We had a house-warming party this weekend. I was tempted to call it a "nosy-neighbor" party, as it started out as a time for our wonderful Lane neighbors to see the house that enticed us away from them, and has given my husband the lowest stress level he's had in ten years. But then Mark invited his co-workers and I thought they might be offended being called nosy, so it just became an Open House.
One of Mark's friends stopped by several hours before the start of the party to visit. This gentleman is a cancer-lottery-winner - just hitting his 5-year NED. His odds of beating his cancer were slim. He went through hell with his treatments. As Mark used to tell me of his friend's time in the hospital, it reminded me of Lance Armstrong's odds and struggle. It was long and arduous. I'm always both happy and sad when someone hits the cancer NED jackpot. It's so difficult to do with many cancers, that you are thrilled when someone beats back the beast. But at the same time, it makes me terribly sad that Jim wasn't so lucky. Mark's friend still struggles with various ailments, and he was sharing with us that he had limited motion in his knee. You can see it pains him and, despite his best efforts, is a hindrance to what he wants to do. At the end of our conversation, he summed up "But it's better than cancer." Yes indeed.
I used to have aches and pains and think "I made it through childbirth. This is nothing." Now my measuring stick is cancer. Nothing that happens to me is as bad as Jim's cancer. No fear I have comes anywhere close to the fear of dying and leaving your spouse and small children alone. No pain I have running is anywhere close to the pain Jim struggled with during treatment and then palliative care. My yardstick these days is much longer than 36 inches.
I am truly thankful for what I have in life. And all the shit that inevitably comes our way day-to-day? Mark's friend said it best "It's better than cancer."
Monday, November 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Everyday
I bought myself the keychain shown in this photo:
Not because I need reminding that I miss Jim everyday, but to remind others that I do. I know that the reminder makes people uncomfortable. People who haven't ever had a loss like this want a Hollywood movie ending. The hole left in our lives by Jim's death doesn't ever get any smaller, and I suspect this is very uncomfortable for them. It makes them fearful, impatient, perplexed. There must be something wrong with "us" - because if that ever happened to them, they can't imagine grieving for "so long." But those who've lost...they understand. They know it never goes away. The grief becomes a part of your being. It's there when you wake up in the morning. It pops from your heart into your head throughout the day. It lies down to sleep with you at night. You might not be crying all the time and you might be able to talk about the one you lost without that lump in your throat, but the "missing" is always there.
I bought my parents each a similar keychain. They say "Everyday I miss my son." Kirsten got one that says "Everyday I miss my uncle." I wanted them to know that I know it's there with them everyday. Jim's death changed us all - forever. It won't ever be the same. I understand and I love them.
Not because I need reminding that I miss Jim everyday, but to remind others that I do. I know that the reminder makes people uncomfortable. People who haven't ever had a loss like this want a Hollywood movie ending. The hole left in our lives by Jim's death doesn't ever get any smaller, and I suspect this is very uncomfortable for them. It makes them fearful, impatient, perplexed. There must be something wrong with "us" - because if that ever happened to them, they can't imagine grieving for "so long." But those who've lost...they understand. They know it never goes away. The grief becomes a part of your being. It's there when you wake up in the morning. It pops from your heart into your head throughout the day. It lies down to sleep with you at night. You might not be crying all the time and you might be able to talk about the one you lost without that lump in your throat, but the "missing" is always there.
I bought my parents each a similar keychain. They say "Everyday I miss my son." Kirsten got one that says "Everyday I miss my uncle." I wanted them to know that I know it's there with them everyday. Jim's death changed us all - forever. It won't ever be the same. I understand and I love them.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Small but mighty
Most often my Judester blog posts are about how sad I am and how much I still miss my brother. Mainly because it helps my mental state to get those feelings out. Today though, I want to share something good about my life. I want to talk about Melissa. Regular readers of The Judester might remember Melissa as my original "I won't be fat and forty" walking, then jogging, partner. But over past few the years, she's become so much more than that.
In 2005, Melissa and I set out to lose some weight and get healthy. Despite an open invitation to all the middle age women in the neighborhood, Melissa was the only one willing to brave the 'hood's winter winds with me. We walked and ran together for over a year. Then Jim was diagnosed with cancer and my running became sporadic. Melissa didn't mind sporadic, and she was always there to head out with me during the year Jim was ill to "get the cobwebs out" and relieve some stress. I really needed our talks. Then Jim died and my sporadic running became non-existent. After many months of inactivity, Spring sprung and I knew I needed to get out there again. I was sad and unhealthy. Melissa was there to go with me. But something was different with me this time. I was driven with some crazy ideas - like I wanted to run a half-marathon; I wanted to run a marathon; I wanted to push myself farther and not just for the T-shirts this time around. That really wasn't Melissa's thing, but she didn't abandon me. Instead, she offered up her husband who had just taken up running! I believe her general sentiment was "Here - he's got just as crazy running ideas as you do! Have fun with that."
And so off Russell and I went in search of the best middle-age, newbie running experiences - training, gear, races, you name it. Now, here I'd like to pause and say Melissa is one smart cookie. She continued to run. She'd go with us when it suited her, but she's a solo runner. In the early years, she would constantly shoo me, saying "Okay Judith, you need to stop talking now and leave me alone to run." I suspect Russell gabbed at her just like I did when they ran together. He also had the same crazy running ideas I did about the best training plan, the best gear, etc... So by foisting him off on me, she took the heat off of her at home. She could continue to run casually and when he would talk to her about pushing farther, she'd say "Oh go take those crazy ideas to Judith!"
The thing about hanging around crazy people is it's contagious. This Sunday, Melissa will join Russ and me to run her first half-marathon. She's going to kick ass. I'm so excited for her. She bought herself a running necklace that has two charms on it - one says "Believe." The other says "13.1." She bought one for me too. Mine says "Small but mighty."
It is perfect and means more to me than just running. I recently wrote how the month of May seemed too big for just me. I'm now wearing my necklace to remind myself that I may feel small, but I am mighty. I was smaller than Jim in stature, but I was his big sister. I couldn't cure his cancer, but my small shoulders helped carry some of his burden during his illness. I was mighty in heart and love. The month of May still seems too big for just me, but I although I might not be able to fill the space on my own, I'm mighty enough to handle the emptiness. So with much love, I say "Thank you" to my friend Melissa.
In 2005, Melissa and I set out to lose some weight and get healthy. Despite an open invitation to all the middle age women in the neighborhood, Melissa was the only one willing to brave the 'hood's winter winds with me. We walked and ran together for over a year. Then Jim was diagnosed with cancer and my running became sporadic. Melissa didn't mind sporadic, and she was always there to head out with me during the year Jim was ill to "get the cobwebs out" and relieve some stress. I really needed our talks. Then Jim died and my sporadic running became non-existent. After many months of inactivity, Spring sprung and I knew I needed to get out there again. I was sad and unhealthy. Melissa was there to go with me. But something was different with me this time. I was driven with some crazy ideas - like I wanted to run a half-marathon; I wanted to run a marathon; I wanted to push myself farther and not just for the T-shirts this time around. That really wasn't Melissa's thing, but she didn't abandon me. Instead, she offered up her husband who had just taken up running! I believe her general sentiment was "Here - he's got just as crazy running ideas as you do! Have fun with that."
And so off Russell and I went in search of the best middle-age, newbie running experiences - training, gear, races, you name it. Now, here I'd like to pause and say Melissa is one smart cookie. She continued to run. She'd go with us when it suited her, but she's a solo runner. In the early years, she would constantly shoo me, saying "Okay Judith, you need to stop talking now and leave me alone to run." I suspect Russell gabbed at her just like I did when they ran together. He also had the same crazy running ideas I did about the best training plan, the best gear, etc... So by foisting him off on me, she took the heat off of her at home. She could continue to run casually and when he would talk to her about pushing farther, she'd say "Oh go take those crazy ideas to Judith!"
The thing about hanging around crazy people is it's contagious. This Sunday, Melissa will join Russ and me to run her first half-marathon. She's going to kick ass. I'm so excited for her. She bought herself a running necklace that has two charms on it - one says "Believe." The other says "13.1." She bought one for me too. Mine says "Small but mighty."
It is perfect and means more to me than just running. I recently wrote how the month of May seemed too big for just me. I'm now wearing my necklace to remind myself that I may feel small, but I am mighty. I was smaller than Jim in stature, but I was his big sister. I couldn't cure his cancer, but my small shoulders helped carry some of his burden during his illness. I was mighty in heart and love. The month of May still seems too big for just me, but I although I might not be able to fill the space on my own, I'm mighty enough to handle the emptiness. So with much love, I say "Thank you" to my friend Melissa.
Friday, April 09, 2010
The month of May
Well, here we are at the beginning of April and my dread of the month of May has already begun. I absolutely loved May as a kid. We ended April with Dad and Grandma's birthday on the 30th (that's her in the picture). Then it was my turn on May 14th. My cousin Susan had her birthday on the 20th, and Jimmy closed out the month with his birthday on the 28th. It was a fantastic month of birthday cakes and presents. Jimmy's birthday, being at the end of the month, usually involved a barbecue outside and summer time presents. I remember the year he turned 3, he got one of those plastic pools with a little slide. They put a little water in it so Jimmy could reach over the side and play. I, being the big sister, wanted to use the slide, but it was too cold to actually be in a bathing suit and get in the water. So against mom's wishes, up and down the slide I went, carefully standing up at the bottom of the slide, making sure I didn't get wet and incur mom's wrath. Yeah, that didn't work out so well and I incurred her wrath. He also got a red wagon that year. It was bigger than mine and my cousin Susan pulled him around the yard in it. I was very jealous. Funny the things you remember.
Jimmy and I shared May. It was ours. I got the first half, he got the second. I don't like having the entire month to myself. May feels empty now - too big for just me. Without Jim to close out the month, all the other dates that made May such a big deal seem small and lonely. I don't want to celebrate my birthday anymore as it reminds me that we won't be celebrating Jim's. I want my birthday to pass quickly and silently by.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Cancer wiped away my ability to be rational and reasoned
Mark's been having a bit of back pain the past month or so. Can't get comfortable in any position. But it came and went, and was gone more than it was there, so he tried to bear it. Nagging wife said "You know, this really bothers you. You should go see your doctor." Well, he didn't and he stopped complaining, so I thought "Must've gone away."
Yesterday, I got the phone call "Hi. I've got blood in my urine. I'm getting a bite to eat and then heading for a CT scan." He got to blood in my urine and my head screamed CANCER CANCER CANCER. He continued on..."They think it's a kidney stone." My head continued to scream CANCER CANCER CANCER. Then I started arguing with myself. He's young, of course they think it's a kidney stone. CANCER CANCER CANCER. It's just a kidney stone - stop being ridiculous. CANCER CANCER CANCER. This went on until they called to say it was a kidney stone. At which point, Mark fessed up that his head was whispering CANCER CANCER CANCER at him too.
Cancer did that to us. It took away our ability for reason because it seems to defy reason. It took away our willingness to go with a likely scenario because it's so random and unexpected. It still paralyzes our hearts with fear. It wasn't cancer this time, but I'm unable to stop wondering "When and where will the beast strike next?" Cancer truly sucks.
Yesterday, I got the phone call "Hi. I've got blood in my urine. I'm getting a bite to eat and then heading for a CT scan." He got to blood in my urine and my head screamed CANCER CANCER CANCER. He continued on..."They think it's a kidney stone." My head continued to scream CANCER CANCER CANCER. Then I started arguing with myself. He's young, of course they think it's a kidney stone. CANCER CANCER CANCER. It's just a kidney stone - stop being ridiculous. CANCER CANCER CANCER. This went on until they called to say it was a kidney stone. At which point, Mark fessed up that his head was whispering CANCER CANCER CANCER at him too.
Cancer did that to us. It took away our ability for reason because it seems to defy reason. It took away our willingness to go with a likely scenario because it's so random and unexpected. It still paralyzes our hearts with fear. It wasn't cancer this time, but I'm unable to stop wondering "When and where will the beast strike next?" Cancer truly sucks.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Bravery
What exactly is bravery? The dictionary tells me that it's courage in the face of danger, difficulty, or pain. But I think the definition needs to go a bit farther than that. I'm willing to bet that most of us are brave in the sense that we'd run in a burning building to save our kid. I'm even brave enough to offer to undergo a very painful surgery to give my sibling a portion of my liver. All very brave, spectacular, things...but I think there's more...an every day bravery. The kind of bravery that pushes you out of your comfort zone; has you seek out new experiences. I don't think the Marventano clan has that. We're a very "in-our-comfort-zone, play-it-safe" kind of crew. I believe that's why Jim married Kate. Kate is one of the most "every-day" brave people I've met. From what I saw, Jim gave Kate a comfort zone and Kate took Jim out of his.
When the end was in sight, Jim and Kate had to discuss some difficult topics. One of them, which she put on her blog, was the issue of marrying again. Jim said he probably wouldn't marry again if the positions were reversed. I think probably what Jim was saying was that he wouldn't seek to go outside his comfort zone to date and marry again. I've watched Kate begin to date again, and I have to say that it is a true act of bravery. I can only imagine the pain and difficulty of that act. She didn't stop loving her husband, but yet she is trying to forge a relationship with another. I'm not sure I could attempt it. I don't know if I'm that brave.
Which leads me to a question I've been asking myself lately - "Am I making my children comfort-zone people?" Mark desperately wants some land. We both would love to move out of NYS. And yet, I'm unwilling to move my kids out of their school district and away from their friends. Jim and I went to the same school district for all but my Kindergarten year. We both have lifelong friends from our school years. Everyone I know who moved around a lot as a kid, tells me they hated it. They hated being the new kid and don't have those friendships from youth. But yet, I believe that's what makes them have that "everyday bravery" that I don't have. I both admire and fear that bravery. I'm just pretty sure I don't have it.
When the end was in sight, Jim and Kate had to discuss some difficult topics. One of them, which she put on her blog, was the issue of marrying again. Jim said he probably wouldn't marry again if the positions were reversed. I think probably what Jim was saying was that he wouldn't seek to go outside his comfort zone to date and marry again. I've watched Kate begin to date again, and I have to say that it is a true act of bravery. I can only imagine the pain and difficulty of that act. She didn't stop loving her husband, but yet she is trying to forge a relationship with another. I'm not sure I could attempt it. I don't know if I'm that brave.
Which leads me to a question I've been asking myself lately - "Am I making my children comfort-zone people?" Mark desperately wants some land. We both would love to move out of NYS. And yet, I'm unwilling to move my kids out of their school district and away from their friends. Jim and I went to the same school district for all but my Kindergarten year. We both have lifelong friends from our school years. Everyone I know who moved around a lot as a kid, tells me they hated it. They hated being the new kid and don't have those friendships from youth. But yet, I believe that's what makes them have that "everyday bravery" that I don't have. I both admire and fear that bravery. I'm just pretty sure I don't have it.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Off I go into 2010
So here I am at the beginning of another year. I ran 900.3 miles in 2009. I walked 130.9 miles. (I'm a gadget gal and love my Garmin GPS watch.) In energy expenditure that's about 103,000 calories...what I'd need to lose 30 pounds. Yet, I'm 4 pounds heavier than the beginning of last year. Hmmmm...I guess I haven't done so well avoiding emotional eating. So I decided that in 2010, I'll keep a health journal. I started writing on the first. I've decided to record what I eat, the exercise I do, and how I feel - physically & emotionally. The next morning, I'll read the previous day's entries and give myself kudos for good choices and figure out why I made bad ones. Then I'll move forward with my day, trying to do better.
I started 2010 with a 7.5 mile race in Mendon Ponds Park. A hilly course that my running partner Russ and I pushed to do at a 10:30 pace. Good choice. I made pretty good food choices too. We celebrate Christmas with Mark's sisters. I took a small plate at dinner, had seconds of salad instead of lasagna. Again good choices. I also had four glasses of wine. FOUR glasses. Upon reflection, that seems a little excessive and more than I remember others drinking. So why did I do it? Why did I drink four glasses of wine? Because when I'm with Mark and his sisters I get sad. I miss Jim. I drank to stay in the game so to speak. While I had a glass of wine in my hand, I could be involved and not curl up on the end of the couch feeling sorry for myself. I'm not sure if that was a good choice, a bad choice, or just a choice.
Christmas just sucked. I hated that Jim wasn't there with Kate and the kids. That they all woke up Christmas morning without him. He didn't get to sit with Kate on the couch and watch the kids open their gifts from Santa. Kate didn't get to share their excitement with him, and Rach & Jake weren't able to run to him and show him what they'd just opened. It bugs me every day that he's not there to walk Rachel to school; not there to help build a race track for Jake's matchbox cars. But I have to learn how to not eat my way through the sadness, and that's what I'll try to learn this year.
I started 2010 with a 7.5 mile race in Mendon Ponds Park. A hilly course that my running partner Russ and I pushed to do at a 10:30 pace. Good choice. I made pretty good food choices too. We celebrate Christmas with Mark's sisters. I took a small plate at dinner, had seconds of salad instead of lasagna. Again good choices. I also had four glasses of wine. FOUR glasses. Upon reflection, that seems a little excessive and more than I remember others drinking. So why did I do it? Why did I drink four glasses of wine? Because when I'm with Mark and his sisters I get sad. I miss Jim. I drank to stay in the game so to speak. While I had a glass of wine in my hand, I could be involved and not curl up on the end of the couch feeling sorry for myself. I'm not sure if that was a good choice, a bad choice, or just a choice.
Christmas just sucked. I hated that Jim wasn't there with Kate and the kids. That they all woke up Christmas morning without him. He didn't get to sit with Kate on the couch and watch the kids open their gifts from Santa. Kate didn't get to share their excitement with him, and Rach & Jake weren't able to run to him and show him what they'd just opened. It bugs me every day that he's not there to walk Rachel to school; not there to help build a race track for Jake's matchbox cars. But I have to learn how to not eat my way through the sadness, and that's what I'll try to learn this year.
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