Sitting here in my office, walking the halls, staring at the monitor, it almost feels like I never left. Then I see the animal mom-baby pairs on the 2008 Wildlife Families calendar that is still on my wall and feel a tremendous ache in my heart.
If anyone has any good jokes or funny stories to keep me busy (since I have absolutely no work, which makes it that much harder to be here), please send them my way -- post here or send me an email at ourboxofrain at gmail.
Showing posts with label things that are sad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things that are sad. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Heartbreak
For some reason, I had a horrible feeling when I saw she had called, and it only got worse when I heard her message. Non-descript. Understated. Flat. Just not her. Not her at all.
One of my closest friends, a woman I love dearly and would do anything for, learned on Friday at her 18 week ultrasound that something had gone horribly wrong, that her baby's brain was too malformed to survive. She and her husband were going to wait to find out the sex, but they weren't going to have that moment in July to wait for. They chose to let her go, saying goodbye to their little girl.
My heart is broken in a thousand pieces for them. Please keep them in your prayers.
One of my closest friends, a woman I love dearly and would do anything for, learned on Friday at her 18 week ultrasound that something had gone horribly wrong, that her baby's brain was too malformed to survive. She and her husband were going to wait to find out the sex, but they weren't going to have that moment in July to wait for. They chose to let her go, saying goodbye to their little girl.
My heart is broken in a thousand pieces for them. Please keep them in your prayers.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Odd Man Out
Mel posted last week about the unexpected and upsetting end of a friendship, an end that came out of nowhere and for which no explanation was given. Her post resonated with me, bringing me back to a much earlier time in my own life, to an age at which friendships often exist in a state of flux and end abruptly. I was a sensitive kid, though, and the experience still sticks with me, twenty-five or so years later.
In the first grade, I had a few best friends, one of whom was a girl named Sarah. One afternoon in the summer between first and second grade, I was at her house, me and another girl, D. The three of us decided to play baseball in the yard, and we needed bases. We agreed each to contribute our left shoe to the cause. But there were only three, and we needed a home plate. Sarah looked at me and informed me that my other shoe would be home plate. In that moment, there was no request and no doubt, and Sarah was the alpha girl in our little group. So I took off my shoe. And when I got home I cried, recognizing the moment of that demand, or perhaps the moment of my acquiescence, as the end of my friendship with Sarah. And it was. She stopped returning my phone calls, started turning down my requests to play, and no longer spoke to me at school.
Twenty-five years later, it still hurts. I still wonder what happened -- was I too weak? too aloof? just not cool enough? I google her every now and again -- she went to Dartmouth and is married with a child. We have three Facebook friends in common, and I wonder who, since I moved away after the fifth grade and only have one Facebook friend dating back to that period (oddly, D -- we have remained in touch for the past twenty years, albeit somewhat superficially). I have resisted the urge to message her, or friend request her. I can't imagine that she has any recollection of that day, or even her friendship with me. Which is sad, since that one moment is one I've replayed over and over and over again, wondering whether there was something I could or should have done differently, never questioning whether I would even have wanted to.
In the first grade, I had a few best friends, one of whom was a girl named Sarah. One afternoon in the summer between first and second grade, I was at her house, me and another girl, D. The three of us decided to play baseball in the yard, and we needed bases. We agreed each to contribute our left shoe to the cause. But there were only three, and we needed a home plate. Sarah looked at me and informed me that my other shoe would be home plate. In that moment, there was no request and no doubt, and Sarah was the alpha girl in our little group. So I took off my shoe. And when I got home I cried, recognizing the moment of that demand, or perhaps the moment of my acquiescence, as the end of my friendship with Sarah. And it was. She stopped returning my phone calls, started turning down my requests to play, and no longer spoke to me at school.
Twenty-five years later, it still hurts. I still wonder what happened -- was I too weak? too aloof? just not cool enough? I google her every now and again -- she went to Dartmouth and is married with a child. We have three Facebook friends in common, and I wonder who, since I moved away after the fifth grade and only have one Facebook friend dating back to that period (oddly, D -- we have remained in touch for the past twenty years, albeit somewhat superficially). I have resisted the urge to message her, or friend request her. I can't imagine that she has any recollection of that day, or even her friendship with me. Which is sad, since that one moment is one I've replayed over and over and over again, wondering whether there was something I could or should have done differently, never questioning whether I would even have wanted to.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Connecting, or Living in Parallel
Last Friday night, P and I went to a friend's house for dinner. After a couple of hours, I had to take Harry home to get him ready for and into bed. In the time I was there, I'm not sure I spoke a single sentence that wasn't about Harry, and, being with people without kids (including half of a couple in the midst of IVF round 2, embarking on a FET after the wife developed OHSS before transfer on round 1), I didn't want to blabber on about him, so I didn't say much at all. I found myself feeling incredibly self-conscious, hyper-aware of the fact that I seemed to have become a bit of a shell of a person.
To be honest, I don't think I've ever been a great conversationalist -- I've always been a bit awkward when it comes to smalltalk, taking after my dad in that regard. I've gone through many such self-conscious moments in my life and have spent a lot of time feeling very alone, fearing that my inability to carry on a conversation has left me with more acquaintances than friends, struggling to connect with anyone on a substantial and substantive level. I think it's a bit of why I have always dived full-on into things, whether it be genealogy, sports, work, school, parenting -- having a hobby gives me something to talk about and a community of people with whom to connect.
But I never really feel connected. It's as though the world is full of people passing by, living their lives in parallel with mine but rarely being close enough to touch. And when I do reach out, or when they do, we make contact for a while, until we just don't anymore. And then we just drift back into our own parallel lives. As a result, I have few close friends from childhood or even college, and those I do have, I have largely because they put forth the effort.
When a relationship I was in many years ago ended, my ex got really angry and said quite a few hurtful things. Among them was that I was shallow, that my friendships were shallow, that my love of photography was the ultimate testimonial to that fact -- I chose to memorialize my life and the people in it rather than living it and interacting with them. At the time, I was really pissed. But there are days, weeks, months when I fear that I was so angry because he was the first person to ever really point out a serious truth about me. What if I do lack some essential ability to connect with people?
To be honest, I don't think I've ever been a great conversationalist -- I've always been a bit awkward when it comes to smalltalk, taking after my dad in that regard. I've gone through many such self-conscious moments in my life and have spent a lot of time feeling very alone, fearing that my inability to carry on a conversation has left me with more acquaintances than friends, struggling to connect with anyone on a substantial and substantive level. I think it's a bit of why I have always dived full-on into things, whether it be genealogy, sports, work, school, parenting -- having a hobby gives me something to talk about and a community of people with whom to connect.
But I never really feel connected. It's as though the world is full of people passing by, living their lives in parallel with mine but rarely being close enough to touch. And when I do reach out, or when they do, we make contact for a while, until we just don't anymore. And then we just drift back into our own parallel lives. As a result, I have few close friends from childhood or even college, and those I do have, I have largely because they put forth the effort.
When a relationship I was in many years ago ended, my ex got really angry and said quite a few hurtful things. Among them was that I was shallow, that my friendships were shallow, that my love of photography was the ultimate testimonial to that fact -- I chose to memorialize my life and the people in it rather than living it and interacting with them. At the time, I was really pissed. But there are days, weeks, months when I fear that I was so angry because he was the first person to ever really point out a serious truth about me. What if I do lack some essential ability to connect with people?
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Not the best day ever...
Ps grandmother passed away last night. Ps mom called yesterday to let us know that his grandma had developed pneumonia and that they were administering comfort measures only (after antibiotics failed) and didn't expect her to survive the weekend. We got the call this morning. In many ways, we lost her a few years ago -- she developed rapid-onset dementia in the months following Ps father's (her son) death, so this was more the death of her body than anything else.
Sadly, once she stopped knowing who we were, we stopped visiting her in the nursing home she moved to a few months after my FIL died. So we hadn't seen her for a couple of years even though she lived a few miles away. I feel awful about it, but it was important to P to preserve his memories of her as they were. And, with his family, it's important for me to do what is important to him. We went to the hospital to be with his mom and aunt yesterday but didn't go in the room to see his grandma. She was a great lady who I feel very fortunate to have gotten to know. She will be much missed, but, to be fair, she has been much missed for years now.
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On a completely unrelated note, my stepmother (my mom's wife) is being really petty right now and it has me really upset. She is angry that I forgot her birthday. I get it. I feel really bad. Things have been busy around here, but that's no real excuse. But today she refused to talk to me on the phone. And she seems to have decided not to come to Harry's baptism, which is taking place next weekend when the bishop visits my church. She says it's because I didn't tell her about it far enough in advance. First, that isn't true. I told them this past summer when my minister first mentioned the date. I still wasn't completely convinced we were really going to have a baby come All Saint's Sunday, but mentioned the baptism date to my mom and stepmom nonetheless. I mentioned it again the first time she saw Harry -- they came to visit a few minutes after the minister came to the hospital to bless him. I know I mentioned it, and P remembers it too. Second, what difference would it make? Had she known in advance, the conflicting event would still be taking place at the same time and she'd have to choose. If she remembered me telling her more in advance, she'd make a different choice, attending her grandson's baptism instead of her minister's final service at her church, but because she didn't have advance warning, she'll choose the final service? That doesn't make sense to me. Regardless of her reasons, I just don't get punishing Harry for my faults. Ugh. Why would anyone be so juvenile? Or am I being unreasonable?
In some ways, the saddest part is that all I can think about is what I can or should do to make up for forgetting her birthday. As P pointed out, people make mistakes, but most of us are adults about it and may feel hurt but don't act like children about it. But my guilt seems to be reigning supreme here.
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All in all, today hasn't been the best day ever. But it certainly hasn't been the worst.
Sadly, once she stopped knowing who we were, we stopped visiting her in the nursing home she moved to a few months after my FIL died. So we hadn't seen her for a couple of years even though she lived a few miles away. I feel awful about it, but it was important to P to preserve his memories of her as they were. And, with his family, it's important for me to do what is important to him. We went to the hospital to be with his mom and aunt yesterday but didn't go in the room to see his grandma. She was a great lady who I feel very fortunate to have gotten to know. She will be much missed, but, to be fair, she has been much missed for years now.
********************************
On a completely unrelated note, my stepmother (my mom's wife) is being really petty right now and it has me really upset. She is angry that I forgot her birthday. I get it. I feel really bad. Things have been busy around here, but that's no real excuse. But today she refused to talk to me on the phone. And she seems to have decided not to come to Harry's baptism, which is taking place next weekend when the bishop visits my church. She says it's because I didn't tell her about it far enough in advance. First, that isn't true. I told them this past summer when my minister first mentioned the date. I still wasn't completely convinced we were really going to have a baby come All Saint's Sunday, but mentioned the baptism date to my mom and stepmom nonetheless. I mentioned it again the first time she saw Harry -- they came to visit a few minutes after the minister came to the hospital to bless him. I know I mentioned it, and P remembers it too. Second, what difference would it make? Had she known in advance, the conflicting event would still be taking place at the same time and she'd have to choose. If she remembered me telling her more in advance, she'd make a different choice, attending her grandson's baptism instead of her minister's final service at her church, but because she didn't have advance warning, she'll choose the final service? That doesn't make sense to me. Regardless of her reasons, I just don't get punishing Harry for my faults. Ugh. Why would anyone be so juvenile? Or am I being unreasonable?
In some ways, the saddest part is that all I can think about is what I can or should do to make up for forgetting her birthday. As P pointed out, people make mistakes, but most of us are adults about it and may feel hurt but don't act like children about it. But my guilt seems to be reigning supreme here.
********************************
All in all, today hasn't been the best day ever. But it certainly hasn't been the worst.
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