lethargic and was in a lot of discomfort. I was so alarmed by his overall well-being that I convinced him to go to the Emergency Room on Sunday, Feb. 21. He was immediately admitted to the hospital and the craziness began. After a consult with a gastroenterologist and the original surgeon who was to do the gallbladder surgery, Al’s cirrhosis level was determined to actually be between a B and a C. Suddenly the gallbladder was no longer a concern. Surgery to remove it was too risky. The gastro doc wasn’t really giving us any answers and seemed to be downplaying the cirrhosis. We desperately needed some answers on what the future held and this doctor was not giving us anything. My daughter Alison and I finally tracked the doctor down where he was finishing a procedure and we ambushed him in the waiting room. We asked some hard questions and he finally told us Al had between 3-5 years left to live. OK, we can deal with this…at least we know.

On Feb 24 they removed another 5.5 liters of fluid from his belly. We were told he would be going home within a few days but we (Al’s family) knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. His vitals were all out of whack, his blood work was a mess and he was not well. On Feb 25 we had a different gastro doc come in and talk to us. By this time Al’s father and sister were here. This doctor told us very simply that of the patients in Al’s current condition, 50% of them die within the first year. While that was devastating news, at least it was honest. Again, they were preparing to have him go home within the next day or two if they could get him stabilized.

The next day when I came to see Al he told me that the gastro doctor had been in again and asked Al if he knew or realized what the prognosis was. Al told him yes, he understood that he had between 6 months and a year. He said the doctor kind of nodded and told Al they we would take it one day at a time. His blood pressure was way down, which made him very dizzy and the sodium levels in his blood needed to increase (different from sodium in the diet) and he was having difficulty urinating. Al and I started having conversations about what he wanted out of the next few months. He wanted to take me on a few day trips to show me some of his favorite hunting spots, beautiful areas in the mountains and desert. He wanted to take one last trip to the beach in Mexico, he wanted to move his annual golf trip with his high school buddies to Tucson instead of the planned Portland trip.

On March 2, his nurse told Al his numbers were looking good and there was a possibility he might go home. I reminded Al that the nephrologist (kidney specialist) told us the night before that he would be giving him some large doses of albumin over at least a six hour period today so I couldn’t imagine him going home today. Albumin acts like a magnet and pulls the fluid out of his system and into his bloodstream, which the kidney then pulls out and processes as urine. The hope was that this would get his kidneys functioning better. The nephrologist came in and confirmed that Al would not be going home. We were now looking at the 9th day of hospitalization.

We were told Al was not a current candidate for a liver transplant. Patients must meet a list of criteria – one of which is no alcohol use for at least 6 months. Al only stopped using alcohol when he was diagnosed on Jan 29 and then had 4 beers on Super Bowl Sunday so actually, he had only been alcohol free since Feb 7. Alison & I inquired about a living donor and were told the criteria was even more stringent for living donor transplantation. Al’s case manager told us he was “walking the line” between where doctors can try different drugs to help his condition and not being able to do anything further.

The doctors began discussing the possibility of doing a TIPS procedure (Transjugular Intrahepatic Portosystemic Shunt) which is a liver shunt. The shunt drains the fluids from the liver in to the blood stream which is then processed through the kidneys to eliminate the waste. Al’s kidneys were once again producing urine (a positive thing) however the TIPS is a surgical procedure and ANY surgical procedure was risky since Al was extremely prone to infection and bleeding. TIPS doesn’t “cure” anything but is designed to alleviate the discomfort of fluid buildup without having to do the paracentesis time after time.

I received a panicky phone call from Al on March 4 at 3AM. He told me he was scared that he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. I left the house and was at the hospital by 3:30AM. He was on oxygen, his breathing was very shallow, he was extremely weak and had a fever of 101.5. The staff began aggressively treating him, pumping fluids in him and quickly moved him to ICU. Al had an infection raging through his body and over the next day or two while he was in ICU, anyone entering his room had to gown up and wear gloves and masks.

On March 5, the nephrologist said Al’s creatinine levels had become slightly elevated again. Before the episode that put him in the ICU, his level had dropped down to a 1.8 (1.3 is a on the high end of the “normal” scale). We had been working on getting his level down to 1.2 to hopefully get him home. On March 5, his level was at 2.3. Another paracentesis was performed. In addition, because his liver wasn’t functioning, fluids were building up again and his bowels and kidneys stopped working which makes infection all the more likely.

I was told that it’s important to reevaluate Al’s condition every single day and to not focus on the little pieces of information that I’m given. It’s the overall picture that is important. How is Al feeling today? Is he sleeping most of the time? Is he becoming so uncomfortable with the procedures, medications and prodding that it’s unbearable?

Al was moved out of the ICU on March 7. We were told that Al would likely go home on that day. They talked about removing the catheters and the central line (IV in the chest/shoulder). The doctor wanted to see about removing additional fluid so another paracentesis was ordered. He had one done the day before where 4 liters of fluid was removed. But the radiologist didn't want to do another so soon. He felt it was too risky to do it so soon. The physical therapy team came in to evaluate. They needed Al to be able to roll to his side and sit up in bed and then get up with his walker and take a few steps. He needed to show them he could do this so they could feel confident he would be able to do the same at home. It was a real struggle. He really had a hard time doing what he needed to do without a LOT of assistance. He became very weak and his oxygen level dropped significantly. His blood pressure dropped and he became dizzy. After they left the case manager came in and said she had bad news.....he couldn't go home. In the state he was in, it would take 2-3 people to help him at home. So their next plan was to release him to a skilled nursing facility to gain some strength and still be taken care of medically. Then we got word that they in fact did want to do the paracentesis and they were once again considering the TIPS procedure (liver shunt) but it would all depend on his white blood cell count.

On March 10 my family and I met with a trusted physician (my former boss) who is an executive at the hospital I work for and is basically the “boss” of all the physicians when they are practicing medicine in the hospital. She was following Al’s case and was able to talk to us honestly and openly….something the doctors involved in Al’s case weren’t really doing. I also met with the main doctor in charge of Al’s care. Both agreed and said it made no sense to transfer Al to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) because it would begin a vicious cycle of being at the SNF and being taken daily to the hospital for paracentesis. We talked a bit about the TIPS procedure and she said that while his white cell count was down significantly, it was still high which means he still had an infection running through his body. She said there was a very high risk of further infection if the TIPS was done. I asked her if the shunt became infected, would they have to go back in and take it out. She explained that taking the shunt out wouldn’t be the issue, but that a resulting infection would very likely kill him. She also said that removing fluid every day was very risky and was keeping him in the hospital. And truth be told, it is VERY common to contract an infection in the hospital. This presented even more risk to Al. She left to go consult with the radiologist about the paracentesis. Not too long after, they took Al to radiology for the paracentesis where they removed 6.6 liters. 6.6, I couldn’t get over that number. In just THREE days, they removed almost 15 liters of fluid.

After the paracentesis, I became very concerned after learning how much fluid had accumulated overnight. The kids and I arranged to meet with my former boss (the physician) and the director of our hospice. My former boss explained what no one else had said. Each time a paracentesis was performed, the bad stuff was leaving the body but so was the good stuff; the proteins, the electrolytes, etc. By draining the fluids we weren’t allowing the natural process of having those electrolytes and proteins be cycled back in to his bloodstream where they could be absorbed and nourish his body. He was becoming extremely dehydrated. No amount of fluids entering his body either thru IV or mouth were doing their job to rehydrate because they were being pulled out through paracentesis therefore defeating the purpose of IV fluids completely. She talked about the SNF and reminded us that we need to continually look at the goal. Was Al going to get better? No. So what is the goal of a skilled nursing facility? Their goal is to improve the health of patients, to convalesce them to where they are able to recover from illness or an accident. The SNF’s goal didn’t match the goal for Al. Al would not improve or recover; he needed to be made comfortable. That left two options: 1) continued hospital stay with constant paracentesis which would likely result in an eventual bad situation; infection, bleeding, leakage to the point where the doctors would refuse to do the procedure any longer. Paracentesis was not pleasant and Al was in some pain afterward. And 2) hospice where they could make him comfortable and stop the invasive procedures and allow for some beautiful, peaceful time with all his family up to the end.

Later, Al and I talked privately about this and then had a hospice nurse and case manager come in and talk to us. This was so hard because up until that moment, I think Al believed that although he was very sick and had only a short time left with us, he expected to be able to go home at some point. He told them that he wanted to go home, that he wanted to die at home. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible. Al was receiving more oxygen than could be managed at home. He needed to be in inpatient hospice. The staff left and Al asked me to leave him for a bit so he could take it all in. As hard as it was, I gave him his privacy. What I didn’t know at the time was that he wanted me to leave so he could call his family and tell them he was dying and was going to hospice. He didn’t want me to have to do that. I also found out later that during those conversations, his concern wasn’t for himself but it was for me. He was worried about me and how I would get through this and how my life would change. Can you imagine? Facing the end of his life and his first thought was for me. I can’t even express how much I love him. I came back to his room about an hour later and he told me he was ready, to go ahead and bring back the hospice staff so he could sign the paperwork and get transferred. It was heartbreaking yet a relief. I knew my husband had suffered in silence for many, many years and the past three weeks were agonizing for him not only physically but mentally and emotionally. What I haven’t mentioned in this long post is the confusion that came along with his hospitalization and sickness. With cirrhosis, the toxins build up in the body and become poisonous and confusion sets in. When those toxins are released from the body, the confusion clears. During the first week of his hospitalization came a somewhat humorous bout of confusion. There was a package of bed pads next to his bed and he turned to me and said, “I told you to put those in the refrigerator. They’re going to spoil.” We went back and forth because I didn’t know what he was talking about. Finally he said to me, “The green corn tamales right here next to me, they’re going to spoil. Put them in the fridge.” We both laughed about it later when the confusion cleared. The periods of confusion came a few more times and were more evident the morning of his transfer to hospice. A few hours after signing for the transfer, he was loaded in to an ambulance and taken the quarter mile or so to hospice which is on the hospital campus. We got Al settled in his room in hospice and I hung out with him for a few hours. He was very, very tired and was receiving high doses of morphine to keep him comfortable. He told me to go home and get some rest, he’d be fine and I could come back in the morning. I hesitated but felt somewhat comfortable since we all thought Al would be there for a week, maybe two. There was time to spend with him, time to talk to him, time to reminisce with him, time to look at pictures with him. Just time to be with him. I went home and spent time with my daughter going through family pictures. We wanted to decorate his room with tons of photos and fill a photo album with pictures of our life so he could reflect on his life and enjoy the pictures. The next morning (Friday, March 12) my daughter, son-in-law and baby granddaughter went to see Al and spend a few hours with him. Upon their arrival, she called me and told me that her dad was different. He was in and out of consciousness and she was scared. I left right away and came to hospice. He was different. It was clear that he was in the process of dying. I spoke with the hospice director whom I know quite well and she told me that she didn’t think he’d make it through the weekend. We were shocked. How did this happen? Just the day before he was himself, he was still talking to us and telling us he loved us. I can only say that he was ready and he could no longer fight what was happening. He had turned his body over from science to nature. Family was called and they were already on their way from California to be with us and help Al leave this world.

All Souls Procession

A huge celebration was held this past Sunday in Tucson. An amazing, spectacular event that honors not only our rich Mexican heritage but all those loved ones who have passed. This was the 20th anniversary of the All Souls Procession. It begins as a 2-mile procession with participants dressed in Dia de Los Muertos costume and make up, homemade floats, puppets, you name it. The procession ends in a large downtown lot where an amazing finale is held with music, dancing, fire, and the burning of a large urn that is suspended in the air. That urn holds the prayers, wishes and memories of and for our loved ones.

I’ve had a long fascination with Dia de Los Muertos and the beautiful art that surrounds it. I convinced a few family members to attend the All Souls Procession a couple of years ago but we only went to the finale and did not participate in the actual “parade”. While it was amazing and hugely touching, I left with a yearning to really experience and feel the joy of the procession. With Al’s passing, it meant more than ever for us to attend as a family this year and to actually be in the procession. Surprisingly, all three of my kids agreed to participate.

I spent Sunday morning preparing….I made a couple of “altars” which were to be hung around the neck, picked up a couple of clearance skull and ghost Halloween piñatas and stuck some dowels in them so we could carry them in the procession and then the part I was most excited about, getting in to character for the procession. (Yes, that's me in the photo - captured by a professional photographer as we went through the 4th Ave underpass)


We all met up at along the procession route (me, Lesley & Isla, Alison, and Marshall & Ali) and joined the revelers in the parade. We joined the procession with a group of folklorico dancers with their faces painted as skeletons in front of us and a group of dancers & drummers behind us. Within moments we were going under the 4th Ave bridge where all you saw was a sea of people. It was crazy! We walked along in the procession, kind of dancing our way along to the finale site.

We didn’t stay for the finale which was fine since the actual procession was more important to me this year. After all we had not only a baby in a stroller with us but we had a full-term pregnant woman with us too!

What makes me really happy is that my kids enjoyed it so much that they want to do the procession with me again next year. And not just walk it. They all want to go in costume and make up! All of them…even Marshall!!!

Not only did we honor Al’s life and memory by participating in this fabulous celebration but we’ve created a new family tradition.

Sleep eludes me

After lying in bed tossing and turning for hours, I’ve finally climbed out of bed if for nothing else, a change of environment. This reminds me of the night I started this blog. Just like then, sleep doesn’t come. What does come are tears. They flow surprisingly free tonight and what is different this time is that I let them. Thoughts and images of Al keep flooding my mind.

I can see him holding Isla and the look of pride and joy on his face as he greets his granddaughter on the day of her birth. I see him packing up the Bronco at 3am for a deer hunting trip and how he would laugh when Dodger always jumped in the back seat and wouldn’t get out for hours in fear he would get left behind. I see him lying under that same Bronco doing some vehicle maintenance or repair, wearing those old jeans and blue work shirt covered in grease and oil. I see his beaming face as he is by my side as each of our three children enter the world and draw their first breaths. I see him standing over the stove making the Thanksgiving gravy with a glass of wine by his side. I see him stapling a sheet over the hallway opening in to the living room so the kids wouldn’t see what Santa had left on Christmas morning until we could get in to position to see their little faces light up. I see him with Cholla in his lap as that silly little Boxer snuggled in his arms. I see him practicing his putting and chipping in the living room. I see him by Brian’s pool enjoying a summer Sunday afternoon with his best friend and family laughing and teasing. I see him in his recliner content to spend the entire day watching golf. I see him on the sidelines, his face glowing with pride, as Marshall tears it up on the football field with Alison and Lesley cheering on the sidelines in their orange cheerleading uniforms. I see the serious look on his face and stern warning of silence as we get on the “shortcut” between Gila Bend and Buckeye. I see the happiness on his face as Marshall arrives in the early morning and Al grabs his golf clubs and heads out the door for father/son time. I see the tears fall during Alison’s wedding rehearsal in the park as he walks her down the “aisle”. I see the pride in his face when Lesley walks across the stage to receive her high school diploma. I see the sadness in his eyes when we leave his father in California after a visit but also hear the love in his voice when he calls his dad for their frequent phone calls.

You know, there really wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for that man. He didn’t frequently express his deep unfaltering love for me TO me but I can’t even count the times when I’d meet one of Al’s friends, coworkers or acquaintances for the first time and that person would tell me how Al gushes about his love for me and how I am his angel. That he would probably not be in this world if it weren’t for me. In the past year or so before Al left us, he told me that one of his greatest fears is that I would die before him and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on without me.

So I guess it’s a bit of a blessing he passed first although way too soon. I still feel robbed to some degree. Robbed of what were to be the best years of our lives. Our kids are grown and are responsible, upstanding adults who will do well in life and love. We did our jobs and this time was to be ours. It was only for a brief time that this house that once held a noisy, fun family became our quiet, peaceful home. The place we looked forward to having family gatherings and celebrations.

I wish I could hear his laugh, feel his touch and see his face still. I miss him so much that it physically hurts. It’s a pain I suppose anyone who’s truly loved someone feels at some point. I wait for the day this ache becomes bearable and the tears no longer flow.

A healing place for the spirit

Working on the same hospital campus which houses Peppi’s makes it necessary for me to end up there on occasion. I remember the first time I went there after going back to work. I had to deliver ice cream treats to the staff for a recognition program. No problem! I hopped in my hospital issued golf cart and took off to the far edge of our property where Peppi’s is located, went in and made my presentation and then turned to leave. Again ~ No problem! No tears, no nothing…just doing my job. Got in the golf cart to go back to my office, turned the key and it kept turning, and turning, and turning. The damn thing was just spinning in the cylinder and the key wasn’t catching. The stupid golf cart was dead. At Hospice. Surely, you see the humor in that. I sure did. Anyway, that day showed me that I could do it. I can go to Hospice and not be bothered or upset.

I’ve been back a time or two since for work related things and then recently went to see if I could do something for my friend and her family when her dad was there. That particular visit brought me to the other end of the building…the REAL part of hospice….the part where people are patients….where people are dying. My friend’s dad’s door was closed so I left a note taped to the door for her to call me. But even being there in the same halls, at the same nurse’s station, smelling the same smells and hearing the same hushed voices didn’t bother me. I didn’t cry, wasn’t bothered or upset.

Just a couple of weeks ago I attended an amazing dedication celebration at Peppi’s. On the street side of the building lies a large open lot that is covered in gravel or decomposed granite or something. It’s very dull and not very aesthetically pleasing. Well, through generous donations a beautiful labyrinth and centering garden was built in the formally barren space. Part of my unwritten job description is that I attend such dedications to show camaraderie, employee cohesiveness, etc and to make sure there are plenty of people in attendance. So several of my coworkers and I went for the dedication ceremony. While it lasted much longer than any of us anticipated, it was simply beautiful. There were readings, artwork dedications, prayers and all of it was very simple. Prayers were offered from many faiths…Christian, Buddhist, Sikh or Baha’i (I don't remember which), Jewish, and Native American. Being one who’s faith is a little out of the norm, I felt the most connected to the ceremony when the Tohono O’odham blessed the site with feathers and burning sage. The tile art and rock labyrinth bring a much needed sense of peace to Peppi’s House. And yes, I cried. The words touched me a great deal and the entire ceremony took place right outside the private patio attached to the room Al passed in. But it was an emotional, thankful cry. Thankful that there are others who feel what I feel and were there to share in this beautiful experience. I looked towards the sky to try to blink away the tears but was caught up in what was happening above me. The few clouds in that magnificent blue sky seemed to be only over Hospice. Those wispy clouds started a slow swirl towards each other and joined as one. It was like all the souls of the people who had passed in Hospice were joining together for this happy occasion. It really amazed me and I found it to be quite spiritual.

However we are Navarro’s. And even if this beautiful, peaceful labyrinth had been there the night that Peppi’s was filled with my family and friends saying their goodbyes to my beautiful husband, I know the truth. We STILL would have been out there toasting Al, drinking beer, telling stories and partying in the parking lot. What can I say, it’s who we are!

Lovely...bug symbolism for someone who hates bugs!

Ever since we came home from our fantastic Mexico trip for Al’s birthday, I’ve been feeling uneasy. I’m not sure what it is or why it is but I am definitely feeling something. I’m beginning to fully realize that I have to live my life differently now. I mean, I knew this fact when I first lost Al but it’s becoming glaringly, obscenely, “in your face” obvious now.

Things that when I had my partner here were easier to meet head on but are now overwhelmingly frightening because I have to figure out how to take care of these things on my own.

I think I have a leak in the toilet tank in the back bathroom. I’ve come in the room to find water pooling on the floor in front of the toilet. I traced it back to that flexible piece of tubing coming from the wall in to the tank. I’m also thinking I might have a bigger plumbing issue based on the light flow of water from the kitchen sink. Plumbing problems scare the crap out of me because I know from experience (yes, Al and I had some interesting home repair experiences) that what starts out as a seemingly simple repair turns out to be much worse when inexperienced hands get busy. For now my quick fix for the toilet problem is to turn the water off at the wall as it leads in to the tank. I turn it on again when I flush and fill the tank, then turn it off. I need at least two new tires on my car, a very long overdue oil change, and LOTS more. I’m scared to take it in because I know I can’t afford what needs to be done, much less new tires. But on the other hand, I need to keep the car operating because I certainly know I can’t afford a car payment and full coverage insurance. With just under 190,000 miles on it, it’s only a matter of time. The holidays are right around the corner. What’s it going to be like without Al? Do I carry on the same Christmas traditions he loved so much? Am I going to let my family down if I’m sad? Are people sick of me feeing lost without him? Oh, I can go on and on and these thoughts & worries make sleep difficult.

So yes, I’ve been feeling uneasy, restless, worried.

An interesting thing happened yesterday. In the afternoon as I was sitting in the recliner in the family room, I looked up and saw a very large, green praying mantis on the ceiling. Immediately creeped out and freaked out, I got right up and asked Peter to please remove it but don’t hurt it or kill it. Just get it out and put it in the wash behind us so Raider doesn’t eat it because that crazy dog loves to eat bugs. Then I went out to a work event and later met up with Alison & Brad at a bar for a few drinks. When I got home, what do you think I saw on the ceiling? You got it, another praying mantis!! This one was a little smaller and was brown instead of green. Peter helped me out again and removed it so I could sit it the family room without freaking out. I mean…what are the chances, right? One praying mantis in your house, while a little freaky is plausible. But TWO? In one night? Now that’s just downright odd.

And yes, a cartoon image because bugs of ANY kind (even butterflies and ladybugs) gross me the eff out!

I’ve had too many signs and strange symbolisms appearing lately to not realize there is some meaning behind this. I had to look it up and this is what I found:

An appearance from the mantis is a message to be still, go within, meditate, get quiet and reach a place of calm.

From: http://www.whats-your-sign.com/animal-symbolism-mantis.html

I take this as a message Al is sending me.

¡Feliz cumpleaños! mi amor ~ You will live forever in OUR paradise!

Well the first step was taken in letting Al forever be a part of the world he loved so much. We did right by him and it feels good. A little painful but good.

The weekend started on Friday morning when Alison, Brad and I left for the family weekend destination, Puerto Penasco, Mexico. Rocky Point. Cholla Bay. Our little slice of paradise. It’s an easy drive, one that we enjoy and despite everyone’s concern and warnings….an uneventful drive. Checked in to the neighborhood hotel Al & I used to stay in, Rosa del Desierto. Its bare bones but its safe, the A/C works well and a large room with two king beds was only $35. Left right away and headed to the beach to find Alison’s former coworker Alissa and her family. Found them in the RV park on the beach that they frequent and spent the next several hours drinking and BSing the night away. Checked out of the hotel the next morning and hit a favorite local establishment for breakfast. Anita y Jesus – a super clean, super friendly place for a good meal. The best part about the place is Oscar. The owner’s brother. He remembers us year after year and we truly look forward to giving our business to this local establishment just to see Oscar and his beautiful, welcoming personality.

From there we drove around a bit and killed some time by checking out some of our favorite haunts before heading over to Las Palmas over on Sandy Beach. Before long Marshall & Ali and Les, Trevor & Isla showed up and we hung out at the resort pool until we were able to check in to the beach house. Finally the house was ready and so were we. The house was just as we remembered it from when Les & Trevor were married there two years ago. Absolutely gorgeous. So we spent the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday on the beach, swimming in the water of the Sea of Cortez, eating, drinking, playing late night “drunken” Pictionary and completely enjoying one another. We ended Sunday afternoon by sitting out on the patio overlooking the beach and watched the most amazing sunset only to be amazed at the sight of a red crescent moon. We watched as that red moon slipped below the horizon in just a matter of minutes. It was a sight I won’t soon forget.

I woke up early this morning, made coffee and went out on the patio to enjoy the early morning and wish Al a happy birthday. Today would have been his 62nd birthday and it also the 22nd anniversary of his mother’s death. I know somehow, somewhere their spirits are together and keeping us all safe. Before long the house was bustling with activity and we soon packed up and checked out to head out to Cholla Bay. We all made our way to Al’s favorite spot, the spot we spent many summer afternoons enjoying the weather, water and Mexican hospitality. Just a little spot on the beach in front of an old abandoned, little shack of a house. We placed a framed picture of Al, a biodegradable pretty container of ashes and a Mexican beer in the sand where Al placed his canopy and camp chair for a number of years and then Les dug a little hole in the sand in Al’s spot and poured some of his ashes from the container in to the hole and covered it back up with sand.

Then we all walked out in to the bay as the tide was coming back in and when we were in water above our knees we stopped and wished Al a happy birthday, told him we missed and loved him and then sent his ashes off to mix in the water of Cholla Bay. We all shared that last Mexican beer and “poured one out” for Al. It was pretty emotional, sad and mournful yet beautiful too. And leave it to my husband on this one. The biodegradeable “peaceful pillow” that contained some of his ashes and was supposed to become heavy as the water soaked through the container kept floating back to ME. I’d pick it up and walk several paces out and place it in the water to give it a little shove out in the deeper water but it kept floating and making its way back to me. Was that Al playing games with us? I think so. Al was one to tease and slowly “turn the screw”. He sure had fun messing with us today! The “pillow” became heavy and water logged but wouldn’t sink. We finally opened it up a bit and helped release his ashes from the dissolvable bag within the pillow and put a giant clamshell under the slowly dissolving ribbon tying it closed and the pillow slowly sunk to the bottom of the bay. From there we walked to JJs and had a drink in Al’s name.

Then it was time to hit the road and come back to reality in Tucson.

Happy Birthday Al. You’ll always be a part of your favorite paradise now and we are well on our way to honoring your wishes on how to dispose of your ashes. There are a couple more special events on the way in the near future but we definitely honored you today. You’d be so proud of your children and the wonderful people they’ve become. They honor you every day in the way they live their lives. Not only will you live on in your own little slice of paradise but you will live on in the hearts of your children, family, friends and me. You were taken from us much too soon but I feel your presence every single day. Thank you for the wonderful life you’ve given me. I love you.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down?

This post may be a little morbid but I'm in quite a conundrum. Al's ashes sit on a shelf in the living room in a beautifully inscribed and carved walnut box. The funeral home put his "cremains" in there for us. Al asked us to do a few things with his ashes and we will of course honor his request. He wanted some spread in Cholla Bay in Puerto Penasco, Mexico....our favorite relaxation spot. Some are to be spread at a favorite hunting spot, some are to be put next to Dodger's cremains and some are to be put in the firepit in our backyard this coming New Year's Eve when the clock strikes midnight and the traditional Christmas tree burn takes place.

So while I recognize that those ashes aren't really Al, I struggle with how I'm going to make this happen. My kids and I have talked about whether we can actually transfer the ashes in to separate vessels and I think we'll be OK emotionally. Here is where I am conflicted. So, let's say we open the walnut box and use a spoon to get some of the ashes. We scoop some in to a plastic bag to take to Mexico, we scoop some in to something to put in the New Year's firepit, we use some sort of funnel to get some in to another container with a small opening. Then what? What happens with the spoon, the empty plastic bag, the funnel? There are parts of Al's ashes clinging to those things. Do we throw those items in the trash? Do we rinse them in the sink? In my twisted mind that would mean Al is going in the trash or down the drain. What if we spill a little of the ashes? Then Al is mixed up with the dust and dog hair to eventually be swept up or vacuumed up?

The only thing I can think of to do is to use a plastic spoon, a paper funnel and save all those things that may have some of Al's ashes on them and then burn all those pieces when we put a disposable container of ashes in the New Year's fire. Then all those little specks of ashes that might cling to the utensils we use will go up in flames as well.

And then the next question....what do I do with the ashes from the firepit that contain Al's ashes?

He's still showing us what's really important....our family

Some unfortunate family drama occurred last Friday that I prefer not to air (had to do with the Rocky Point house) but I am convinced Al helped out with a solution.

Following the initial drama and AFTER I dropped my phone and the battery popped out and landed in the pool, I was without a phone until I got a new battery the following day….Saturday. Got in the car, snapped the new battery in, powered on the phone and there it was. The time was 11:11. Felt like a message from Al that he was with me and knew how upset I was over the drama and that it’ll all be okay.

Back to the Rocky Point house without too many details on the drama that ensued …..

My daughter Lesley got married on the beach in front of Casa #18 and we held a wonderful wedding reception in that house in Mexico. It holds beautiful memories for us and Al was so proud walking Lesley down the sandy “aisle” to give her away. So we really wanted Casa #18 for Al’s upcoming birthday but it was booked. It’s a gorgeous house with gorgeous furnishings ON the beach. It’s the ideal beach home. We ended up renting Casa #20 instead and moved on with planning the trip. My daughter Alison checked multiple times on the availability of Casa #18 on the internet just out of curiosity. Unavailable. Why would it change? Of course if was booked.

Well after the ugly drama and family members considering canceling the reservation and booking separate condo units instead of staying all together in the casa, Alison pulled up the website and what do you know? Casa #18 was AVAILABLE. Why would that just happen?

In our minds it was Al stepping in and letting us know that we need to drop the stupid crap, come together as a family and remember what the October trip is all about. A quick call to the resort and the switch was made. My family dropped the drama and is coming together for Al. We’ll be in Casa #18 after all…..the house with all the memories. How very fitting.

So thanks Honey. We got your message loud and clear.

Six months....a tribute to the joker and hippie

Yesterday I knew what today would be. On Sunday I remember thinking that tomorrow would be the 13th and that means that Sept 13 would be the 6 month anniversary of Al's passing. But somehow that thought completely left my head as I started my day today. It's somewhat ironic that I actually attended the memorial services of the father of one of my coworkers that I've known for oh, eight or nine years. Her dad passed in Peppi's House, the same TMC Hospice Al passed in. I hope in her last days with her dad I was able to offer some comforting words.

So yeah, mid-way through the service, I realized what I had forgotten. Today is the 6-month anniversary. I hate to say it but it's not getting any easier. Honestly. As I drove away from Krista's dad's service I glanced at my phone and saw a text message from my sister-in-law that she was thinking of us on this day.

Later I checked Facebook and saw that my daughter Lesley had posted this very simple statement as her status, "Salt & Pecker". She was trying to have a light-hearted look at today's anniversary by remembering one of her dad's jokes. Yes, that simple and that depraved...."Pass the salt & pecker." My husband...king of the stupid joke, often inappropriate.

So with that, we all posted a little something. My status became "Ed Zachary" to honor his ridiculous, inappropriate joke about the Chinese guy saying someone had Ed Zachary Disease. His face look Ed Zachary like his ass. Alison then posted as her status, "Sonova", where? "Sonova Beach" and Marsh finished it off by changing his status to the joke about not sinking his putts during golf and stating something along the lines of "if you'd put some hair around it, maybe I could find the hole."

Yes, inappropriate. Yes, so Al.

And to that end, I leave you with this. This inappropriate Christmas song that he loved. It's a nod to his early hippie days. He actually had me print up the lyrics and he kept them in a file. Inappropriate? You know it.

The 12 J's Of Christmas by Afroman
On the 1st Day of Christmas my true love gave to me, A Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 2nd day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 200 Reds and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 3rd day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 3 pounds of Grass, 200 Reds and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 4th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 5th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD
On the 6th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 7th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 7 white's a buzzing,6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 8th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 8 spoons a snorting, 7 whites a buzzing, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 9th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 9 Caps a dropping, 8 spoons a snorting, 7 whites a buzzing, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 10th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 10 peyote buttons, 9 caps a dropping, 8 spoons a snorting, 7 whites a buzzing, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 11th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 11 Magic Mushrooms, 10 peyote buttons, 9 caps a dropping, 8 spoons a snorting, 7 whites a buzzing, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of Grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, 12 Kits a dripping, 11 Magic Mushrooms, 10 peyote buttons, 9 caps a dropping, 8 spoons a snorting, 7 whites a buzzing, 6 Joints a smoking, 5 VALIUMS!, 4 grams of Hash, 3 pounds of Grass, 200 Reds, and a Tab of Yellow Sunshine LSD.

Summer Breeze

Oh how I hate it. The days are getting shorter, the air is getting cooler. Won’t be long now before I feel the ridiculous mad rush of winter. You know what I mean. You typically get home from work at 6:15, 6:30, whatever. But in the summer it doesn’t really matter. It’s light out, it’s hot, it’s summer, you have all the time in the world. But then fall rolls around and it gets darker earlier. You get home at 6:15, 6:30, whatever, but it’s DARK. The night is upon you and you feel it coming to a close with so much ahead still to do. Go to the store, cook dinner, feed the dogs, clean up, take a shower. Odd that you had the same stuff to do in the summer and got home at the same time but you felt like you had allllll the time in the world. I really HATE winter.

There is so much to love about summer. Trips to Rocky Point and sitting in the hot Mexican sun while sitting your ass in the amazing clear water of the Sea of Cortez while tipping a cold Mexican beer to your lips, trips to Apache and jet skiing over the smooth, cool water, listening to the cicadas blasting out their summer song, getting a whiff of the moist desert air as the rain hits the creosote all around us. Yes, I could go on and on about summer. It makes me feel alive.

Winter on the other hand is miserable. Dark, cold mornings, too many layers of clothing which have to be peeled off as soon as you get inside any indoor structure where the heat is cranked way up, miserable traffic jams brought upon by school being back in session and those lovely snowbirds coming back to town. I think the only thing I really like about winter is soup. Yep, soup. It’s too hot to eat it in the summer but in winter I’m all about the albondigas, cocido, split pea, fideo and of course, Texas chili.

We’ve got one more Mexico trip in us for this summer. For most, it wouldn’t really be summer anymore but I expect to have nice weather still. It’ll be early October and the weather should still be nice. You see, we’ll be heading down to Puerto Penasco for Al’s birthday. The whole family (including Brian…he’s DEFINITELY family too) will go down for a couple of days and then at the end of the weekend, on Oct 11 (Al’s birthday), we’ll gather in Cholla Bay and walk out in the water at high tide and release some of Al’s ashes for the first time. Al asked that we do a couple of things with his ashes. 1) take some out to his favorite hunting spots and let them go in the wind to cover the rough hillsides he climbed so many times 2) a few should be kept next to the ashes of Dodger, our beloved old Golden Retriever who passed away at 13 but who saw our kids through their childhood and in to early adulthood, 3)some are to be put in the fire pit on New Year’s Eve when the annual Christmas tree burn takes place at the stroke of midnight, and 4) some are to be released in the waters of Cholla Bay.

Sweet, sweet summertime. Or better yet....Summer Breeze

See the curtains hangin' in the window, in the evenin' on a Friday night.
A little light a-shinin' through the window, lets me know everything is alright.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.

See the paper layin' in the sidewalk, a little music from the house next door.
So I walked on up to the doorstep, through the screen and across the floor.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.

Sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom. July is dressed up and playing her tune.
And I come home from a hard day's work, and you're waiting there, not a care in the world.
See the smile a-waitin' in the kitchen, food cookin' and the plates for two.
See the arms that reach out to hold me, in the evening when the day is through.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.

11:11

A few years back, a coworker (now a good friend) would always acknowledge the time 11:11 when she would see it on her digital clock in the office. Now I'm not sure if she made a wish, said a prayer, chanted voodooisms or what but she would be silent and then kiss her finger and place her finger to the face of the digital clock. Now, my friend is a little quirky and fun so I didn't make much of it. Her doing this didn't strike me as odd, just something unique about her. I'd never seen anyone else ever do anything like that, I just figured she liked that number or something.

11:11 has been appearing to me with some frequency since Al passed away. I didn't think much of it at first. I'd happen to glance at the clock on my microwave at just the right moment and it would show 11:11. While at work, without realizing the time, I'd look at the lower corner of my computer screen and it would show 11:11. I'd by lying in bed trying to get to sleep and would open my eyes and glance at my clock and it would show 11:11. This began to happen pretty frenquently. Because I don't sleep very well, I try very hard not to look at the clock when I'm in bed because I tend to freak out when I realize the time and that I haven't slept. Typically I will forceably keep my eyes shut and roll over or change positions but sometimes I feel compelled to look at the clock. Those are often the times that it will read 11:11.

I've started to think that possibly these are little messages from Al. (Yeah, yeah, I know...she's really stretching it with these signs now) It's just become too coincidental and too frequent for me to think anything else.

Lesley's birthday was on Saturday. We planned a surprise birthday dinner for her with the help of her husband Trevor. He was to keep her out of the house all day and bring her home to their house with her whole family waiting for her inside with her favorite Thanksgiving meal. Well during the day while doing various little errands to make this happen I was thinking how Al would have loved doing this and how nice it would have been to have him here for her first birthday without him. It made me a little sad to be honest with you. I glanced over at the digital clock display on my dash and of course, it was 11:11. Sure felt like Al telling me he was would be there with all of us to wish Les a happy birthday.

So I got to thinking about this 11:11 thing tonight and decided to look it up on the internet. Turns out there are quite a few sites devoted to frequent occurances of 11:11 in people's lives. One site says 11:11 is the trademark prompt from our spirit guardians or Midwayers. It's their way of letting us know they are with us. Basicallly, it signals a spiritual presence.

I know we read in to things what we want to get out of them. But I'm okay with that. I like to believe that Al and I were so connected in life that he continues to stay with me and send me little messages. To be honest, I don't know what I'll do when the signs from Al slowly stop coming. Until then I'll take all the signs he wants to send my way.

As I wrap this up and glance at the little clock in the lower right corner of my computer screen I see that it reads 11:11. This was SO not planned in any way, shape or form. I think it's totally fitting and appropriate that I post this little tidbit at 11:11. Thanks honey, I feel your presence and I love you too.

Slowly moving my name to the top of the list

The bottom of the To Do list, that’s where I put my personal needs for my entire married life. When Al & I first married I wanted nothing more than to be a good wife and please my husband. That attitude, my own personality traits and Al’s macho Hispanic ideology all played in to it. I was only too happy to cook, clean and pretty much wait on him. Now I know this isn’t how all wives do it, in fact I may be in the minority but it’s what made me happy and kept my husband happy. When the kids came along their needs were first and foremost, pushing Al slightly aside and pushing me further to the bottom. Over the years through lean times, we often struggled to make ends meet but I really don’t think our kids suffered for it…..or at least didn’t really realize they were suffering for it. I hope. The kids only got new clothes twice a year; back-to-school and Christmas. They didn’t get new toys and video games whenever they wanted them. Those things came at Christmas and on birthdays. We always found a way for them to be involved in extracurricular activities, mainly Pop Warner football and cheerleading but it wasn’t always easy. Kids’ doctor and dentist appointments were put before ours due to finances.

When the kids grew up and left home, I turned my focus back to taking care of Al – once again and still, pushing myself to the bottom of the list. Now I’m not being a martyr here, just stating a fact. I hold no animosity about any of this. It was the life I made for myself and I hold no regrets. It was my choice.

Well, Al is gone now and I find it hard to move myself to the top of the list. But my kids are grown and are doing a fantastic job of fending for themselves and are all quite successful, each in their own way. I’m trying to take care of myself now (what choice do I have?) and have made some steps forward.

After Al passed, my children encouraged me to change doctors. We’d had the same family doctor for about 30 years and although our doctor saw Al frequently and knew of his various medical conditions and was fully aware of Al’s habits and history, did not properly test or diagnose him. While I don’t blame him for Al’s death, I don’t understand how he could have missed the diagnosis. It took another physician (surgeon) testing Al before gallbladder surgery to actually pick up what was wrong. He was diagnosed on January 29 and died on March 13. I finally decided to see a new physician and start fresh. In addition, I went to the dentist after staying away for approximately 20 years. These two steps are HUGE for me. I’m actually proud of myself for doing this. It’s not easy but I’m slowly moving my name to the top of the list. It’s gonna take a while before it feels natural but I’m working on it. I think Al would be happy to see me finally focusing on me.