Christmas 2006

Christmas 2006...Jim's last Christmas. He doesn't look sick at all, does he? He'd had surgery in September, and had gone through some of his first-line chemotherapy treatments. The folks at the Vince Lombardi Cancer Center had arranged his treatments so Christmas week was his "off" week. He felt pretty good. We were all really hopeful that our Jim would be the one to beat the beast. Somebody has to be in the 10%, right? Why not Jim? Dad took this photo of him while he was on the phone with me Christmas morning. It's my third Christmas morning minus the call or having him here with us. I miss him. Cancer just sucks.

A little grey

Scattered about my head are quite a few more grey hairs than I used to have. My hairdresser says it's time for a color. I've colored or highlighted my hair for fun for a lot of years now. I come from a long line of Swayne color-ers, and until Jimmy died, I really didn't have any more of a problem with putting color in my hair than I did putting on a blue sweater. I even colored my hair purple once - not like bright purple - but my hair had a definite strong purple tint to it. Unfortunately, I took a three-year-old Kirsten with me when I had it done and she announced it to EVERYONE we met for about a month - "MY MOM COLORED HER HAIR PURPLE!" But now I look at the grey in the mirror and I think "Boy, I've earned those." My own badge of courage. In an odd way, I find comfort in seeing the grey hairs. In my own warped view, I think "Oh good, I'm that much closer to seeing Jim again." I'm not looking to rush it or anything, but I don't mind getting older. I don't mind seeing it. In the end, I get to see Jimmy again and I'm looking forward to that. The greys are a daily reminder that life moves on. Some people want to stop the passage of time. I'm enjoying and thankful for every day I have here with those I love, but I also don't mind the days going by.

And now for a little funny story. I was sitting at the table with Mom after Sunday dinner. We were talking about how much we missed Jimmy and how difficult it is to get motivated for Christmas. So she says "I dreamed about Jimmy and my mother last night. I went to heaven and I saw them together." I said "Really? Last night? Because I dreamed about Jimmy and Grandma last night too. Only I didn't go to heaven. We were all at Grandma's house." Without missing a beat, she smiles and teases me (just like Jimmy would've done) "That's because they don't let atheists in heaven." Then she laughed at her joke, just like Jimmy would've done. It made me smile and laugh too.

The grieving process?

I'm an instructional designer. In instructional design, we have a type of content called a process. It's defined as "A flow of events that describes how something works rather than how to do something. It usually cannot be done by one person—many persons or organizations are involved. A process can be mechanical, business, or scientific and has either stages, phases, or cycles." Hmmmmm...that sure doesn't seem to apply here. Grief is quite solitary. There isn't a flow. It doesn't move nicely from one stage to another. It seems to jump around depending on the day. For example, shock and denial are the first stages described in many books on grief. I can tell you that two years after my brother's death, I'm often so horrified by the mere thought of it that I become Scarlet O'Hara "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." Shock and denial.

Life moves on without him now, whether I think about the consequences of his death today or not.

My truck wouldn't start the other day. I called Mark, who suspected what was wrong with it and had it towed in to be repaired. I drove Kirsten's car for about 30 minutes and then that wouldn't start either. Mark came home and fixed it. Kirsten drove to a friend's house late at night for a sleepover, but didn't call to tell us that she'd arrived like we asked. Mark got up out of bed and drove the route to the friend's house to make sure a deer didn't put her and the BMW in a ditch.

Kate ordered bed rails to change Jake's crib into a bed. She disassembled the crib and reassembled it into a bed. That's something Jim would've done. She was fully capable of doing it, and she did, but I'm sure she was wishing Jim was there to do it instead.

I sometimes complain about Mark and what he does or doesn't do, but I realize that I'm terribly blessed to have him around--to lighten my load and to watch my back. Jim isn't there to do that for Kate and that makes me really sad. I hope someday, Kate's heart heals enough to share her life with someone else if she wants. Sometimes the journey's just easier when we walk it with another person.

Put one foot in front of the other

I started walking with my neighbor, Melissa, the winter before my 40th birthday. By the time my 40th birthday arrived in May, we had made it through the "Couch to 5K" running program. An exceptional accomplishment looking back at how we use to tick off the seconds in the run part of the run X minutes/walk Y minutes program. I'm 44 and 5 months now, and except for six months or so around Jim's final days with us, I've been running fairly consistently all that time. That's 53 months of consistent effort, trying to create a new life habit. And yet some days when I hit the pavement, it's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other and get through the run. From start to finish, the lethargy never lets up, I never "get my legs" during the run, I finish as miserable as I started. And I'll let you in on a little secret - after 53 months, it is a rare occurrence when I wake up and think "Oh boy, I have a run today!" Most days are a variation of "Oh crap, I have to run today." But then I get out there and it feels good, I end my run feeling glad I went, and most of the time very happy I'm done. It helps to have a goal and a partner. I just finished the Rochester Half Marathon and trained with my neighbor Russ, both the goal and my partner helped me get in those shoes and out the door. But then race day goes by and you still have to put one foot in front of the other, get out there and continue running.


I've come to realize that living without my brother is another life habit I'm trying to create. Like running, I'd prefer not to have to do it, but I really have no other choice. There are days I wake up and think "I just can't do this. I can't live my life another 30 or 40 years without him." But I have to. So on those days, I concentrate on just getting through that one day, just like I get through those bad runs. I remember that there are people out there running the same race I am, and they understand the effort. Most days are like my runs - a mix of sadness missing him, but also full of my daily life. I push through the sadness and concentrate on the living. I have events that I look forward to, which relieves some of the pressure, but then they go by and I still have to live without Jim. Sometimes I think "This should be getting easier." But then I remember my running - some days it just plain sucks, but as long as I don't quit, I'll be just fine.

Home Depot, Toilet Seats, and Jim

Today is September 17th. Two years have passed since Jim died. Today's not the magic day. The day when I finally wake up and missing Jim's not the first thing I think of. The day when there aren't a dozen things throughout the day that remind me that he's gone.

So what does this have to do with Home Depot and toilet seats? Yesterday, I made the mistake of going to Home Depot to pick up a new toilet seat for the kids' bathroom. Home Depot was on my way home from a rare appearance at my company's office, so I stopped out of convenience. I hate going in those places - everywhere I turn, I see reminders of Jim. He was more than handy. Christmases were filled with gifts from Home Depot for Jim. I walk around the store with a lump in my throat every time I have to go in there. Unfortunately, toilet seats are in the bath section. The bath section is dominated by Kohler products. Jim worked for International Paper, but was on permanent assignment to Kohler. He was proud of the work he did. IP and Kohler were the best during Jim's illness. I won't buy any products other than Kohler because of that. So there I am in the back of the store, staring at Kohler toilet seats, crying. Obviously, yesterday wasn't the day either.

My mother-in-law passed away earlier this year. Mark and his sisters are in the process of going through the house. There seem to be three piles - keep, sell, toss. It's a painstaking process, but eventually all the physical pieces of each of our lives will be put in one of these piles by those left-behind. Kate had to do that for Jim. It's a disconcerting feeling to walk into a house where a person lived and not see the physical objects of their daily life about. Once someone picks up the shoes of the deceased and puts them in one of the three piles, the person isn't there to leave them by the door anymore. No more coats thrown over the chair, car keys on the window sill, dirty coffee cup by the side of the sink. Eventually, everything is picked up, put away, or tossed. The physical presence of their lives slowly fading away.

I don't have any physical pieces of Jim's life. For a while that bothered me. I mistakenly believed that I needed something physical to hold onto or I'd lose Jim. Over the past two years, I've come to realize that isn't correct. Each of us has different memories of Jim. Objects in my own life bring those memories to mind readily, without the need for a physical object that he actually touched and owned. Yesterday, I had a very strong reaction to toilet seats, yet am fairly certain I wouldn't want Jim's! The important part of Jim's life wasn't the objects, but the memories about Jim interacting with those objects that we carry forward. The objects are flat, while the memories are sharp.

I caught up with an old friend who lost her brother our freshman year in college. She told me that the intense pain never goes away. Eventually it just doesn't consume you. I'm not there yet, but that's okay - she mentioned wishing 10 years would go by in a blink of an eye to get her past the consuming pain. I told Mom on Sunday that I'd much rather have this than be standing there saying "He was a real asshole. I'm glad he's gone." It's a testament to my brother's life that so many people carry his death as a painful loss; that there are so many good memories, and today people other than his own family are remembering what a wonderful person he was.

Hurricane Season

Each year, with regularity, hurricane season arrives. There are many storms that pop up - some stay small and lose steam before they hit our coast. Others threaten, but then fizzle out. A few hit with enough force as to leave major damage in their wake.

This is my hurricane season. The clouds have gathered, rains have begun to fall, storms are building as I head towards September 17th. I look out on the horizon from my own personal lighthouse, wondering which waves might knock me on my ass. Having survived the storms before, I begin to have fears. Things like "Did he know how much I loved him? REALLY KNOW?" I'll be reminded by someone of something Jim said or did, and I panic - "I forgot that. Oh my god, I FORGOT THAT! What else am I forgetting? Am I forgetting him? All I have left are those memories, I can't lose them!"

I know that the intensity of my emotions will ebb like the cycle of the storm. The sun will come out for a while. I'll be able to catch my breath, and prepare for the next one. It's just that during hurricane season, the storms tend to pile one on top of the other, with very little clear sailing weather in between. The crying season has begun.

RIT

Today I took my oldest to RIT. They run a College & Careers program for high school seniors who are interested in the majors they offer. Students get to spend the night in the residence halls, eat at Gracie's (the dining hall), experience a night of on-campus activities, and then go to four break-out sessions where you learn about your choice of four majors or areas of study.

I went on the campus tour with Kirsten. Mainly because she wasn't ready for me to leave her, but also out of curiosity. It's been 22 years since I graduated from RIT and 18 since Jim did. Things were the same, yet very different. As we walked around, I was reminded of my time there and Jim's. We walked right past the spot where this photo was taken. It's one of my favorite photos of Jim and me. I was pregnant with Kirsten and he couldn't resist making fun of my rather large belly. Today I was back at that spot with Kirsten, but no Jim.

I so wanted to call him and tell him how the campus is now. Reminisce about our time there. The gray hairs he gave mom & dad. How he went on co-op, thought "Damn, there's money in this packaging science stuff.", came back and buckled down. I want to laugh with him again. To tease him. To be teased.

Mom came across campus and showed me where the brick I bought in his memory had been placed on the Quarter-Mile. It's nice, but it doesn't make the missing him go away.

Photos of me from the Boilermaker

This was my first 15K race. I did a 10K in May and am working my way up to the Rochester Half-Marathon in September. My chiropractor has a poster of him at the Boilermaker in 2005. It is totally cool, so I ordered one of me.

brightroom event photography - Judi

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Photos of Mark from the Boilermaker

Mark ran his first 5K in Utica. He was pleased with his time considering he was in a crowd of 2000 runners and couldn't really run all out like he can at home.

brightroom event photography - Mark

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Photos of Kirsten from the Boilermaker

Kirsten did the Boilermaker 5K race. Her first 5K.
There aren't any close-ups of her. She's in a gray T-shirt with her hair pulled back in a pony-tail.
brightroom event photography - Kirsten

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Photos from the Boilermaker

In the lobby of our hotel at 6am ready to split into two cars and head to the 15K and 5K starting lines!

Our 5K runners - Melissa, Kirsten, Mark, Justin and Morgan

The 5K runners nicknamed us 15K runners "The Crazy Ones" - Russ, me and Marathon Laura

Okay - so I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. Russ and I held back at the beginning waiting for that brutal hill to appear, but it seems our hills here in Lima are rougher than the one on the Boilermaker route in Utica. It reminded me of a story my Uncle Bob tells about running the Boston marathon. He was running up this hill towards the end of the race and said to the guy next to him "Is this heartbreak hill?" The guy answered back "Yep." My uncle said he knew right then and there, he'd made it, he'd conquered Boston. Once we could see the crest of the 4-mile hill, we knew the rest was going to be cake. We were lucky - it was a cool day, more like May than July. It was nice running weather. I'm sure if it'd been hot, it would've seemed a lot more difficult.

Russ and I hoped to finish in under an 11 minute mile. We ran the first few miles at our 11 min pace, saving some energy for "the hill." But once we figured out at mile 3.5-ish that the hill wasn't as bad as we'd expected, we pushed it and cut a lot off our average time to come in at 10:47 minutes per mile. We ran together the entire race and finished at exactly the same time - 1:40:16 - with a little sprint at the very end. We were very pleased with our time, but now wish we'd pushed it earlier on because the hill wasn't awful. I finished 8,931st out of 10,583 15K runners. And yes, it seemed like that many runners! It took us 7 minutes of walking once the race started to just get to the starting line. There was a lot of dodging around people and trying to squeeze through. I had shin splints for the first few miles because my stride was so funky running in a crowd.

Marathon Laura (who ran the 15K loads faster than us) and the 5K runners were all waiting for us at the end - Mark, Kirsten, Russ's wife and daughter (Melissa and Morgan), and Marathon Laura's husband Justin. By the time us slower 15K runners got to the party, the food was pretty well picked over, but there was beer available and Mark tells me the band was good. I was just so overwhelmed by the crowd that I didn't even notice Nik and the Nice Guys playing! I'm not sure I'd instigate going again, but the rest of the crowd wants to try it again next year, so I'll tag along.

A little note on Laura - Russ met her through the Lima Rotary. She raised money for Rotary International's global initiative of the eradication of Polio - all while running her first marathon in the beautiful city of Paris. Russ introduced her to me. He also has a sister Laura, so he started calling her Marathon Laura, so I'd know who he was talking about. He now calls her Laura from Leroy, but I think Marathon Laura is a much cooler (and well deserved) nickname!

Off to do the impossible

I signed myself up to run the Boilermaker in Utica on Sunday. It is a 15K race (that's 9.3 miles for the metric-challenged in the house.) You'll notice that it's uphill for the first 4 miles, then downhill for 2, up again for another 1.25. The remainder will be cake if I'm still upright. I didn't look at this elevation map before I signed up. If I did, I might have thought twice about it. Although, thinking twice probably wouldn't have stopped me. You see, I've become all about accomplishing what I believe is impossible and gaining control. Well, truth be told, I've always been about being in control, but it's gone off the deep end with running lately.

I saw my job as an older sister to be a bit like a police officer - I was there to serve and protect. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it. I couldn't do the impossible. I couldn't make him better. I couldn't find his cure. I couldn't protect him. That REALLY bothers me. It also makes me realize that no matter how hard I try, I also can't protect my kids, or his kids, or Mark, or my parents, or anyone else I care about. So in my mixed up, control-freak mind, I'm controlling myself - attempting to accomplish physical feats that I would normally consider impossible. Seriously? Run UPHILL for 4 miles and then continue on running for another 5? Run 13.1 miles? Run 26.2 miles? Get real! I get winded carrying the laundry basket up the stairs. But I'm damn sure gonna control SOMETHING and so this my friends is it. So off I go to Utica tomorrow. On Sunday morning at 8am, I'll start up that 4 mile hill, wearing my "Remembering Jim" shirt, trying to convince myself that I'm in control and the impossible can happen.

Still wears you down

Today would've been Jim and Kate's 14th wedding anniversary. I remember it because we got married the same year. It was one heck of a great summer that year. Jaker's 3rd birthday was on the 5th. The "wrongness" of Jim not being here for it, started me in this funk. A whole pan of brownies funk. Yes, it was emotional eating. Every time I took one of those brownies out of the pan, I knew that I was eating because I was sad Jim wasn't here to see Jake turn 3. My funk has lasted right up to today. I'm sad Jim's not here to celebrate his marriage and family with Kate. The brownies are gone, but I will be raising a glass to Jim and Kate tonight, and wiping away the tears. It seems we've all lost someone special, so tonight, join me in raising a glass to remember the one you love. If you're lucky enough to have not lost, raise a glass for my brother and count your blessings.

Death came to my house

Death arrived at my house. He was uninvited, but he barged in the door anyway, just like he did almost two years ago. Like last time, he took away someone who didn't want to go; someone we didn't want to go. His actions forced me to quickly hide within myself, shutting off to keep the emotions from draining every ounce of energy and spirit I've built back up over the past 20 months. Crawling inside myself hasn't helped much - I'm still tired, suffering from the feeling of a hamster running a wheel.

Mark's mom was a wonderful lady. Maybe you can relate to the "what to call the in-laws?" dilemma...Mrs. Kling, Mary, Mom? It was worse for me because I didn't marry her son until three years after Kirsten was born. Mark and I bought a house in March of 1992 and Kirsten was born that June. I vividly remember the first card she sent me after that - it was for my birthday. She signed it "Love, Mom." I cried. For the next 17 years, she was always there for us. We followed each of his sisters by living with her for a time. She opened up her house to us for 6 months while we built our current house. Pretty darn generous to let her son, his wife, and two little kids invade the solitude she'd had for a lot of years. The list of advice and help she's given us matches the length of Santa's "Nice" list.

One Christmas a couple years back, she let me take one of her photo albums and scan the photos for Mark and each of his sisters. I put several of the photos in a collage frame for them as their gift. She was terribly nervous about letting me take it. When I returned the album (pictures EXACTLY as I received them), I had the gifts for Sue and Jo Anne with me to show her. She loved the gifts and was really glad she went against her better judgment and let me take the photos! I'm a big one on memories and am so glad we all have these photos.

Mary and Bill on their wedding day.

I know I can't stay within my cocoon forever. It won't keep me from noticing she's not here anymore; it won't stop the tears from flowing missing her.

Jim's 40th Birthday

Today would have been Jim's 40th birthday. Even though I was only four, I can remember picking him up from the hospital. I wasn't too sure about why it had to come home with us, but it did and it became my little brother. He eventually surpassed me in height and weight, but he remained my little brother whom I adored. Looking back, he certainly was a cute little Italian baby.


The original film is dark for the first 30 seconds or so, but it lightens up. Also I goofed up on the video slightly...when the pictures and sound go away at 3:20, it's done. Unfortunately, I didn't notice that at about 5 minutes the music starts up again, so the video keeps "running."

Lilac 10K

I love May. I've always loved May. My birthday is May 14th and Jimmy's was the 28th. It was a great month to be a kid - lots of cake and presents! When I got older, I realized that the big old lilac in my grandma's yard bloomed in May. It was so fragrant and pretty. The lilacs in Highland Park remind me of when I was young...before I knew about death. So in my journey to run the Disney Marathon in memory of Jimmy, I chose to run the Lilac 10K. Baby steps I figure will get me to 26.2 miles in January of 2011. Today was wonderful. 6.2 miles of cool and sunny; lilacs in full bloom. I teared up a bit along the route thinking about Jimmy and broke into a full blown cry after I finished. I can't imagine what I'll be like at my next step in September when I drag Jimmy's memory along with me for 13.1 miles at the Rochester Half-Marathon. I hope I cross the finish line just like today - hoping he was proud of me...his overweight 44 year-old sister dragging her butt out to do the impossible to honor his memory.

This is the photo on my running shirt.

Pink Ribbon Run

Today I ran the Pink Ribbon 5K Run with my friend Cheryl. Cheryl is a breast cancer survivor. I didn't hesitate a single second when she asked me to run it with her. My neighbor Melissa joined us. We had a great, although chilly, run this morning along the lake shore. There is a section of the run where you are heading up a slight hill - we were blown away by the sea of pink climbing that hill. Survivors, supporters, and, unfortunately, women running for a cure for breast cancer in memory of someone they'd lost. It was an amazing show of strength and will. Next Sunday, I run the Lilac 10K in my brother's memory. But today was about beating the beast. Today, I was running with my friend - a survivor.

Smarty-pants, but not very smart

Okay - I give! I guess I'm not as smart as I envision I am. Over a few beers, I talked my neighbor Russell into being my running partner. He travels for work, so it's more like a weekend check-in/race partner than a daily running partner. His wife, Melissa, used to be my running partner and she thinks Russ and I are the perfect running partners - dedicated, competitive, gadget loving, planners. Plus all my gung-ho, crazy running ideas are now not directed at her. So you can see why she might think this is perfect. My gung-ho, crazy running ideas this time involved the Rochester Half-Marathon in September and then, if I didn't kill myself trying to be a runner, the Disney Marathon in January 2011. Four beers in and I had a reluctant Russell agreeing to both. I handed Russ my Penguin Marathon training book and off we went in separate directions on this great adventure of mine.

Russ did research and found a half-marathon training plan to follow, which involved short and long runs, interval training, and cross-training. He's been following it for quite a few weeks now and is doing great. I was following my own plan of run when I can, throw in an hour of Pilates every week, and just run a little bit farther each time I go out until I'm able to run 13.1 miles.

Yeah, that's turned out to not be such a great plan. Turns out that my "plan" leads to exhaustion and overuse injuries. This I found out on Saturday when Russ and I headed out to the Lehigh Valley Trail for the 7 mile "long run" on his professionally recommended training plan. I've run 7 miles on the treadmill, so I figured this was definitely doable. Hah! This is how it went down...

My sciatic nerve has been bothering me from (I'm self-diagnosing here) sitting in hospital waiting room chairs for five weeks. So we start by walking a half-mile to warm up. Each step sends a pain from my lower back, across my right hip, down my quadricep and into my knee. "Hmm..." I think "I guess I'd better not run *fast*." We start our jog. I, being a "smarty-pants, but not very smart," get right in step with Russ and head out at a minute faster than my normal pace. Good job there Jude. (Now for a little bit of disclosure - When Jimmy and I were training, I was running a 9:30 min/mile. I now run an 11:20 min/mile. I suspect this is because I've spent the last year and a half looking for my brother at the bottom of every bottle of beer, ice cream container, and pan of brownies I encountered. It slows you down carrying an extra 15 pounds of weight around.) About 2 miles in, I decide I really need to slow down. Then at 2.5 miles I decide I really need some water. At 3.0 miles, I'm hoping I can get to the turn around point in another half-mile without keeling over. I offer Russ some water as he turns around and heads back - hoping that he'll take me up on it and I can stop for a minute. I get an "I'm good!" with a little wave. Damn. I turn around and head back. About mile 5, I stop and walk for a tenth of a mile under the excuse of hydration. After all, it is 80 out in April, who would deny me that excuse??? Glug, glug, glug out of my spiffy new water belt (did I mention Russ and I love gadgets?). I start up again and learn that I shouldn't STOP running until I'm DONE running. I limp another .7 miles for a grand total of 5.8 miles and have to walk. I see Russ just jogging along farther into the distance. I walk a half-mile and decide I'll try again to jog the last mile. It's okay if it's slow, just run. Hah! again. As soon as I take a step, my calf muscles yell "CHARLIE HORSE!" Yeah, I'm done. I walk the final mile and a half back to the truck in all the glory of my fallen hubris.

I see Jimmy's smirk, the slight tilt of his head as he shakes it back and forth at me, as if to say "I can't believe you are my older sister and yet so stupid sometimes." So yesterday, I got my Dawn Dias Marathon for Women book down and am using the professionally created 20-week training plan to work myself up to the Rochester half-marathon in September. I started down my new path today with a 4-mile run at an 11:18 min/mile pace in the cold rain. When I finished I felt pretty good. My pants were soaked and cold from the rain, and hopefully a lot more smart than they've been the past few months.

Reminders of love

So, I've been out of circulation for two weeks. Mark's mom fell and, with the exception of a single day in rehab nursing home care a week ago, has been in the hospital for the past two weeks.

I've been looking at, and hearing the sounds of, ghosts for the past two weeks - air compression stockings to push the blood from the legs back up to the heart, snaking IV lines, beeping monitors, grimaces from the face on the pillow. I've had to hear words that strike at the heart - palliative care, terminal, hospice, not a candidate for X. Jumping for news each time the phone rings - will it be good news this time or bad? A step forward, a step back, two steps forward, one step back, two steps back, one step forward...where do we stand today?

I'm going through all this in the present and the past. I hear the compression machine and Jim's lying in the bed. I see the gastro-nasal tube and remember my grandmother. The bruising and arm in the sling brings my other grandmother to my mind. I have fear in the present that is made worse by memories of the past.

I tell funny stories in waiting rooms to pass the time...the incident where I helped Jim to the washroom in the middle of the night and forgot to unplug the monitor from the wall, the lunch he ordered for Mark and me to eat while waiting for his blood transfusion. We laugh. I remember how the ending to those stories didn't turn out so well. Is everyone else remembering that too? Am I helping with the stories or making it worse?

The human body is a complex system. Doctors quote statistics and it's difficult to keep remembering that each individual doesn't become part of those statistical numbers until their story is over. It's a bell curve. Like I did for those in the past, I'll continue to hold out hope that mom will be on the far side of that curve. They call it denying statistics. I call it love.

Does he know?

Does he know that everyday I still miss him? I told him I would before he died, but does he know now that he's gone?
Does he know that today I got on Mark's bike trainer, looked to the shelves on the side, saw one of his tools in a case on which he'd written MARVENTANO, and I cried?
Does he know just how much of a space he had in my life? I sure didn't until he was gone. He was just Jim and I was just Judi, and we just were.
Now I'm just Judi, and I wonder...is he out there somewhere being just Jim, and does he know about the space?

Dear Jimmy

Well, after a year and 4 months, I've come to the conclusion that ice cream and cookies aren't a very good substitute for your phone calls. All I've gotten out of the deal is 15 extra pounds on my 5'2" frame. I'm beginning to resemble my Italian heritage!

I read a really funny book called "The Nonrunner's Marathon Guide for Women: Get Off Your Butt and On with Your Training" by Dawn Dais. It was hysterical and motivated me to, well, get off my butt and get on with my training! I've tried to get other people to run a marathon with me, including your wife, but they all sort of politely blow me off. So I guess it's just you and me bro. Strap on those running shoes, because we're going to do the Rochester half-marathon this September and then we're going to try and get a spot in the Disney marathon. That's 26.2 miles - I certainly hope you're up to it. Lord knows, I'm going to need your support as my natural state is lazy-ass. You'll remember that my "sport" of choice in high school was cheerleading. And that was when the word was literal - leading cheers. None of this back flip, jump from the top of a ten-person pyramid shit.

I picked the Disney marathon for us because the metal is totally cool - it's of Mickey Mouse. Doesn't that just seem like a metal we'd want? I can see us now: "Yeah, we're bad asses. We ran a MARATHON! Here's our Mickey Mouse metal to prove it!" as we laugh about how funny the Mickey metal is. Plus that's the one I was trying to talk you into training for before you got sick. You had what I thought was an excuse about being too tired. I'm sorry that I didn't realize it was more than just having a brand new baby. Kirsten is going to design me a T-shirt with your MyFaceBig on it to run in.

Mom bought me a new MP3 player for Christmas for us to listen to as we run an insane amount of miles. I put some Pearl Jam, Linkin' Park, and Nickelback on it. Probably not your favorites, but Mark says he believes the "angst" music helps me run out my anger. (And I'm still pretty angry.) But don't worry, I've got some pop-y stuff on there for you too - Katy Perry's Hot and Cold, The Racontours' Steady as She Goes, and Fergie's Glamorous. Oh and the Dixie Chicks! "Jude - who the hell is this???" :-)

I'm already up to 5.5 miles and can run/jog 72 minutes without my lungs or legs exploding, so if you need to hang back a bit to catch up to me it's okay. Just float along side and keep me company. You can chat at me - I don't mind. My thoughts are usually filled with you when I run anyways. It'd be nice to hear your voice.

I miss you lots and lots.
Love - Jude

Poetry

So I'm not a poet. I hate poetry. I just don't get it. It's annoying. This, however, was there when I woke up this morning. It was just all there in my head. It was like I was listening to someone else say the words over and over again until I got up and wrote it down. I've been dreaming very strange dreams lately. This I believe was my dreams that spilled over into my waking consciousness. Oh...and one last thing. I read Sarah's Key - a very good, very upsetting book about Jewish children in France during WWII. Perhaps my choice of reading material needs to be lighter.

Two worlds collide.
As nature tries to push them apart,
Love builds a house between the two worlds.
Bricks and mortar span the gap.
Nature rests.
Small ones exist between the two worlds as if it's one.
People forget...
Two different worlds.

An explosion.
She is knocked unconscious.
When she wakes, she is surrounded by rubble.
She tries to move.
Pain.
So much pain.
She steadies herself.
Looks around.

There are others.
She hears them, but dares not look.
She scans the world around her for shelter.
The house still stands.
She sees it has been knocked off its foundation.
Pushed back slightly from her world.
But it stands!
Its lights are dim.

She begins to walk towards the house.
She hears the others follow.
She knocks tentatively at the door.
A woman peeks out of the window, but does not answer.
Curtains are still as if the woman was never there.
She knocks again.
Louder this time.
The woman still does not answer.

She peeks in the window.
She see the mirrors are draped in black.
She summons her strength.
She calls the woman's name.
The air moves slightly.
The woman pulls back the door.
The woman gasps,
Recoils in horror.

She asks if they can come in.
She and the others.
Away from the devastation in their world.
The woman says "No."
"Please" she says, "It's cold and dark."
"I'm sorry" says the woman, "I can't."
The woman softly closes the door.
She hears the click of the lock, and what she believes are sobs.

Her tears fall.
She hears them behind her.
They are whispering to her.
"What did the woman say?"
She wipes her tears and turns to face them.
She averts her eyes from their faces to keep from crying.
The woman said "No."
"Why?" they whisper.

She sighs.
"I don't know" she says, "I'm sorry."
She looks up, into their eyes.
She sees the indescribable pain.
She wants to recoil. She understands.
She straightens up despite her wounds.
"Come" she says, "I will find us shelter."
They take her hands.

They turn to walk away.
They hear the ground move.
They look back to see the house shift.
Just a bit farther away from their world.
They hesitate.
She tugs at their hands.
She says "We'll come back. I promise."
They turn and walk with her.

She is all they have left.

Oh my gosh! I did my job.

I can't believe it. I've spent the last 16 1/2 years flailing around trying to figure out how to raise a "good kid." There are those absolute rare times in the life of a parent when you hear your child say to someone "Thank you very much." without you needing to smack them in the back of the head to force the words out their mouth. But for the most part, you get very little feedback and are down on your knees praying most of the time you've done something...anything...to raise them right.

So I was thrilled this weekend when my daughter finished reading a book that she'd also seen the movie, and she said to Mark and me "The book was just so much better! There was so much detail that wasn't in the movie." Then we proceeded to have a wonderful (although short) discussion about the advantages of books over movies.

Holy cow! In a world of instant 24/7 electronic short-attention-span entertainment, I raised a READER. I'm ecstatic - books will take my "baby" places that a non-reader never gets to go. They will help her develop thoughts and opinions some people don't even know are available to them.

When I look back, I am so impressed again
with the life-giving power of literature.
If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of
myself in the world, I would do that again by reading,
just as I did when I was young.
~ Maya Angelou ~

Life is good today. I think I'll sit back with my feet up for a little bit. Tomorrow we'll start worrying about the Spring SATs.

Nicknames?

Did you have a nickname for Jimmy? I'm going to have a technical running shirt customized to wear during races. My idea is to have "MyHeadBig" (you'll find it on this blog) laid on top of the colon cancer blue ribbon. The words Remembering Jim above his head, then "Marvelous" Marventano below. Around it, Kate and I thought it would be neat to put the names everyone called him. So far, we have:

Lambchop
Daddy
Jimmy
Uncle Jim
Jim Bo
Bo
James Robert
Ojibwa
Jimmers

If you've got other nicknames, please post. I'd like to include them. When I'm done, I'll post the graphic for all to see. Thanks!!!

Why me?

I watched the Barbara Walters special last night with her interview of Patrick Swayze. Cancer patients and their families need support. Often we find comfort in the stories of other patients and their families. How are they coping? What are their treatments? What are their feelings? It's all part of not wanting to face the beast alone. I don't remember the exact question Barbara asked Patrick, but I do remember a paraphrasing of his answer "Yes I get angry. Yes I ask WHY ME?!"

I struggle with that a lot. Not necessarily, why me, but why Jim, why us? Cancer doesn't just affect the patient - everyone who loves the patient is in the battle. And then, if or when cancer finally takes the patient, everyone who loves the patient is still left battling the aftermath of the beast. Trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered life.

Kate told me about a book - it's all quotes of people summing up their lives in six words. She asked friends what their six words would be. Mine came to me very quickly "I played it by the rules." I played it by the rules...I played it by the rules...

I've always been a rule-follower. I discovered very early that if I learned what expectations were and I beat them, praise followed. Here's documented proof from 1973 -

I have a stack of these things from my childhood. Plus more awards once I got in high school. I went to church and fully participated in the youth group for YEARS. I didn't do drugs. Once I started working, my performance reviews were always outstanding. I was like Pavlov's dogs - work hard, pat on the back, Judi salivates. My life is jam packed full of reaching for perfection.

Which leads to "And what did it get me?" What did it get me? What the hell did it get me!

Following the rules, didn't keep my brother from getting and dying from colon cancer. Which makes all those years looking for my next "kudos fix" look like such a waste of time. Religion didn't help either. But having read the bible all the way through several times (my childhood best friend was the minister's daughter) and looking at the state of affairs in the world then and now, I don't know why I thought it would have helped. They definitely clean God all up for Sunday School.

I wish I could go back to believing that life is simple - you follow the rules, good things happen. I want to take all my "Good Guy" coupons from the 2nd grade and trade them in exchange for a cure for cancer. Then I want to take all the effort I put in over the years trying to get those pats on the back for a job well done, and exchange it for a time machine. I want to load up the machine with cancer patients including Jim and transport them to the cure.

Life isn't simple...or fair, for a lot of people. I'd venture to guess that it isn't fair for a good majority of people. I can't change my past focus and efforts, but I can alter my behavior going forward. Instead of trying to be perfect, I think from now on I'll focus my energy on letting those I care about know that I love them. I was lucky - Jim knew I loved him. And in the end, that really was all that mattered.