A New Kind Of Normal

My mom uttered the words to someone on the phone as I stood nearby, “We’re all getting used to a new kind of normal” regarding the death of my father a few years ago. I found them to ring true then, and over and over again.

Just last week my children were all home visiting and I had a quiet moment alone baking cheesecake for my daughter’s birthday. I had music playing and the realization hit me suddenly. One child has a career in Cleveland, one is away at college, another is about ready to launch from the nest next fall and I’ll be alone. I thought to myself I should call my dad or talk with him about it when he comes over later for the party. Then it hit me: he’s not alive. I can’t. And so I started to cry softly. After a little while, I wiped my tears and decided to move into the celebratory side of the day.

I’ve come to realize that grief comes in waves. My sister’s good friend, whom had lost a daughter to leukemia was incredibly strong and said she chose to face it head on, much like facing waves at the ocean’s side. There are times when they are overwhelming and crash into her full force but she could see them coming. In time, they recede and there is a time of rest between the waves of grief. Her analogy was that if she turned her back and did not see them they could crash into you and take you tumbling downward. She chose the former.

About three weeks ago my friend Lanny Edwards was in Hawaii with Jen Handy. They had a wonderful trip until Jen had a ruptured brain aneurysm. She was flown to another island, put into a medically induced coma in hopes of saving her life. Lanny mentioned that in the last moments of life, dying, she gave a gift to her family. You see, her dad had a horrible decision that no parent should ever have to make. In the end, he did not have to do it. After a very long fight, Jen Handy died on February 15, 2012.

       Here are some more thoughts from Lanny about Jen that I've summarized:

        She was most proud of her family, this included an entire host of people and at the head was her father, Dave Handy, whom he adopted when he married her biological mother, Letha. Later Jen’s family grew to include a second mother named Ronda who gave her a sister and two baby brothers. Jen adored her four nieces and  a very special cousin/goddaughter, Aspen.

        Jen was a wine connoisseur.

        She had a great work ethic and was employed at Safeway's corporate offices as a Director of Pricing. She was amazing with numbers and spreadsheets.

        She was a loyal St. Louis Cardinals fan.

        She was also a fan of the UFC and of Urijah Faber, known as the California Kid.

        Jen was a beautiful woman.

I did not personally know Jen. I don’t know her family. I can’t even imagine how hard it is to lose a daughter. My friend Elaine says there is nothing worse. I cannot pretend to know…

I do know that grief is very real. It comes in waves. I know it feels unbearable and unrelenting and never-ending. I know that the bystanders want to help but can only stand there watching as those who battle the grief are in the midst of it. And we can whisper words of love and concern and support as a new kind of normal without your loved one comes to fruition.

So from Lanny’s pen, to your eyes, Jen Handy’s family, you are not alone. We celebrate your daughter/sister/friend’s life. We are sorry she has left us and know she will be missed greatly.

Note: For those of you who have read previous blog postings I am doing the Escape From Alctraz Triathlon in memory of Anamarie Neveau on June 10th for TeamCindy.  It is an organization raising money for The Brain Aneurysm Foundation. If you would like to donate, please go to here.

Hope

I had just finished a very difficult ten miles,  I think I was overheated!

Many of my friends know I like to write and with the encouragement of my former boss I began to blog for a local city where I teach, as well as my own site. I have learned over the years that I sometimes struggle what to write when it involves those that I love or care about.

Case in point: For a significant part of my teaching career I had the most amazing teacher's aide. Her name was Linda Banwell. I met her when my eldest daughter Morgan was in kindergarten. Morgan was an energetic creative kindergartner and Linda embraced my daughter into the world of formal education in a way that was loving, accepting and encouraging. The next year I was added into her fold as well as I ended up team teaching and Linda became my teacher's aide too. Throughout the years Linda worked alongside me as I taught kindergarten, second, third and fifth grade. She grew to know and love all three of my children and was a huge support as my youngest daughter was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. Throughout my day I would have to momentarily stop, prick her little seven year old finger, measure the insulin, and administer her shot. This occurred on a daily basis at least three times during the school day, more if her blood sugars were abnormally high. Linda would keep the students in the classroom on task during these short pauses. She was with me soon after I had returned to school after an ablation procedure for my heart. I was afraid to take time off as I was a new teacher and did not want to miss school (dumb, I realize now, I know). She was with me as I began the painful process of divorce about ten years later. During this time period I chose to ignore the divorce factor while enclosed within the four walls of my classroom which became my educational safe-haven. I could be a teacher first and forget about the unpleasantness and painful process while concentrating on the curriculum, children and my grade-level team's responsibilities. She was with me for the better part of my career at Vista Grande Elementary School in Danville. When Linda retired, I was asked to speak. Normally I relish such a task.

How was my talk about Linda? I'd say I choked. I could not put into words how truly wonderful and amazing and bright and talented this woman was to me and for all of the hundreds of children she worked with over the years. I feel I failed.

Describing the second week of training for the Escape From Alcatraz Triathlon and raising monies for The Brain Aneurysm Foundation's TeamCindy has also proven to be especially difficult.

Why?

It's because something terrible has occurred. Sadly, this week, the devastation of a ruptured brain aneurysm has struck again. I won't give any further details at this time as it is not my story to tell. However, I will say this, 1 in 50 people experience brain aneurysms. From there, the statistics are grim.

But there is hope and there are miracles. In fact, one such person is a member of my race club. She is a (running) miracle. She is, to me, amazing.

A weekend trail run!

And there is more good to describe. In a little over two weeks, we have raised $2,640, nearly 25% toward our collective goal to raise $10,000. I am both touched and amazed at the generosity of people. There are many members of Anamarie Neveau's family on the list of donors. It is a testimony to their love for Anamarie and her story and her legacy. There are members of the Forward Motion Race Club, my running coach, my friends and family and people and companies I do not even know.  I've received notes and comments on the San Ramon Patch blog, my Facebook page, the fundraising site and personal emails. The support has been overwhelming. Many of the donors have friends or family members who have died or suffered from having a brain aneurysm.

As far as my training, it's been spotty.  I have gotten a good start, though the swimming won't begin until this weekend or next Monday. I've struggled through a few of my runs and bike rides but overall I can't complain. I feel, as my friend has said, running is a privilege. I would add bicycling and swimming to that list too. Especially when I think of Anamarie Neveau. And Cindy Sherwin, of TeamCindy .

Anamarie

Cindy Sherwin was an amazing woman by all accounts (Link to Cindy's story here). She was a triathlete who died from a ruptured brain aneurysm nearly five years ago while riding her bike. As a way of dealing with her grief and to raise money for The Brain Aneurysm Foundation, Cindy's mother, Elaine Roberts Schaller, helped found Team Cindy.  Several events are held throughout the year while athletes compete and raise money to spread awareness, support and research funding to reduce brain aneurysm ruptures.

TeamCindy

This past week I also read Elaine Roberts Schaller's book entitled, "Dear Cindy, Love Mom" (link for the book). It is a book filled with letters that Elaine wrote to her daughter after her death. I found this book to be a source of comfort and think it would be a good resource for anyone dealing with loss or grief. I found Elaine's vulnerability of both her agony and grief heroic, though I imagine she would cringe at that statement. Her fight to try to do good for others through her work with the BAF and TeamCindy, her book and more, is inspiring.

This week, I am hoping for another miracle. Though the person's name is not mentioned, the hope is very real. And there are a lot of other people hoping and praying for a miracle too.

If you would like to donate please go to: BAFTeamCindyKathyDillingham