Go Fish

Many of you…..well hell, most of you….know that I’ve started something new in my life. New things are fun, new things are exciting and new things keep YOU new. Well, you know what I mean.

I’ve really stepped outside of myself these past couple of months and it feels good. I’m looking at life in a whole new way, a way I’ve never really experienced before. I’ve said it before and it does bear repeating….I’ve never lived my life just for me. I didn’t have a crazy period in my life (teenage years don’t count!) where I did selfish, ridiculous things. I’ve never made decisions that didn’t affect an entire family.

Well life dealt me a hand I wasn’t expecting and I’m turning what I thought was a crappy Poker hand in to a winning Go Fish hand.

I’m not just making lemons in to lemonade; I’m making The Cup Café’s fucking Mexican Ice Water! Total sidebar but this drink is one of my favorites: Don Julio Silver, muddled lemons and fresh squeezed lemon juice poured over a glass of ice. Dare I say it? I think I’ve moved past my grief and have arrived at this next stage in my life.

This new thing is something I’m truly excited about. Never in a million years did I see myself doing anything like this. Ever. But the truth is, I’m loving it! I fell in love with Scentsy products about two years ago and was buying the products from a couple of different consultants….one consultant (director) in particular. She told me I should be selling it and I of course thought, “No way in hell.” I kept on watching her and saw an excitement that I was craving, a passion to succeed for myself, to do things my way. Although my financial situation scared me, it wasn’t what completely fueled my decision to take the plunge. It was the thought of doing something so completely outside of myself.

And I like it! Granted I’ve only been doing this for less than 45 days but I’m having FUN. Without giving a total sales pitch I just have to say that Scentsy is amazing and if you haven’t tried the products, you’re really missing out. Ha! Contact me; let me tell you about Scentsy! Crap….there I go.

So there you have it. My first step on a new path. I’m walking this path alone but that’s OK. It really, really is.

Living For Myself. It's The Next Thing On My List.

I feel like it’s time to turn this blog in a different direction but I’m not sure how to make that happen. I’ve been avoiding posting because for the most part, I’m not sad and looking to heal by expressing myself here.

That’s not to say I don’t GET sad. I got sad tonight…just for a moment. I had emailed the management team that handles Rickie Lee Jones to ask when she might reschedule her cancelled Tucson performance. It was a short email asking the question and also letting the team know how special she was to my family. I simply told them that her music meant a lot and that I’d often come home from work to find Al sitting on the porch in the summer waiting for me and blaring music from inside…always Rickie. I said that her music filled the hospice room for the two days he was there and that her music ushered him in to the next world. The reply I got moved me. The manager who wrote it is entering his 32nd year of marriage and expressed his sympathy and said he couldn’t even imagine experiencing such a loss. It touched me because he got personal. He didn’t have to but he related to me and let me know it. And it made me cry. Just enough where I had to wipe the tears away for a moment and then they were gone.

That’s pretty much the extent of my sadness these days. The moments are brief and they are fewer and farther between. I still plan to use this blog for memories and to help me through those times but I feel it’s time. It’s time to examine what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Am I ready to be alone for the rest of my life? Am I ready to find a new partner to share my life with? Those are questions I need to explore. Right now I’m perfectly content with being on my own. Hell, I’ve never been on my own. I went from my parents’ house to a short couple of months living with roommates and then living and marrying Al. I kind of like having this freedom and the ability to do what I want when I want. But that’s in the here and now. I don’t know where my head will be next month or next year.

In the mean time I may experiment with what I post. I’ve been very honest with my posts up to this point but they were immersed in grief and now I’m not sure how to be so honest in my every day life. Bear with me.

Dessert First!

I reconnected with some old friends the other day over lunch. I used to talk to these ladies frequently over an eight year period when my boss served two terms on the Arizona Board of Regents. It was an interesting time in my life and while the work was very serious and important, we all knew how to laugh to ease some of the tension along the way.

The assistants from ABOR (Arizona Board of Regents, UofA (University of Arizona), ASU (Arizona State University) and the various Regents’ assistants (including me) would gather for lunch on occasion, usually meeting half way between Tucson and Phoenix in Casa Grande. When my boss had finally finished out his service he encouraged me to keep my relationship with these women active. Even when he left his position for greener grass in California, he felt it was important to stay connected with this group not only for my self but he felt they were important ties for our hospital.

Well, things don’t always go as planned and I ended up in a position where traveling for these lunches would not be tolerated in the least. I told my friends it was time for me to bow out and that someday I hoped to sit down with them again.

Well about three years later, that day arrived last Friday and it was great! I think I was a little too anxious about meeting up with everyone again and I thought we were to meet at the restaurant at 11:30AM instead of 12:00pm. About a minute or two behind me were four of the girls from the ABOR office. They had also arrived early but not by mistake, they wanted to be sure to get there with time to spare since they had encountered an accident last time that shut the freeway down. So we sat together at our table to wait (and gossip) until the other seven women arrived. Then they did the best thing ever…..they ordered dessert! BEFORE lunch. A couple of decadent, gooey, chocolaty things arrived on our table and were shared between the five of us. The attitude was “Why the hell not?” and it was so refreshing.

I had a takeaway from this that I hope stays with me for a very long time. Do what you enjoy, be willing to break the rules, do what feels right for you and you’ll be a happier, more satisfied person in the end. And as I think about it, I’ve gained a lot during the past 17 months; wisdom, confidence and attitude. (and weight…which I’ve managed to take off!) For over 30 years I lived my life for everyone else always making sure everyone else was taken care of. But I realize that I’ve found a new confidence, my sense of humor is back, I’ll do things my way if it feels right to me and I won’t back down on what is important and makes my heart whole.

So I say, “Dessert first!”

A Quiet Day of Celebration

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love, to honor, and to cherish, for all the days of our lives.

We took those vows thirty-three years ago today and we honored them to the fullest. Like most marriages, there was plenty of “better” and our fair share of “worse”, too many of the “poorer” and not enough of the “richer.” Thankfully more of the “in health” than of the “in sickness” and despite all of life’s complications we truly did love, honor and cherish for all the days of our lives.

Even though Al is gone I still choose to recognize my anniversary. Technically WE were married for 31 years, 8 months and 12 days. But I have been married for 33 years. I don’t know when that mind set is going to change but for now, I’m embracing it. He’ll be on my mind all day, that much I’m certain of. I’ll keep my emotions in check for the most part as I go about my normal work day.




I’m trying hard to learn to celebrate the life and love we shared and not mourn the loss quite so much. Some days it works, some days it doesn’t. Not so sure about this day.

On this Father's Day...

What I know for certain:
• Becoming a father changed Al’s life completely and fully.
• He could gut and field dress a deer yet faint at the site of a removed mole on a sterile tray. But he was there in the room at my side when each of our children were born. No fainting, just tears of joy.
• He enjoyed the times when it was just him and the kids but what he really loved were those one on one times when it was just him and one of the three. Some very special memories were formed during those times.
• He loved that Marshall was a true boy…playing golf, hunting and playing sports.
• He beamed with pride as he attended Marshall’s soccer, baseball, basketball and football games through youth leagues and high school.
• That same pride was there as he watched his girls perform in their cheerleading squads.
• Watching little miss independent Alison tool around in the backyard oblivious to anything else going on around her made him laugh out loud.
• When Lesley was just a toddler with glasses, he made sure to show her that he wore glasses too and told her that it was cool to wear glasses like him.
• His face actually hurt after a trip to Disneyland because he smiled so much as he watched the kids’ reaction to everything Disney.
• He was so proud that his kids could hold their own and would never back down from a fight.
• His opinionated and “asshole-ish” ways are ingrained in and a part of our children and he LOVED that they are their father’s children so to speak.
• He loved the fact that all three of his kids have a healthy respect for firearms but still feel the rush and joy when shooting.
• Sports were a huge part of who he was and all three of them have that same love for those same teams and are die-hard fans for life.
• He always wanted to do more for his family and it was heartbreaking for him when he felt he couldn’t provide everything that the kids’ friends had and he thought he was letting them down.
• He stood up for his kids no matter what just as they stood up for him.
• Through all the trials and tribulations of life, he knew how much he was loved.
• During the last 7 or 8 years of his life, he worked harder and longer than his body would allow but he did it anyway.
• His body let him down in many ways but his heart never did…..nor did his children.

Happy Father’s Day to the father of my children.

"Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance."
~ Ruth E. Renkel

The Butcher

Tucson had quickly become our home and neither one of us really wanted to go back to California but we both knew that in order to have a stable future, we had to make the sacrifice. Al had tried to get on with the US Postal Service in Tucson but there were little to no opportunities. He went to Los Angeles and tested there and before we knew it, Al was hired in South Gate, CA. We packed up our little family and made the move. Thankfully Al’s parents offered their guest room to us. This was a really gracious and generous offer since we would obviously disrupt their lives quite significantly. We stayed with them just a couple of months but were anxious to get our own place.

We found a great house on Bowman Ave in South Gate. It had hard wood floors, a little phone nook built in to the wall in the hall and lots of fruit trees in the backyard. We had an abundance of plums, apricots, peaches, oranges, lemons and avocados. (The avocado tree was actually next door but hung over our back wall.) We’d order pizza from Cousimano’s down the street on Tweedy Boulevard and we’d pick up great cuts of meat at the little local market on Otis. They even had their own packaged ice cream that was to die for!

Al worked hard at the post office and played just as hard on a local softball team and improving his golf game. I worked for Mechanics National Bank and before we knew it a baby was on the way. I worked up until the weekend before Alison was born. While Marshall went fishing with his grandparents, Alison Lacey Navarro came in to the world. Al was so excited to welcome his little girl. She was amazing and everything felt just perfect!

Well, perfect was hardly the case. You see our landlords lived next door. And these weren’t just ANY landlords; they were an older couple that didn’t seem to know their boundaries….the McQuiddys. They stored furniture (mostly antiques that attracted rats!) in our garage, actually utilizing MORE than half the garage space, they’d come in to our backyard and pick fruit and we had a feeling they were even going inside the house on occasion when we weren’t home. They were terribly meddlesome and it didn’t sit well with Al. They christened Al with a new nickname towards the end of our time there.

Al enjoyed doing yardwork…mowing the lawn, pruning the trees, etc. He was trimming the trees once and the McQuiddys came over in a huff, screaming at him and then Old Man McQuiddy said it....THE BUTCHER!! Oh we thought it was hilarious and we’d purposely annoy the McQuiddys by tossing around that title. If the McQuiddys were in their backyard and we in ours, we'd make jokes about Al being a butcher not a mailman and laugh loudly making sure they heard. (I know, we were really mature about it all) Oh, how they hated us and after one particularly heated argument Al had with them, we found an eviction notice on our front door. It was a blessing in disguise and led us to a much happier place.

Self Pity

Yep, I'll own this one. It doesn't happen very often but tonight I feel sorry for myself. I'm not a fan of self pity and I'm embarrassed to admit that I've gone there tonight.

I'm getting ready to head out the door in the early morning hours to California to attend my nephew's wedding. I needed to wash clothes, wash dishes, take a shower, etc before I go. I did some cooking first and made kind of a mess. Threw some clothes in the washer and went in the computer room to download a couple of pictures. (Pics of my cooking experiment - fried green tomatoes, blech!) When I walked down the hall I thought my kitchen floor looked a little odd. WTF. My kitchen was flooded. Both sinks were full of crap and my washing machine backed up, draining all over the floor. Lovely. I used every towel in my house to sop up the water but now what? I have to leave this mess and come home to it on Monday night.

So yes, a stupid household mishap and I'm pissed as hell that I have to deal with it. By myself. With no money to pay a plumber. This sucks. And I'm mad. I'm mad that I have to deal with shit like this. I'm mad that I'm struggling financially. I'm mad that Al isn't here. I'm mad that I'm alone. I'm mad that life dealt me this blow. I'm mad that I'll never talk to him again. I'm mad that things are "easy" for other people and I've lived a life of struggle. I'm mad that I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm just mad.

But through the anger I have to laugh. You see this is the way things go for us**. If something can go wrong, it will. Especially with the plumbing in my house. I can pretty much predict when I'm gonna have plumbing issues based on history...Thanksgiving Day when cleaning up after dinner.....ANY frickin' holiday when plumbers charge double....the morning we are leaving for California when my dad died....and of course when I'm leaving for a few days to see family.

**Wow, I still say us. That's pretty messed up and that makes me mad too.

What kind of sign am I being sent?

A House is Made of Walls and Beams; A Home is Built With Love and Dreams

An anxious man, a pregnant woman, a crazy dog and a strangely fat cat. It was all going well as we traveled across the desert from California to Arizona and then we made a stop mid way and discovered we also had kittens! Al had found our home on his previous trip to Tucson as he ironed out job details. It was a little duplex in mid-town. 3518 E Presidio to be exact. Perfect little place for us. It was close to the restaurant Al was opening with his friend and Al worked a LOT of hours. A young high school kid (3 years my junior – ha!) came in looking for a job and was hired. He and his crazy friends became a fixture around our place. That high school kid was Brian and a life-long friendship began.

I tried to find a job but quickly found out no one was interested in hiring a pregnant woman. So I set about making our house a home and getting prepared for the baby.

We found a great obstetrician with a midwife in his practice. Finally the time came and we went to the hospital. It’s funny that Al and I walked those halls late at night trying to work through my early labor and now I walk those same halls as part of the labor force at Tucson Medical Center. We brought our beautiful son Marshall home and Al was so incredibly proud. He was such a doting father and would spend his evenings after work cradling his son and just staring at him.

Our German Shepherd Hagar and once pregnant, okay twice pregnant, cat Chablis flourished and were great pets and companions. But Hagar was teased unmercifully by a kid in the little duplex complex and one day justice was served when Hagar jumped the fence and bit this kid. No break in the skin, just mental trauma for the kid (hopefully he learned a lesson) but Hagar had to be impounded at Animal Control for a bit. When he came back home we got another dog to keep him company and hopefully calm him down. A fat little lab mix we named Micah. We soon found out that Micah was an escape artist and thief. We’d find chewed up shoes (not ours!), toys (again not ours!) and other things in our fenced yard and the neighbors started complaining. We found another home for Micah and kept a closer eye on Hagar.

I went back to work a couple of months after Marshall was born. I did some waitressing at a locally owned restaurant on Country Club. Another funny little thing….that restaurant was located in the exact same spot as the ad agency my employer uses. I just realized that. I was soon hired to be a teller at Valley National Bank – the University branch. There began my “career” in banking.

We had a lot of fun at that house. One time we had a big, crazy party at the Presidio duplex after a javelina hunt. There was a band, a bunch of very potent jungle juice and a javelina wrapped in burlap buried in the ground slowly cooking on hot coals. A little too slowly though since everyone kept drinking waiting for the meat to be done, eventually passing out and waking up the next morning to falling off the bone javelina.

Restaurant business is a funny thing and Al knew he needed more stability for his family and an opportunity to get on with the US Postal Service came up……in southern California!! Ready, set, go!

Home Is Where the Heart Is

I can still remember the address. 13609 ½ Weimer Ave in Paramount, California. I don’t know what qualified it as a “1/2” because it was the only house on the lot but that’s where we started our lives together. Al already lived there and I moved in after a few months of dating and as soon as my lease was up at the little duplex I shared with friends in Monrovia, California.

We had a lot of fun in that house and even held our wedding reception there. Family prepared most of the food and a party to remember ensued!

We got our first dog when we lived in that house. A cute, funny little German Shephard pup we named Hagar the Horrible.

We had some crazy neighbors back in the day. On one side was a large Samoan family who would have great gatherings where the center of the party was a massive pig roasting on a pit just beyond the little picket fence that separated our back yards. On the other side was a crazy Greek who every once in a while would get drunk on Ouzo and light up the night sky with his homemade “fireworks” – burning magnesium!

I remember going with Al to a friend of a friend's house in East LA to look at an old gas stove stored away in a garage. I think we paid $10 for it. We got it home and I spent the next week cleaning the dirt, grease, grime and rat poop out of it. We put a new thermostat in it and that gorgeous 1950s white Kenmore gas stove was BEAUTIFUL! I loved that thing and wish I had kept it to this day.

We had a great going away party when we decided to move to Tucson. Move to Tucson!? Al had gone to Tucson to line up a job with an old friend to help open a restaurant. He came back and we packed up everything we owned in to a U-Haul truck and hit the road. I was 4 months pregnant and ready to start our Arizona adventure.

Family Ties are Precious Threads

When I was a young bride the thought of fitting in to a whole new family was a little daunting. I was used to MY family. MY mom, MY dad, MY sisters. It was very strange, very strange indeed. I liked the way MY family was, the way WE communicated, the feelings and thoughts WE shared. Yet I was expected to make myself fit in with all these new people, to find common interests, to learn to communicate their way, to form a bond with them, to make sure I became a part of their family. It’s what you do when you become part of another family. You adapt, you learn a whole new way to communicate, you learn a different set of values, and you accept these people with all their faults, warts and all. You understand that while these people are completely different from you, they deserve kindness, love and the utmost respect.

And you know what happens? THOSE people become YOUR people. You open your heart and you love THOSE people with everything you’ve got. Not just because they are a part of your husband but because they are now a part of YOU.

I could not imagine, even for a minute how awful my life would be had I not made THEM a part of ME. My father-in-law Al….the stern patriarch who loves his family deeply and has learned over the years to outwardly show that love. My mother-in-law Corky….she was fun, funny and definitely her own person. She let her husband think he ran the show but it was all her. My sister-in-law Mona….the one who wears her heart on her sleeve, so loving, so wacky! My sister-in-law Alicia….the one I spent the most time with, so accepting, so crazy & fun yet so responsible. My sister-in-law Cecilia….closest to me in age, the baby of her family, so funny & opinionated, so full of love for her family. Every uncle, aunt, cousin, niece and nephew….each so different, each so willing to accept and love me. I am part of their family and they are part of mine. Even without Al. They are still my family and always will be.

It had been a while since I’d seen them. But the time and miles disappeared when I walked through Alicia’s door last weekend.

I felt at home and closer to Al than I’d felt in a few months. I saw him in each and every one of their faces. I know how lucky I am. This is MY family.

Cinderella Knew......It's All in How the Shoe Fits

As much as I don’t want to, I’m getting used to this new way of life. It’s becoming less and less foreign and more and more familiar. It’s kind of like putting on a new pair of shoes. At first they’re tight and kind of painful to wear. But as time goes on and you wear them a little more, they’re less uncomfortable. At some point you ease in to them without a second thought.

And with that familiarity comes a new confidence. The confidence to make my own decisions and do what feels right for ME.

I went down to Rocky Point on Thursday morning and purposely didn’t divulge to many people that I was traveling alone. My plan was to meet up with Alison & Brad on Friday and tag along on the tail end of their week long vacation. Had I told people what I was doing, I would have had a ton of concerned warnings from friends and coworkers. Warnings that I know would have been full of care and concern for my safety amidst state department travel warnings and scary stories of violence in other parts of Mexico. While I am certainly no ostrich with its head buried in the sand, completely oblivious to what’s going on around me, I take precautions and travel safely. Going down there for some rest and relaxation was what felt right for ME.

I started my adventure Thursday morning after I picked up my rental car. See? My car is old and has almost 200,000 miles on it (Rock on Toyota!!) so I took appropriate precautions and rented a car. I love to drive on road trips and don’t mind driving alone. I’ve driven to the LA area alone, a one-day turnaround to Flagstaff alone…just turn the radio up, sing along and enjoy the scenery. Got to Lukeville and as the US Customs officer asked me a few questions, joked about taking a rental car through Mexican officials, searched my car, opened my ice chest and rummaged around finally telling me to have fun, I cross the border and get the green light from Mexican officials. Drove through the town of Sonoyta and then come to a road block.

Crap. The streets are closed and traffic is diverted due to a parade going through town. Another of my precautions: NO detours. But in this case there was no choice. I managed to get around the parade and take a minor detour without any incidents. I actually love the drive to Rocky Point. I like to drive fast and once you’re out of town and on the open road, 90 mph is a breeze!

I had originally planned to stay somewhere really cheap like Rosa del Desierto or Playa Azul on Calle 13 but intelligent, precautionary thinking prevailed and instead I stayed at Las Palomas.

A huge condominium resort with lots of security. Checked in, got situated and headed down to catch some sun. After a while I hear a familiar voice calling me….Alison! She and Brad were walking the expanse of the resort beach looking for me after they finished their fishing trip. We hung out for a while, hit the local grocery store together and then parted ways. I checked out the next morning, made a stop or two and then drove the 30 minutes out of town to the Mayan Palace where they were using their time share points. I settled in to their suite and then it was all about the beach, the pool and having fun. Lots of laughing, drinking, eating and good times.

They took me out for a Mother’s Day brunch on Sunday morning and then we headed home – caravan style (See? More precautions.) We parted ways when we hit Tucson; them to their house, me to return the rental.

It feels good to be confident enough in what I want and to be willing and able to take the steps to get it. So that shoe? The one that was once squeaky and stiff? It’s not quite soft and worn but it’s definitely getting more comfortable and I can pull the band-aids off that once prevented the pain. I’m getting there.

And this past weekend, that shoe was a Mexican huarache.

Beauty in the Small Things

It’s hard to appreciate the dark moments, those times when we feel most vulnerable, when we wonder how we’re going to pull ourselves out of the abyss we’ve fallen into.

I felt myself falling the other night and all I found at the bottom was a quagmire of sorrow, fear and self-pity. I allowed myself to wallow in it for a little while since there was no escaping it.

But you know what I found in the morning when I opened my eyes? Well, besides a big yellow lab snoring next to me and a big black lab dancing on his feet by the side of my bed waiting to be fed. I found that what comes with a new day is a new perspective. And then you appreciate the little things, no matter how minute they may seem on a grander scale.

So on that Sunday morning, that one beautiful Sunday morning at 6:20AM (Thank you sooooo much for letting me sleep in Sylus), I found beauty:
• I opened my eyes and was greeted by two extremely happy dogs.
• I made them even happier by feeding them.
• I went out in my backyard and heard birds singing and watched the dogs chase a lizard.
• The giant saguaro cactus in my backyard has been a host for countless cactus wren families and I’m pretty sure I heard the screeching of babies inside my cactus.
• Ahhh, I live in Tucson!
• Coffee. What a sad place the world would be without it. The aroma alone is sent from the gods.
• My morning newspaper. It’s a ritual and the day doesn’t feel right if I don’t start it by reading the paper.
• My home. I love my house. Not for the physicality of it but because it’s a home. It’s where my family grew up.
• My pictures. While just the night before, those pictures threw me in to that abyss, this morning they lift me up and put a smile on my face.
• The painting in my hall that was given to me by a friend. The first time Al and I saw a copy in some little store we laughed and said that it totally represents us.

• Picking up dog poop. That’s right, I said it. I have a backyard, I have dogs and that means I have happiness only brought to a person by a dog.
• My children – they’re grown with lives of their own but they bring me such joy and happiness. Seeing their faces can completely make my day.
• The laughter of the kids next door. There’s nothing like a child’s honest and heartfelt laugh.
• I’m alive. I’m here to live another day. To have a future, to have meaning. To make others happy.

When It’s Darkest, Men See the Stars.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Only when life is difficult, are we challenged to become our greatest selves.

I Want My Fucking Mulligan

Granted, a lot of this is the wine and the Sudafed talking but DAMN, I miss him. How am I supposed to get through the rest of my life? I am so incredibly sad. I know I hide it well. It’s been a fucking year. On the surface everyone thinks I’m sooooo strong and have it sooooo together. And I think on a day to day basis and for the most part, I am and I do. Al would be proud of me.

But what people don’t see is the real me, the me that feels so abandoned. So incredibly alone. I let you think I’m good and that I’ve got a handle on this. Sure, I’m ready to move forward. But what you don’t know is that it’s all a façade. I know, a year. I should be in a different place now. But I have weak moments like you have weak moments. Except my weak moments can’t be fixed with a kind word and a gentle touch. Because you see…there is no one there to offer that kind word and gentle touch. It's probably a good thing I don't believe in God & Jesus (don't judge until you've walked a mile in my shoes) because this whole experience would surely turn me away from that blind faith.

I feel angry. Angry that this is who I’ve become. This is NOT supposed to be the way my life plays out. I’m not angry at Al. He pushed beyond what any normal man would have done to live his last years with me. He was in constant pain and he pushed past it as best he could to give us some semblance of a normal life. He worked, standing on legs that wanted nothing more than to crumble under the weight of his body. He withstood long, painful hours working at a job he didn’t enjoy just to pay the bills.

Now he’s gone and I struggle. I’m barely paying the bills. I’m barely getting through this. It would be so easy to give up and give in. But that’s not what my husband did. He persevered. And so will I.

I look at his picture and I can’t quite believe that’s all I have left of his face. Pictures. What should I do? Put away all the pictures so it doesn’t hurt so much?

I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Yeah, no. I’m not thinking THAT way. I just feel so empty. You know how they say there’s no handbook on raising your children. You just do it and you learn as you go. Much like that, there’s no handbook on learning to live your life after your love dies. What do I do now? I hate this. It’s not fair. It’s not right. I want a do-over. A mulligan. Where’s my mulligan?

Arrrrrr!

So many similarities in our lives yet worlds apart. On the surface it would appear that there is only one reason we’ve become friends. Plain and simple, we’re both recent widows. After all, she still has a child living at home. She is way younger than me. She has lived a different life than me.

But a friendship has definitely developed. We’ve helped each other in ways that are hard to describe. We can both say things out loud to each other that we wouldn’t say to anyone else and we know there is no judgment. I think we both feel that our husbands brought us together as if they knew we could help one another.

We met for dinner last night and then went to see a ridiculous, fun musical theatre show. We laughed a lot and forgot the troubles of the day. The Curse of the Pirate's Gold….perfect. It sure felt like Al was there with me last night as the corny jokes flew left and right and all those salty “Arrrr”s from the pirates made me smile from within. Yep, my pirate was there sitting by my side.

Not too long ago my friend and I thought we’d try something different and went to see a screening of West Side Story. We discovered it was a “sing-a-long” and figured what the hell, let’s just go. We realized we were in trouble when they handed out glow sticks at the door. When the first bars of music played as the lights went down, there was a sea of different colored glow sticks waving in the air! We tried hard to hold our laughter in as those seated around us sang their hearts out to all the numbers. It felt like some kind of rave in a parallel universe of dorky, “interesting” people!

As we left that night and laughed about the crazy people we had just escaped from, we talked about how neither of our husbands would EVER have been dragged to something like that, we both felt it. Al and her James sitting together, side by side, looking down at us as they nudged each other, both laughingly saying “Get a load of that crap!” “No way in hell would we have gone to that!”

We both left the parking lot to go our separate ways, both of us smiling and feeling the love those men still surround us with.

It's a Shame About the Weather

It’s been a good couple of weeks and I’ve been feeling better than ever. I’m taking care of myself and staying super busy. Busy not just in a purposeful effort to push away the sadness and loneliness though I will admit that is part of it. But it’s also part of the natural evolution of my life. I won’t say I prefer this life but I am learning to enjoy it.

Thoughts and memories of Al don’t consume me any more. I actually go days without tears welling up in my eyes when I think of him. In fact, I feel guilty when I realize that I actually go days without thinking of him at all. Well, that’s not actually true. I live in our home, I touch everything he touched daily, I sleep in our bed, I sit in his chair, I wear his robe every morning so I think of him every day but I don’t THINK of him.

And just when I acknowledge to myself how well I’m doing something hits me. And it hits me hard. I had drinks with two of my friends from work tonight and we had fun just hanging out and letting loose over half price martinis. Listening to the radio on my drive home, the new Zac Brown Band song Colder Weather came on the radio. I’ve heard it so many times before and sang along like the fool I can be when alone in my car with the windows rolled up. While the last few lyrics are certainly familiar, tonight they knocked the wind from my lungs and brought an unexpected mournful sob from my mouth instead of words.

And when I close my eyes I see you
No matter where I am
I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines
I’m with your ghost again
It’s a shame about the weather
I know soon we’ll be together
And I can’t wait till then
I can’t wait till then.

And the colored girls go doo, do doo, do doo, do do doo...

There we all were, enjoying a hot, sunny day on the beach in Cholla Bay in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico. Al, me, Alison & Brad. It was really hot, just the way we like it. We were doing what you do when you’re on the beach in Mexico. We girls sat on our camp chairs in the water as we drank Oso Negro Vodka and Squirt. The boys were sitting under the canopy just relaxing and drinking cold Pacificos. The blistering sun steadily made its way across the sky and the ice chest slowly emptied. Drinking all day and sitting in the heat, Al told us he was ready to go. Brad had joined us to cool off. Just a little bit longer we called from the water. A little bit longer turned in to an hour and when we grabbed our chairs to come up the beach Al’s camp chair under the canopy was empty. We figured he had walked down the beach to JJ’s to have a beer while he waited for us. Brad said he’d go get him but came back alone.

We got in the car and drove on the dirt road in Cholla to look for him. Nothing. Back to our spot on the beach. Nothing. Panic started to set in as we wondered where he could possibly be. Hours of sitting in the sun drinking too much beer and he’s gone? In Mexico? More searching. Alison went to the little policía station at the entrance of Cholla Bay to see if they’d seen him or worse….picked him up for something. Crap, we’ve got a bit of a language barrier here. The policía there didn’t speak Inglés and Alison spoke very little Español. “ Mi padre….muy borracho.” Oh, this wasn’t going well. “Mi padre, muy grande, muy alto, ummm, walking…..mi padre, muy borracho.” Then she took her two fingers and made them walk. Finally they understood and told her no, they hadn’t seen him.

By this time it was starting to get dark and my mind was racing. I just knew we’d find my husband dead in a ditch somewhere and I was pretty upset. This was several years ago and anyone who knows the way the road to Cholla used to be, it wandered through the barren desert once outside of Cholla and made its way to “Rodeo Drive.” The resort road wasn’t an option when going to or from Cholla since the resorts were under construction; the road was dirt and blocked from through traffic. We got back to our little hotel, Rosa del Desierto and noticed the light was on in our room. We peeked in through the opening in the curtains and there he was….laying in bed watching TV!! We opened the door with the only key issued and Brad jumped on the bed and started bouncing up and down…. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “Where were you? We were searching all over. How did you get here?” he sang. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. All the tension and anger I felt dissolved as Brad kept jumping on the bed, lightening the mood.

Turns out when Al has had enough, Al has had enough. As Alison, Brad and I were hanging out in the water, Al got up and walked up the hill to the road and made his way through Cholla (obviously past the policía station) and then took the road towards the resort where vehicles can’t go, hit the beach in front of the resort construction, got IN the water to cool off and swam along the shoreline for quite a while, got out and walked some more where he hitched a ride in the back of a pick up truck with a bunch of Mexican construction workers where they took him straight to our hotel and he somehow communicated to the Spanish speaking front office staff that he needed a key or to be let in to the room. Un-freakin-believable.

Later back at home in Tucson as we talked about this he started singing, “Hey Babe, take a walk on the wild side. Said hey honey, take a walk on the wild side.”

I miss that crazy man.

Sing it Sister Sledge ~ We Are Family...

I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple of weeks and have more or less made the decision not to keep going to my grief support group. It was helpful for a while and I’m truly grateful that I spent two months attending weekly group sessions. I may attend on occasion when I’m having a difficult week or even to report back to everyone when things are going exceptionally well.

The experience showed me something very valuable. I am not going crazy and I am normal. Because believe me, there were times before this group when I thought I was in serious need of behavioral health professionals. Crying at the drop of a hat, talking to him as if he was still here, smelling his clothes and keeping his things in the same place in our closet, seeing and believing the signs he sends me, and worst of all - the physical ache. The ache where it feels like your chest is ready to rip open, where you actually feel paralyzed and weak and your body deceives you. When you judge yourself and you feel like you can’t tell anyone what you’re feeling and how terribly it hurts because you don’t want to burden them. But from that very first night when I joined my fellow mourners, as I listened to them say out loud what I was holding inside, I felt relief.

But as much as I admire and respect every single person in that group, I feel that I’ve gotten what I’m going to get out of it for now. I’m trying to move forward and I fear that I’m spending too much time focusing on my sadness each week. I’ve always been an extremely positive person (at times much to my husband’s dismay) and someone who chooses to move forward in all situations. And for that very thing and to stay true to who I am, I need to let the group go.

That doesn’t mean I won’t have bad days or days when moving forward in my life feels like I’m swimming in quicksand. With that said, I’ll need the support of my family more than ever. I need to know that while they love and miss Al, that I’m important to them too.

Sometimes my grief swallows me whole and what saves me is knowing that my family is there to pull me from the mouth of that monster. I need the love and support of each and every one of them and am dependent on them to love me when I’m sad, mad, happy, goofy, blasé, pitiful, angry or joyful. They are my family after all. And isn’t that what family does?

365 Days of Firsts

The year of firsts is done and gone. This first year without Al at times felt like a decade. It’s been a year filled with so many emotions ranging from pain, fear and hopeLESSness to wonder, confidence and hopeFULness.

I made it through this year of firsts. The first night sleeping in our bed without him, the first Father’s Day king crab leg dinner without him, hearing the first sound of the summer cicadas without him, taking the first trip to Hatch for green chiles without him, picking out the first Christmas tree without him, sitting down for a family dinner for the first time without him….

As those firsts have all ticked down I feel him slowly slipping away from me. I know this is normal and the way it’s supposed to be but it doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I look at the pictures on my dresser and see his smiling face and think to myself that he’s just on vacation. He went to see his dad in California, he’s on his annual golf trip with his high school buddies, he went on a Toyota trip with Brian. It gives me an instant of happiness that feels warm in my heart before the reality hits and I remind myself that he’s never coming back.

I observed the passing of this first year with a trip to the beach in Mexico. It’s the place we relaxed and enjoyed together and one of the places I feel closest to him. I really wanted the trip to be with me and my kids. My son Marshall couldn’t make it since he had just gone back to work after a three month paternity leave so it was just me and my two daughters, Alison & Lesley. It was a beautiful weekend filled with warmth, sunshine and relaxation. That’s not to say there wasn’t some sadness too. The toughest time for me was watching a couple that reminded me of Al & I as they enjoyed a meal at Flavio’s, affectionately touching each other as they laughed and joked on the patio with the sun setting behind them. That 50-something couple should have been me and Al and the sadness rose up within me. But I tried hard not to let those kinds of feelings mar the weekend and really tried to enjoy the time with my daughters. We spent Sunday, March 13 in a way Al would have liked. We started off by going to Cholla Bay, we then hit JJs, spent the day on the beach and ended with a great dinner up on the hill overlooking the town on one side and the malecon/playa on the other. It was there that the three of us toasted him and told him we loved him.

I know I have to start rebuilding, adjusting and spend time figuring out what my new normal is. And I am. I have my setbacks but for the most part I am starting to move on. Time goes on, life is forever changing and the pain is slowly lessening. They say time heals all wounds but I don’t think that’s true. Time doesn’t HEAL the wound, it gives us an opportunity to experience things that help us learn how to live with the ache in our hearts that never really goes away. The ache isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It reminds us of how deeply we loved.

Diminished Capacity

Funny how people who haven’t experienced it have a specific timeframe in mind when talking about grief; typically one year. Like there is some magical number of days or months that you’re given to go through your grieving period and then you should be done. Yeah, if it was only that easy.

The one-year anniversary of Al’s passing is coming on March 13. Someone actually said something to me along the lines of the year being up and that it's time to basically, move on. I can’t remember the exact words right now because to be honest I was dumbstruck when they came out of this person’s mouth. That feeling quickly turned to anger but anger isn’t an emotion I choose to hang on to so I had to think about what I knew or didn’t know about death and grief before I lost Al.

What this person doesn’t know and I didn’t know until now is that there is no timeline for grief. Through grief counseling I've learned that while many think the “five stages of grief” is gospel, it isn’t. People often skip steps or never experience some of them. One person’s experience is 180 degrees from another person’s. Many, if not most of us, operate at diminished capacity for the first two years. Our brains simply don’t function in the same way. We’re going to have bad days, it’s a given. I myself typically hold it all together almost every single day. It’s not that I want to appear strong, it’s that if I let go for a minute I’m scared I won’t get it back.

I’m thankful for my support system and those that are helping me through this from my children, extended family, friends and coworkers. I’m glad they all seem to understand that this process takes its own sweet time and that they are patient with me.

So to that person who naively and I hope innocently decided that enough time had lapsed, that I should be done with this process, I can only say that I hope you never have to experience the ache I feel in my heart.

Beisbol has bean berry, berry goood to me

Sports were always a part of Al's life. From playing baseball as a kid, football during college, golf, bowling, basketball, hunting, softball and volleyball throughout his adulthood and finally armchair quarterback.

When Al & I were first married and I moved in to his house I decided to clean out one of the closets while he was at work. On one of the shelves was a collection of dusty trophies. They were several years old and obviously hadn't been displayed in a long time so I threw them away. (!) It was probably six months later that he noticed and was quite upset about it. You see in my mind, they were just old, dusty tokens but in his mind they represented something. He would joke over the years about me tossing them out but I wish I could have gone back in time and had a "do over."

When Marshall was a baby, Al convined me to join a co-ed volleyball league. I tried, I really did but I sucked. I was scared of the ball and the players were vicious with their spikes. One day while off court a ball came flying my direction like a streaming comet and smacked me on the side of the face. I never saw it coming and that was it for me. I told him I didn't want to play anymore. I think our team was secretly cheering about that decision.

Hunting became a family event in Tucson. We'd all camp out in the desert for the occasional quail hunt, Marshall and Al would go deer and elk hunting but it was the annual dove hunt that we all enjoyed. It was back when NW Tucson wasn't as inhabited and we could drive to any spot off Silverbell and hunt. Afternoon hunts were always the most fun. After the birds made their way to their evening roost, we'd all hang out on the edge of the riverbed - the adults drinking beer and shooting the breeze and the kids running around, playing in the mud of the Santa Cruz or as we called it "the poo and pee river."

Al always played golf and was really good. During his Post Office days he joined the Tucson Postal Golf Group and served on their board in various positions including president. He started Marshall off with a set of plastic baby golf clubs and was so excited to set Marsh up with his first set of real clubs. All the kids would take turns going with Al on the occasional golf outing. It was a real treat for them to hang out with their dad and drive the golf cart.

Softball played a big role in our lives for a number of years. He'd play in leagues around town and then Sportspark opened and all games were played there which was great for us since it's close to home. Al would play, I'd watch and cheer him on and the kids would play on the playground and run around the park all evening. We'd eat dinner at the snack bar and chow down on the best pizza around.

After the games the guys and the wives would all hang out on the upper deck and have a beer or two sitting around the tables watching the next game. When the hydrotubes were built the kids would spend time on the tubes while Al played. Good times.

My son-in-law Trevor is now playing softball on a league that plays at Sportspark. My daughter Lesley thought I'd enjoy going and spending some time there with them. She and I watched and cheered Trevor on and let Isla play in the stands. We went upstairs to the snackbar and in to the game room to let Isla run around in a safer, enclosed environment for a while. It brought back such good memories to be there at Sportspark. Sure it brought a tear to my eye as I silently reminisced a bit but I think I felt Al smile down on us too as he watched history repeating itself with this beautiful young family.

The really sad part of the whole evening? The pizza sucks now!

Groundhog Day

Waking up to the same thing every day; the same bed, the same song playing on the same clock radio at the same time. Every day. And the next day. And the day after that. Bill Murray’s hell.

Right now that would be my heaven. The familiar, the sameness, the knowing what comes next. This single day today, this 21st of February brought with it a sad realization that it was one year ago that my sweet husband went in the hospital. He never got to come home after that. This day brought up difficult emotions that I didn't expect to feel. This anniversary was harder than experiencing things over the past year like births, holidays and special family time. This day was the anniversary of the beginning of the end. What I would give to have a day of sameness and familiarity.

What day would I choose to be my Groundhog Day? The day when we where camping out in the desert quail hunting? The day when just the two of us went to Mexico in the winter and sat on the beach all day watching the dolphins play? The day we smiled so hard our faces hurt as we watched our kids’ wide eyed amazement at Disneyland? The day we walked down the aisle to begin our life together? The day we spent sunning ourselves on the beach in the Mexican Riviera? The day we became parents and realized this was what life was all about for us? Each of the days we spent watching our children walk down the aisle to begin their futures? No, none of those days would be my Groundhog Day.

It would be a regular old Sunday spent doing what we did best. Just being us in the familiarity that makes a long time couple comfortable. I’d get up early to feed the dogs, make coffee and read the paper. Al would get up an hour or so after me and settle in to his recliner where I’d bring him a big, hot cup of coffee and the newspaper. He’d get annoyed when I brought him the paper and it was all mixed up; the Business section before the Sports section or some other nonsense so I’d fix the paper the way he liked it before bringing it to him. While a breakfast of potatoes, bacon and eggs were appreciated what he really enjoyed was when I’d make blueberry muffins. Golf on the big TV for Al, reality TV or some chick flick on the TV in the family room for me. We’d each come check on each other and talk a bit, me checking on him more that him checking on me. There’d be some afternoon snacks, something simple like salami, crackers and cheese and me doing laundry throughout the afternoon. I’d start making dinner in the evening, his favorite chile rellenos and the refried beans he taught me to make when we were first married. Then we’d spend the evening watching TV together, laughing and making fun of the contestants on The Amazing Race. Bedtime would eventually come and we’d kiss goodnight and snuggle for a bit before each turning to get comfortable, me placing my cold feet against his warm calves and we’d fall asleep.

That simple day. That’s the day I would repeat for eternity. But instead I keep waking up to realize he’s gone and I have to do this by myself. My Groundhog Day.

The Navarros represent!

I still had Al a year ago. A year ago I would have been bringing Al a few shrimp and maybe a deviled egg or two, trying to get rid of a few of the Super Bowl leftovers. A year and a day. That’s the last time my family was together outside of the hospital.

Al loved sports and Super Bowl Sunday? Well, that’s a sports lover’s perfect Sunday. For about as long as I can remember we’ve had Super Bowl watching parties. As the years have gone by and people tend to branch off and do their own thing, our party became more about family with a couple of friends dropping in for a bit to hang out for a while.

Al was diagnosed shortly before Super Bowl last year and we all thought there was lots of time. Time for more parties, more vacations, more Christmases, just more. As families do, we all get busy and our lives get complicated. It was unclear whether all my kids would be able to come to the house for the game. But it was my youngest, my Lesley, who said what none of us wanted to think. That this might be the last time we are able to watch the Super Bowl with Al. I don’t know why she said that. After all, he had just barely been diagnosed and we were told his disease was at a mid-level severity. Perhaps something deep inside of Lesley was telling her that we only had a little time left.

So we spent that Sunday together here at the house. There was too much food, lots of yelling and cheering, lots of laughter; all the signs of a family enjoying a favorite pastime together. And that little voice Lesley heard was right. It was the last Super Bowl we’d ever enjoy together as a complete family.

This year game day was a little bittersweet. Super Bowl Sunday has always been a day of fun, food and football but we’d be doing it without Al. I kept busy in the morning by cleaning and cooking and tried not to let myself get down. My daughter Alison on the other hand, was having a difficult time at her house. She was missing her dad and trying to change her mood while she prepared the snacks she’d be bringing to the potluck. She put on her iPod and hit shuffle. A wide variety of songs played when suddenly her iPod changed, seemingly on its own. It went from Shuffle to Dad’s Playlist, a collection of Al’s favorites and songs that reminded Alison of her dad. That can only be looked at as a message from Al to Alison. A message to enjoy the day that has always represented a good time for the Navarros and a message that he’s still with us. And well, to enjoy a bowl of his special recipe Texas Chili that Marshall had perfected and prepared for game day.

And true to form, every single one of us gathered in his living room, watching his big TV and every single one of us were wearing Raiders jerseys & t-shirts. Funny how that just happens.....the Navarros represent!

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.