curlykew » Letters to Lisa

April 19, 2011 – Our Week

curlykew — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 03:28:11 +0000

Lisa,

Happy birthday. You lucky son of a gun, you never had to stare 46 in the face. It’s on that downward slope to 50 and I’m not so sure I’m enjoying it, but…I’m only a week into it, so we’ll see how the year goes. Maybe this year will be a year of upward movement for me, huh?

It’s our birthday week, Lisa and this is the third one I’m facing without your sleepy birthday phone call, without frantically trying to find you a gift and of course, without our insane string of phone calls trying to find time to go out and celebrate together. It hits me every year without warning – how could I forget this week is so difficult to bear? But, I do. I get weepy and am unable to breathe. It happened Wednesday and I didn’t know why.

And then, I figured it out. And my eyes dripped the rest of the day. I left work early, unable to concentrate, just needing to be home. What is it about being home that somehow calms the grief monsters? I guess I can let all filters go and just be. Swim in some memories, stare a little longer at your picture, snuggle my kitty a bit tighter and go outside and take pictures of your tree.

2011 has had entirely too much death so far, Lisa. Every one of them brings me right back to the moment Frank called me. The moment I looked in that blasted velvet-lined box at your body, your beautiful curls straightened out by the idiot mortician who obviously never knew you. The moment I had to walk out of the mausoleum with nothing more than a daisy in my hand.

But, you know, you were life to me. You were sick and yet, you were life. Fighting, strong, courageous life. Health crises kicked you down and you put up your fists, said, “I DARE you,” and you kept fighting. And when you couldn’t fight anymore, we were left to fight for you. You’re why I’m finally working. You’re why the diabetes section of my classes is longer than protocol dictates. You’re why I’m teaching today, on your birthday, when I’d really rather be listening to you order your margarita.

On the rocks, no salt. Oh, and could you bring about 3 extra dressings for my salad? My lettuce has to swim.

Life. Grief. Courage. Daisies and salad dressing.

Happy birthday, Lisa
Heidi

September 26, 2008

curlykew — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 02:33:30 +0000

The 10th in the series Letters to Lisa. I’ve been quite melancholy today, so I thought this particular letter would be a good one to share. It’s more on the humorous side and definitely a bit on the TMI side of things. But you know, she and I shared it all, so why not through these letters as well? Reference-wise, Lyndsey is her cat, Macaroni is mine.

Lisa-

Four months. A third of a year. I can’t believe you’ve been gone that long. I can’t believe the pain is still as strong as it is. Of course, in light of what you meant to me, I shouldn’t be surprised. I continue to long to talk to you more than anything.

Abby got her car yesterday and as Daddy and I stood and watched her talk to Mom, I thought how much you’d love to see the car. We had time to kill and it would have been nice to stop over to your house and let you ooh and aah over her acquisition. As it is, we went to the mother-in-law’s, which ended up being a good choice too.

….later….

Oops. I got called away. Macaroni is being difficult now that I’m settled in to write again. She won’t let me! Which does beg the question – are you angry your family put Lindsey to sleep? Do you get her now forever? Is she well now, too? Oddly enough, I’ve felt guilty the moments I get to snuggle with Mac. Lisa, dammit!!! Tell Mac to MOVE!! I can’t stop laughing – she just sat down right on the notebook!!!

Okay, fine. You’re here with the cat – that is obvious. So, let’s get down and dirty here. I have some complaints. Not TO you, but since you’re here and the closest relationship/connection I have to god – or whoever is running the show – I’m going for it. Here it is.

I want time alone with my husband.

We were supposed to have it tonight. Ethan’s at a game, Abby’s at work, but no. She’s having some sort of anxiety attack at work, or is sick, or something and she’s been texting me all evening – always on the verge of throwing up. You know how gracefully I handle that.

You also know that our ONE couple’s trip this year was ruined due to illness – my own. And now, one bloody special night is going to hell…pft. It’s gone to hell. Alone time. Nice, uninterrupted intimacy. I can’t remember the last time we’ve been graced with such a simple thing, but I can tell you that while grieving, the absence of it feels worse. After my cousin Erin died, Alex and I bonded in such an amazing way and it healed my aching heart so much. Now, the grief is totally my own and we can’t manage such a basic need. I need my husband. I need his strength and passion and touch. I need a fricking break!!! In the global scale of things, am I asking too much!?

Fuck it. What I want? What I really, really want? Is for you to be un-dead. The rest just sort of follows suit.

*whispers*
But really? I’d really, really like to get laid, too.

~Heidi

September 14, 2008

curlykew — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 18:51:45 +0000

After a 4 month hiatus on posting these, I bring back my series of Letters to Lisa. This is the 9th letter posted and now that I’ve taken a break to help ease my family into the grieving process after losing my mother-in-law, I think I’m ready to dive in, post a few more and hopefully catch up to current day letters. Interestingly enough, this one is 14 months old, but the emotions are as true now as they were then, especially in light of my mother-in-law’s passing. As always, thank you for reading.

Lisa-

It’s a weird night – probably one that would bring in oddball cases at the hospital. There was an awful hurricane down in Texas – Ike – and he’s still charging pretty strongly even up here in Ohio. No rain to speak of, but the winds have been vicious, ripping shingles from rooftops, siding from houses. Mom just called and their complex lost some big, beautiful pine trees. The sky is that ugly pea soup color and it’s all you can do to just sit inside and wonder how long it will last.

As the storm has swirled around me, I’ve been finding comfort re-writing these letters in a beautiful notebook. Something I can keep, my loved ones can read after my passing, and before that, a way for me to reminisce as the years go by. I can’t imagine growing old without you. I mean, yes, we both knew it was a strong possibility, but never one worth wrapping our heads around. Or, at least, I never took the time. Not completely. I’d contemplate it some after a particularly difficult night with you and your health. I’d go home and wonder – how long can her body take this!? What exactly is happening deep inside when it looks so bad even from the outside? I often said or journaled that at times being with you was like being with an old woman, your movements slow and measured, your health as brittle as your bones, even times, your mind a bit slower than normal, your recall a bit lacking. You never really wanted sympathy – just general empathy – but on my drives home I must admit, there would be sympathy. And sometimes, while I’m being totally honest, that sympathy would be for me. Me without you.

And here I am. Without you. And I couldn’t have imagined how awful it truly would be. How empty I’d feel. How startlingly painful certain days or events or thoughts can be. How much I miss a simple meal with you. How the basic act of putting salad dressing on a salad would bring whispers of your memory to brush over me.

Yesterday, such a memory made me smile. Another time, it almost paralyzed me. I never know how I’ll react. I never know what will make me react – if anything. Sometimes it all just knocks me off my feet and whoever is with me is left to ask, “You okay?”

No. No, I’m not okay. Touch me. Ignore me. Start at me. Look away. Leave me. Hold me. Let me talk; divert my attention. One at a time. All at once. If I’m exasperated by it all, I can’t imagine what my family must go through in trying to figure out the right response.

Sometimes they pour on too much sympathy and other times it’s nowhere near enough. Still other times, they nail it and we walk through the wave of grief together. Sometimes they just have to wait for me on the other side. It’s so hard to know and I surely can’t always tell them. But, they try. My friends, my kids, my folks and of course, my Alex. I’m not alone in this.

But, boy…without you, it sure seems like I am.

See you in my dreams,
~Heidi

August 14, 2008

curlykew — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 17:30:01 +0000

The eighth in the Letters to Lisa series.

Lisa-

God, I want to talk to you in person so damned desperately. So.damned.desperately. So much is going on and I want to sit over a plate of spinach & artichoke dip and tell you. I want to see your eyeballs pop out of your head as I regale you with the ridiculous tale of our refrigerator nightmare. I want to hear you laugh at the silly stories I can share from my weekend with Apple, Robin and Sandra. To feel your empathy when I tell you about our financial crisis. Know your compassion at the ache in my heart when Ethan took off for his first day of high school. HIGH SCHOOL, Lisa!! I remember you coming into my hospital room at night, during your break, to get me out of bed and walk with me. You were so much more compassionate than the on-floor nurses, teaching me how to breathe through the surgical pain from my cesarean. And now, that little booger is in high school!

I want to tell you about Nathan taking Abby to the meteor showers at Hargus Lake on Monday. He had a little picnic with fruit and cheese…wine was Mountain Dew, of course. They spread out on a hill and watched the display falling over the lake. See!? SEE!? I can hear you oohing and aahing all over that little bit of sweetness. God, they are so in love, Lisa. I wish you could have seen it. You got to see him pining for her, but now that they have each other? *sigh* You would glow with joy for them.

It’s the little experiences. The big experiences. Funny things, sad and sweet. They all seem to lose some of their depth with I can’t share them with you. My joys aren’t as joyful, but boy are my sorrows full of sorrow. I’ve not seen you in my dreams in a long while and it’s making the waking hours a little more difficult. Of course, waking after a dream about you makes the waking hours difficult, too.

Everything’s difficult. How could I have known how empty my life would be without you in it?

~Heidi

August 4, 2008

curlykew — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 18:04:37 +0000

The seventh in the Letters to Lisa series of posts. For new readers, Abby and Ethan are my children. Nathan is Abby’s sweetheart and an integral part of our family.

Lisa-

Wow! Two weeks since I’ve written! I’d like to say it’s because all is awesome, but honestly, I’m finding myself more debilitated. Our fridge is broken – again. Yes. Two weeks later from the last break. We have NO money and yet we have to continue to replace food, find non-perishables, or eat out a lot. I’m losing my mind.

And then, I “talk” to you and I realize how unimportant it all is. Yes, financial security has its importance, as does food, but wow. I think the major frustration is that if we weren’t so financially strapped, the inconvenience of it all wouldn’t be as major as it is. You know how I suck at money.

I still haven’t called your sister and truly need to do that. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for or what I’m going to say, but I feel like I should try to touch base.

I just need to connect to something. Someone. Somehow. I meet with my internet girls this weekend. I can’t wait, but I’m also partially dreading it. Come Monday, they’ll be gone, you’ll still be gone, and we’ll still be broke.

I fear I’m sliding into the anger phase of this grieving process. I’m growing increasingly upset at broken promises, at the lack of courteous follow-through, of people generally dismissing some else’s heartache as just someone else’s problem. Alex is annoying me. Silence from “friends” is annoying me. Actually, that one is hurting like hell. Abby will be leaving me soon with college, as will Nathan, and Ethan will be so busy with marching band that he might as well be taking off, too.

And then, of course, there’s you. No, I’m not angry at you for leaving. I’m just angry that you left. That is was time. That some of our dreams together never will come true. That no one on this earth will mean to me what you do. And, a few of those I thought would be candidates have totally dropped the ball without so much as a glance back to see how I’m faring. And yeah. I’m angry as hell about that.

I’m not enjoying the angries. They make my forehead wrinkle, my heart race and my patience shorten, which we both know didn’t have much room for shortening to begin with.

Ah, when…when will I get some relief?

~Heidi

July 20, 2008

curlykew — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 17:30:05 +0000

The sixth in the Letters to Lisa series of posts. My Aunt Betty, who also died from complications of diabetes, and Lisa have a connection?? Aunt Betty passed 37 years ago and, of course, Lisa had never met her…until now.

Lisa-

Okay, now I’m just confused. I take it you’ve met my Aunt Betty? Because, Lisa, I dreamt about her last night and…she was wearing your yellow blouse!! What the hell is up with that!? Oh, and, honestly? It looks better on her. I’m not even going to surmise how it ended up fitting perfectly.Otherwise, I’m sort of empty today. Miss you as always. Need something to fill me up. Job? Spiritual focus? No clue, although I do seem to be in a seeking mood for both lately.

July 21, 2008 – Monday

Too distracted last night and I probably am again tonight. Our stupid refrigerator crapped out on us again. See my happy face? No. I don’t either.

Anyway, important things. Your mom sent a picture or five of Dominic. He has what looks like a birthmark or little rash on his forehead – looks like you go to plant a few kisses on him before he arrived. Which makes me think…maybe you can be more of a help to Phil and Jan with the health of their kids where you are now than you felt you could be down here? Sometimes we mere earthlings can be so closed-minded to obvious help, but heavenly nudges might be more considered? I don’t know. I guess I’m grasping. Trying to find some earthly benefit to your absence. The benefits for you are easy. For us? Not so much.

I’m just longing for a girlfriend. A companion. A confidante. Someone who knows me even if I don’t say anything. And the truth of the matter is, no one like that exists for me right now. I’ve lost my best friend and I’ve lost the title of Best Friend. An entire identity was stolen when you took your last breath. One I’m sure I’ll never get back…if I even want it back.

~Heidi

July 18, 2008

curlykew — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 23:16:02 +0000

The fifth in the Letters to Lisa series of posts.

Lisa-

It’s amazing the things you learn about the heart of others when you share your own heart with them. I finally spilled about your death to any friends/family on myspace that hadn’t possibly heard already. Announcing more, since few or none of them knew you, my loss rather than your death, if that makes any sense. I got a response from a family member who shall remain nameless. One I’ve been close with since childhood.

Apparently, my dear Lisa, he had a crush on you in high school. Now, mind, I don’t ever remember you two even meeting, no less this crush, but that’s what he says. Here’s the kicker though, the “lesson” so to speak. When I sent him a picture of you confirming you were who he thought you were his reply went thusly. “Yes! That’s her. Oh, that makes me even more sad.” Really!? Really. My heart has been shattered and you’re grieving b/c some chick you crushed on in 1982 is gone? Of course, I suppose for some, life is all about them, not others.

The mind, she boggles.

Onto more interesting things – more eternal things, possibly? You visited me again this morning in my dreams. Girl, you need to change that outfit – you’ve worn it everytime I’ve seen you since you’ve been gone. Bordering on Myrna, I hate to say. But, it’s good to see the moon face is gone, and oddly enough, your hair is shorter. More like it was in high school and college – wavy, less curly. I’m still freaking out in the dreams – not able to listen to anything you might say because I’m so busy trying to tell you you’re supposed to be dead. I bet you know that, even in dreams, huh? I need to just shut up and take in the moment. Not sure how I can control that in dreams, but maybe thinking about it in the waking process will help?

Mom said you wouldn’t talk to me in dreams, based on experiences with her Daddy, but you called this morning. When I see you, you just smile at me and keep a distance, but you called. I was at 1129 in the upstairs bathroom. I remember resting my head and hands on the back wall tile as I tried to explain why I was so stunned to hear from you. As soon as I say anything like, “but you’re DEAD!!” I either wake up or you disappear. What should I do to make those moments last? To hear your message? Or, if I finally hear it, do you disappear for good? Even from my sleep? I don’t think I could bear it.

Looks like Abby has that job at the theater – she’s headed out there to turn in her final recommendation. Watch over her, huh?

Thanks,
~Heidi

The "Myrna" blouse - I hated this outfit on her, and naturally, it's the last picture I have of her.

Next letter? The blouse saga continues.

July 16, 2008

curlykew — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 17:00:12 +0000

The fourth in the Letters to Lisa series of posts. Cast of characters include Jan, her sister-in-law, Em is a niece and Brian, Jon and Lee are nephews.

Lisa -

Were you there? Did you help? Jan had her baby yesterday! He is a nice sized boy and your mom says everyone is well.

What a bittersweet time for them. Maybe even for you? Do you miss things that go on down here? I’m remembering the Grey’s Anatomy (stop laughing) when Denny, who had died a few weeks/months prior became an “other world” character. He talked about how it hurt the deceased to be separated from their loved ones as much as it hurt the surviving loved ones to be away from the deceased. Were the writers onto something there?

I mean in the Christian faith, we’re taught to believe that after this life we have no more pain, a new body, it’s all sunshine and roses. But, is it really? Do you miss playing with Em? Flirting with the waiters with me? Margaritas – on the rocks, no salt? SHOES!? Watching Brian play soccer or cooking with Jon? Singing in folk group? Being a nurse? What about your soaps!? Your lunches with sweet little Lee?

So much you did enjoy in this earthly life, in spite of the pain you endured. I do know that we all miss these things for you anyway. And, little baby Dom, while he never got to feel your healing, loving touch, will know all about Aunt Lisa and how much she loved him and anticipated his arrival. I’m sure your family will take care of that.

I know you didn’t always feel appreciated by them, but I have to believe now that you’re gone, they realize what a gift you were to each and every one of them – in ways they probably never even knew. I know I have, so I must believe it to be even truer for them. If only we all knew what we had when we have it…our lives would be so much more full, more peaceful, more loving.

~Heidi

July 13, 2008

curlykew — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 18:53:37 +0000

The third in the Letters to Lisa series of posts.

Lisa-

So, I finally called your mom. My questions of belonging continue, but I’m glad I called, if not for her, then for me. I brought up her offer of dinner out, but she hedged. Something tells me it will never happen. Your nephew comes tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be there bossing everyone around. And really, that might be why your mom hedged. Her mind is on the new grandbaby – and that’s a good thing. That little boy will be a great healer in your family, I’m sure.

As for me? I’m still trying to figure out how to heal. I’ve started looking into going back to school. I know you always worried that my funky vomit phobia would keep me from being an effective nurse, but Jesus. You had a million health issues, most of them involving chronic pain and you did it well. I should be able to overcome one measly fear, shouldn’t I? I’m just not sure how we’d pay for the schooling. Are there 2nd degree assistance situations? Just many little, yet huge details remain. The point is, I need to find a purpose in addition to motherhood.

I really miss you today. Alex and I went and watched the sunset over the pond at Slate Run this evening. It was glorious. I imagined you in the rays. Isn’t that silly?

I even heard you laughing today. Twice. At me, of course. I don’t even need to tell you it was because I slopped part of my meal down my front, do I? It’s odd how days I ache the most from your absence are the days I actually feel more of your presence.

I need to close this now. The ache is overwhelming me tonight. I need to feel life in Alex, in his touch, in the days’ hyper-activity, in my son’s brace-laden smile.

I love you, Lisa.

I always, always will
~Heidi

July 1, 2008

curlykew — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 20:53:44 +0000

The second in the Letters to Lisa series of posts.. I might be posting them frequently to somewhat catch up with current date and time. Also, family names have been changed, hopefully respecting their privacy while still telling my “story”. Phil & Terry are siblings and Mary is a close friend and housekeeper. JT is our highly respected and beloved high school choir director.

Lisa-

Today’s letter might be brief as I have to function in the real world. It’s a gorgeous day today – one I’d love to share with you. Maybe at Blacklick, or with an impromptu picnic lunch. Or, sitting on your porch that never got used. Something – basking in the day. In our friendship.

I want to be in touch with your family, but I don’t know if I should. As you full well know, I never really felt like they liked me all that much. Yet, at the visitation and post-funeral gathering, they were fabulous – even Phil! Since, though – not a word. And, I know for Terri anyway, it’s just a matter of not being able to move forward. Mary called – Terri’s been crippled by your loss.

We all have been, really. I’ve only felt somewhat normal for the past 30 hours or so. And, I do emphasize “somewhat”. Normal will never be the same again. And, I wait for the normal feeling to give way to heart-breaking grief at any moment. Part of me doesn’t want the grief to completely disappear because it’s the only current connection I have with you. Everything else is past, memories, photos, stories. They’re lovely, but in grief, I’m actually with you. I’m not sure if it’s healthy. I don’t want to lose myself in your loss like I did with the loss of my church life, but yet, this is so much bigger. So much deeper. So much more painful. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to avoid the paralysis.

I had lunch with JT yesterday. It was mostly to talk about you, but ended up being about everything under the sun. He hates that he missed your services – somehow didn’t get the info in time, even though he knew of your death. Maybe I dropped that ball? Not sure. Anyway, he’s still such an amazing man. Such a teacher. Such a professional, yet still such a brat! The man loves to gossip! He always did, didn’t he? We talked for four hours! It was wonderful.

Were you there? Did you listen? Did you laugh at his stories with me? Or, are you with your family helping through these long days of summer?

Can you even be in two places at once now? Can you really see what we do? Or do you only come when needed – when invited? Or, are you just asleep? Totally finished both on this earth and beyond? I’ve never wanted to know the answer to these questions like I do now. Have you met my Grandpa H. yet? He’ll be wearing flannel, I’m sure. What about my cousin Erin? Can she run there? Does she know she’s an aunt now?

Do they give you enough salad dressing? I can’t imagine your taste for swimmy lettuce has gone anywhere.

Can you visit me? In sleep maybe? I so want to see you again and I know that if I do, I’ll hurt 10,000 times worse upon waking, but…

…ah, I suppose now I’m just getting greedy and silly.

Anyway, today is beautiful. It’d be even more so if I could share it with you.

Stay near – however that works.
~Heidi