tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37746284035134215562024-03-14T07:57:25.258-04:00Mama Deak SpeaksI write because it reminds me of where I've been and gives light to my current path. I run because it keeps me moving forward. And I welcome you here because I believe it's through community that we truly find God's grace in the midst of our struggles.Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-83987500402521239462023-11-22T23:42:00.000-05:002023-11-22T23:42:09.461-05:00Thinking About Fifty Years<p>There's nothing quite like burying a 50-year time capsule to get you thinking about the big stuff.</p><p>Life.</p><p>Death.</p><p>Legacy.</p><p>What am I doing here and does it even really matter?</p><p>On Sunday, as part of our church's 300th anniversary celebration members of our congregation wrote personal stories and notes on colorful slips of paper. We then placed them in a time capsule with the intention of having it opened by our church's members in 2073. </p><p>Admittedly, the idea of 2073 sent my mind wandering.</p><p>Thoughts of climate catastrophes and natural disasters settled in first. Is there any way that this spot where we are burying this time capsule right now will still hold it safely in 50 years? </p><p>I hope so, was the honest answer playing in my mind as I looked at my 13-year old son sitting next to his cousins.</p><p>It was surreal periodically catching his eye as we moved through the service. The math of 50 years is unmistakable. Fifty years ago my parents were not even married yet. Fifty years from now these two people who have given so much to our church community won't be here to reopen that time capsule.</p><p>From my position up front with the praise band there were many times when I felt the tears well up as I looked out over the room of people who have been so impactful in my life. And as I felt the presence of those now gone who once occupied those church pews.</p><p>There is something deeply powerful about the way we are all connected through time and space.</p><p>I kept reminding myself to fully take in the moment, almost as if pinching myself in order to embrace the beauty of what we were doing there together.</p><p>During our service, as members came forward to place their personal notes in the time capsule we sang From the Inside Out by Hillsong United. The chorus felt particularly poignant.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Everlasting<br /></i><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Your Light will shine when all else fades</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Never ending<br />Your Glory goes beyond all fame</i><br /><i>And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise</i><br /><i>From the inside out</i><br /><i>Lord, my soul cries out</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I watched everyone bring forward a piece of their own story and place it into the capsule, I thought about the many special moments I had experienced within this congregation over my lifetime. It was like a beautiful movie playing with too many supporting characters to count - so many distinct puzzle pieces coming together in beautiful community.</div></div><p>On my own paper, I wrote about Joe's death and how that led me to partner with my mom and others to bring the GriefShare program to our church. There have been hundreds of people who have found care and support in that space we created over these last 12 years. Joe's death was awful, but what a legacy it is that God took that worst moment in my life to speak to the worst moments of so many others. </p><p>Outside at the end of our church service, we gathered around and sang Great Is Thy Faithfulness as my nephew placed the capsule in the ground. Later that afternoon, my son and his Confirmation Class helped shovel the dirt on top of it, burying all that we had poured into those notes for the next 50 years.</p><p>My son and his classmates will be 63 years old.</p><p>If I am still alive I will be 95. I thought of this as I looked at the older members of my church and imagined myself in their shoes. I hope my life is held to be even a fraction as faithful and impactful as I have known theirs to be.</p><p>The reality is that many members of our current church congregation will have died by the time that capsule is reopened. That's tough to swallow, but if there is any lesson to be taken in from the 300 years of our church's existence, it is that a legacy built on following God endures. Things may look different 50 years from now in ways that we cannot even imagine today, but I believe in God's love and the power of community to meet that moment.</p><p>What a special gift it will be for the members of our future church to read the stories of the church of 2023. Fifty years from now, much will likely have faded, but the assurance that God's light is everlasting and that a new generation will be able to have their souls cry out encourages me beyond words.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sEQDn80PutawZ9YZpPqHCwAOZ3Hp3ui54W9swsz9Naww4PVlLBVNrV7bKPwLf_zgLz2sswfjK-Q-UVqAwZ5LtDOpIfvxQQC9WzW86TBjXKrZzA6QREYg_-6rlor85QU1xxg7Q7yvnczmTqdgaz8I7sHqWoAhBDW3-_cZZppICNDg1lNwShc7SVRmSBC5/s4032/IMG_8998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sEQDn80PutawZ9YZpPqHCwAOZ3Hp3ui54W9swsz9Naww4PVlLBVNrV7bKPwLf_zgLz2sswfjK-Q-UVqAwZ5LtDOpIfvxQQC9WzW86TBjXKrZzA6QREYg_-6rlor85QU1xxg7Q7yvnczmTqdgaz8I7sHqWoAhBDW3-_cZZppICNDg1lNwShc7SVRmSBC5/s320/IMG_8998.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cx8q9jbVXWKBdhA9juJ7yryYjdrfMiohbTjpsf_j0hMKuW8pV_Bl7AehHS9gATraGihI1fegnaCe83SrdpAe7EuDjCl2LjUIQIx5J8fOaZjF4IQ5scHdhqiUYx21kVsIobLGUg79u0XH2CYCUNiyln4VXbbV-0PG7st0z3zIxV9DnSHZJA6aZSlxvicy/s4032/IMG_8994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cx8q9jbVXWKBdhA9juJ7yryYjdrfMiohbTjpsf_j0hMKuW8pV_Bl7AehHS9gATraGihI1fegnaCe83SrdpAe7EuDjCl2LjUIQIx5J8fOaZjF4IQ5scHdhqiUYx21kVsIobLGUg79u0XH2CYCUNiyln4VXbbV-0PG7st0z3zIxV9DnSHZJA6aZSlxvicy/s320/IMG_8994.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-31665537819492791482023-01-22T00:25:00.001-05:002023-01-22T00:30:57.787-05:00Three Hundred Years is a Big Cloud of Witnesses<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;"><span style="color: white;"><br />It’s January 21, 2023 and today my church - Kingston Presbyterian - celebrated 300 years as an established faith community. For the last 45 years of those 300, this has been my church community and for the last 100+ years, it has been the church community of my extended family. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">My </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: left;">soul is filled as I think back over all KPC has meant to me and my family over a century of seeking God, doing justice, and loving mercy. It hasn’t always been perfect or happy and there have been plenty of bumps and bruises along the way, but I have learned to love God, love others, and do things I never imagined I could do - all within this small community rooted in God’s love.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;">So many significant parts of my childhood and teen years reside within and outside the four walls of our church building. There were youth group sleepovers where we played games like hide and seek and capture the flag - and where we rarely ever actually slept. </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: left;">I learned to serve with others at our work camps in Maine and had fun at Vacation Bible School. T</span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;">here were musicals like Jonah and Christmas pageants galore. We grew closer to God and each other through weekend retreats to Lake Champion and camping at the Creation Music Festival. I learned to play hand bells and even found a space in our praise band. Through this faith community, I have made some of my most precious friends.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;"><span style="color: white;">At KPC, I grew up marking most Easter mornings with a sunrise service at Lake Carnegie in Princeton, a tradition I enjoy now with my own son. For as long as I can remember Christmas Eve has meant the beauty of Silent Night by candlelight and a new ornament for our tree. These special moments and many others like them didn’t just happen spontaneously. They were tended with love by the many faithful witnesses in our congregation - some who are still with us and many more who are not.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;"><span style="color: white;">KPC was the first true intergenerational community I came to know and a space that has been full of encouragers and role models over the years. It is where I was baptized and then, 32 years later, my own son was baptized. It is where I gained the confidence to speak in public and to take on leadership roles at a young age. It is where I was supported in trying new things and venturing out beyond my comfort zone. What a privilege that I have also been able to witness the same encouragement shown to my son and to so many others over the years.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: start;"><span style="color: white;">This church is the community that surrounded me with endless practical support, love, and prayers when our young family experienced the crushing loss of my husband Joe. They wept with us, cared for us, and encouraged me to continue turning to God with all of the pain I held. I am forever grateful for those who shared their own stories of grief, love, and resilience during that time. Miraculously, this church is also where that deep loss has transformed into the ability to support so many other people who are grieving the death of a loved one through our church's now 10 year old GriefShare ministry. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: start;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">As we gathered today as a church community, I marveled at the way that we each impact one another, sometimes in ways that we never even understand or could possibly foresee. A gift that I had forgotten about giving holds a place of prominence for the person who received it. The care of a beloved church member in meticulously recording the details of past church events brings joy and laughter even years after her death. The "painting genes" of a great grandparent gently reveal themselves in the effort of her great-grandson.</span></div><span style="color: white; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-size: 17px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IhbmnS-4wTDpF9m4JBMAYDOzrbjbc8Lu3I5pGvSNdxbuETa9gLDm1kOVEuVRJ3jNZ8lLMvYKBf2lxN8THRPP14m4tK868L5DKCjqGl_5B09imZrKa4MfsMeM32itUZYb1GwRB0ohngQxVhfhTxKM8x4wnc4QIMxSb-fsvH62bJDzn2603j_FTfwlZg/s4032/IMG_6536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IhbmnS-4wTDpF9m4JBMAYDOzrbjbc8Lu3I5pGvSNdxbuETa9gLDm1kOVEuVRJ3jNZ8lLMvYKBf2lxN8THRPP14m4tK868L5DKCjqGl_5B09imZrKa4MfsMeM32itUZYb1GwRB0ohngQxVhfhTxKM8x4wnc4QIMxSb-fsvH62bJDzn2603j_FTfwlZg/s320/IMG_6536.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebration Lunch at KPC 1/21/2023</td></tr></tbody></table></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="background-color: #990000; font-size: 17px;">This is the beauty of community - that together we are better and stronger than any one of us separately and that there is tremendous power when we follow those gentle nudgings of God's voice. Today I am thankful for the cloud of witnesses that has made Kingston Presbyterian Church what it is these 300 years later and I am looking forward to a year full of events to both honor that history and love and spur us on to new challenges ahead.</span></span></p><div class="nH aHU" style="color: #202124; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; position: relative;"><div class="nH hx" style="color: #222222; min-width: 502px; padding: 0px;"><div class="nH" jslog="20686; u014N:xr6bB" role="list"><div aria-expanded="true" class="h7 ie nH oy8Mbf" role="listitem" style="clear: both; max-width: 100000px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 0px;" tabindex="-1"><div class="Bk" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-radius: 0px; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(239, 239, 239); border-top-style: solid; 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border-bottom-left-radius: 1px; border-bottom-right-radius: 1px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: auto;"></div></div></div><div class="ajx" style="clear: both;"></div></div><div class="gA gt acV" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top: none; font-size: 0.875rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: auto;"><div class="gB xu" style="border-top: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="ip iq" style="border-top: none; clear: both; margin: 0px; padding: 16px 0px;"><div id=":or"><table class="cf wS" role="presentation" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><tbody><tr><td class="amq" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px 16px; vertical-align: top; visibility: hidden; width: 44px;"><img class="ajn bofPge" data-hovercard-id="annedeak@gmail.com" id=":nn_0" jid="annedeak@gmail.com" name=":nn" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/a/AEdFTp5WQAzgYQCC8DNo2kIsVCk4Wf0azN6dRp7xTnKv8g=s40-p" style="border-radius: 50%; display: block; height: 40px; width: 40px;" /></td><td class="amr" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 950px;"><div class="nr wR" style="background-color: white; border-radius: 1px; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; transition: none 0s ease 0s;"><div class="amn" style="align-items: center; color: inherit; display: flex; height: auto; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px;"><span class="ams bkH" id=":ok" jslog="21576; u014N:cOuCgd,Kr2w4b;" role="link" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; -webkit-user-drag: none; align-items: center; background: none; border-radius: 18px; border: 1px solid rgb(116, 119, 117); box-shadow: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444746; cursor: pointer; display: inline-flex; font-size: 0.875rem; height: 36px; justify-content: center; margin-right: 8px; min-width: 104px; outline: none; padding: 0px 16px 0px 12px; position: relative; user-select: none; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0">Reply</span><span class="ams bkG" id=":om" jslog="21578; u014N:cOuCgd,Kr2w4b;" role="link" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; -webkit-user-drag: none; align-items: center; background: none; border-radius: 18px; border: 1px solid rgb(116, 119, 117); box-shadow: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444746; cursor: pointer; display: inline-flex; font-size: 0.875rem; height: 36px; justify-content: center; margin-right: 8px; min-width: 104px; outline: none; padding: 0px 16px 0px 12px; position: relative; user-select: none; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0">Forward</span></div></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="nH"></div><div class="nH"></div></div></div><div class="nH" style="color: #202124; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></div>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-40970419201018403062022-10-11T00:41:00.002-04:002022-10-11T00:50:27.769-04:00Sleeping in the Stars<div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">Last week, as I was driving home from work, a song came on my playlist that almost forced me to the side of the road. It's not a new one, but if I had heard it prior I certainly was not paying attention. From the first two lines, the tears started coming and by the chorus I was full on ugly crying while driving north on 95. </span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">I've listened to this beautiful song by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill more times than I'd like to admit over the past week. It keeps drawing me in and forms a sort of soundtrack as memories of my life with Joe race through my mind. I realized tonight that it feels especially poignant now with the calendar turning to our son's 12th birthday. With such a big marker approaching, I have no doubt that it's the music video that my mind creates as I listen that has brought me back to listening over and over again.</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">While I was driving to a meeting tonight, listening to the song and bawling (again) it fully clicked for me. The deep pain I've been feeling this week is a natural extension of being a first hand witness to our incredible son growing up without his dad. It has sucked from the moment Joe died and as Domani creeps closer and closer to adulthood, more and more is revealed of what is missing for both of us, but especially for him. </span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">There is something about Domani's birthday this year that is hitting different. Looking at him I feel like he has gone from little boy to young man almost overnight. Every 3 months he needs new shoes and I can barely keep up with everything he eats. He can keep up in adult conversations and has taken on new levels of responsibility all around. Sometimes it is awe inspiring, sometimes bittersweet and every once in awhile it is downright gut wrenching. But it is a time that his dad would have loved to be here to walk him through. And Joe would have been so good at it.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">Instead, with each year that passes, I work to fill in the gaps - all the while seeing more and more of "Joe" in him. </span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His technical know how.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His curiosity. </span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His kindness.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His sense of humor. </span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">His thoughtfulness.</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His looks.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His compassion.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: #941b1b;"><span style="color: white; font-size: medium;">His memory.</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">If you knew Joe, it is impossible to be around Domani and not see "Joe" things pop up in some way. I have found that the similarities are comforting and painful all at the same time and I have realized that I am grappling with the nuances of that dichotomy on a regular basis.</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">I more often remember with a smile than tears and I do my best to name for Domani the parts of him that remind me of his dad. I know that is a gift for him - maybe not the kind of gift he expects to receive for his 12th birthday - but a gift nonetheless.</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">As for me, I'll probably listen to this song a bunch more times. It's a lovely reminder of the bond the two of us shared and the many ways that Joe is still carried forward in our lives today.</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ALZOpvhazo7jnFWjb4WF9GwzG5IL4kmYYKiRsfcQ08iensXWvpgDr5MQRy1jI5KoQWK5bfWzwTi82cjB1DrRjWpIn_6wTv0Tuvc6GpA0nF53AcxOVJjnqBAUam2BGPV0FBSxE4H5tGrgFbYnR7W-DnifTQScdtefokZkLtUGJRGLJnE9kvhvDSwfDg/s3088/IMG_5638.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ALZOpvhazo7jnFWjb4WF9GwzG5IL4kmYYKiRsfcQ08iensXWvpgDr5MQRy1jI5KoQWK5bfWzwTi82cjB1DrRjWpIn_6wTv0Tuvc6GpA0nF53AcxOVJjnqBAUam2BGPV0FBSxE4H5tGrgFbYnR7W-DnifTQScdtefokZkLtUGJRGLJnE9kvhvDSwfDg/w185-h247/IMG_5638.jpg" width="185" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;">September 2022 in OCNJ</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><b><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><b><u><a href="https://youtu.be/Z6r0lHtWGMU"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Sleeping in the Stars </span>by Tim McGraw & Faith Hill</span></a></u></b></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">When God calls me home</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And my soul is laid to rest</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">That won't mean I'm gone</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Darling heaven knows</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll love you just the same</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">So, don't you feel alone</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You may cry a tear or two and that's okay</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Just know I'll never be too far away</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll be sleeping in the stars</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Shining through the dark</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Watching, smiling, singing out in the silence</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Everywhere you are I'll be sleeping in the stars</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Some steps that we take</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Leave an everlasting mark</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Even death can't take away</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">So, if you're missing me</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Just look inside your heart</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And let the memories play</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">You may cry a tear or two and that's okay</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Look up and know I'm not that far away</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll be sleeping in the stars</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Shining through the dark</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Watching, smiling, singing out in the silence</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Everywhere you are I'll be sleeping in the stars</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="background-color: #941b1b; color: white; font-size: medium;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll be sleeping in the stars</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Shining through the dark</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Watching, smiling, singing out in the silence</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Everywhere you are I'll be sleeping in the stars</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Everywhere you are I'll be sleeping in the stars</span></span></div>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-27203315879973247652022-03-08T00:03:00.001-05:002022-03-08T00:03:55.414-05:00Happy Birthday to Me...Still Without Him (but with so much else carried forward)<p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's been ten years since my first birthday after Joe died. When March 8th rolled around in 2012, it had only been three months since that awful day. My grief overwhelmed every aspect of my life and I felt like no measure of joy would ever return. I had an 18 month old son and was facing the prospect of raising him alone - something that was obviously never the plan. I felt helpless and like no one could possibly understand. It was the hardest birthday of my life to date. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Don't get me wrong. I had plenty of family, friends, and co-workers who supported me. There was evidence of the legacy of love that Joe left all around, but I still felt lost and painfully alone. So, I returned to the thing that has often brought me comfort. Unsure of what else to do to work my way out of the grief box I was in, I started writing. This time, though, I didn't take to writing in a private journal as I had done since I was young. I took a leap and started this blog. Unsure if anyone would read it (aside from my own parents and Joe's mom), but sure that I needed it, I wrote my first post with tears in my eyes and a knot in the pit of my stomach. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the ten years since, I have written and published 160 posts since <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/03/happy-birthday-to-mewithout-him.html" target="_blank">that very first one</a>. Each post, whether it was about my grief or not, helped me keep moving forward. Over the years, I've attended (and eventually led) grief support groups. I've consumed media of all kinds from books to music to art and have had countless conversations with friends and strangers alike about life and death. Last year, I completed a certificate class in End of Life care. I've been on a path that I never would have predicted, but one that has both challenged me and brought me peace and comfort.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Last night, I found myself having an intense yet beautiful conversation with my son about death. He had some burning questions on his mind and wanted to talk. <br /><br />That moment, which could have been extremely awkward and painful, made me thankful for all of the open talks we had about death in my family growing up. For my own father who hasn't shied away from letting us know that he has song and scripture suggestions written in the back of his Bible. For my G-Mom who shared openly with me about her own grieving after my grandfather died and who carefully wrote each of us a heartfelt note which we received after she died. For my good friends who held me accountable for finalizing my own will and life insurance and end of life wishes when no on else our age was even considering such things. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It doesn't mean that death sucks any less, but at least all of these positive influences and all of this grappling has helped me land in a place where I can acknowledge death as a natural part of life.</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">It has taken time and a lot of work on my part to find my way out of that painful grief box, but over these last ten years I've seen how grief is indeed a journey and moving forward in it doesn’t mean we forget our people. We find ways to honor them that also honor the continued living of our own lives. We move from painful ambushes of grief to sweet rememberings. We learn how to carry our love with us through the years.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />Joe is still present in our lives - in some obvious ways and in some ways that are only visible to those who know Whether it's a song, which at one time brought overwhelming sadness, but now warms my heart and reminds me of my beloved Joe or a son who at 11 years old embodies mannerisms and habits that can only be traced back to his dad, <b><u>there is progress</u></b>. It's a progress that likely won't be complete until my own death, but I'm thankful for each step that allows me to breathe a little deeper and live a little more freely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">I expect this year to be a quiet birthday. I'll get up early to take in the sunrise on a walk around my neighborhood. I'll have a full day of work with a scheduled break to enjoy a birthday lunch with my sister. I'll attend some meetings in the evening and then do something fun with my not-so-little-anymore guy. And I'll be thankful that I get to celebrate another birthday - even if it is still without Joe.</span><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRuCX3EAjEUhgnR6qkTUGy6Vsws9sxLULuEVfLSeRjSUE987fCUICqd8v_pYFVtL5v6ZOHDxQZnui-sebpf0YEylIoCZ3PEv7we5WQa6JPS-JcPt36KiLKZewyT_sQCbUMrZWRa7wcO_Tz2TZOGpJlz5fiX4Yf11s78OJYoZfGK7TeAhwahvaki0LPuQ=s490" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="385" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRuCX3EAjEUhgnR6qkTUGy6Vsws9sxLULuEVfLSeRjSUE987fCUICqd8v_pYFVtL5v6ZOHDxQZnui-sebpf0YEylIoCZ3PEv7we5WQa6JPS-JcPt36KiLKZewyT_sQCbUMrZWRa7wcO_Tz2TZOGpJlz5fiX4Yf11s78OJYoZfGK7TeAhwahvaki0LPuQ=w314-h400" width="314" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From my 30th birthday<br />One of my favorite birthday photos with Joe</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p></div></div>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-17634855275359015522021-12-06T22:35:00.000-05:002021-12-06T22:37:01.183-05:00The Mystery of the Christmas Lights<p>Towards the end of last week I read a book called <u>Words at the Threshold</u> by Lisa Smartt. It's mostly an examination of the words people say as they are nearing death, but there were also some parts that dealt with experiences of family members after the death of their loved one. The timing of reading Smartt's book could not have been more perfect because it had a section titled "Doorbells, Alarms, and Lightbulbs" and I was having some of my own issues with such things in this week leading up to the 10th anniversary of Joe's death. I found that two and a half page section to be speaking directly to me and it was both liberating and heartwarming.</p><p>You see, I've been down this road before with things not working as they should. Not long after Joe died Domani and I took a trip down to Washington, DC. We had done the same trip in the same car (the one that belonged to Joe) together as a family the previous fall to watch the Mets play the Nationals. This time though, the car stereo on this not-even-2-year-old SUV decided to completely crap out just as we were ready to leave. I tried everything I could think of to get it working again because the prospect of a 3 hour drive with no music seemed truly awful. I remember talking to Joe, asking him to help me fix it and wondering if this was all just him trying to get my attention.</p><p>Then, at some point (I don't remember exactly when) it just started working again. No service required. No rhyme or reason. No obvious intervention on my part. It just started working again. Common sense told me it must have just been a loose wire or a faulty connection that resolved itself when I went over a bump. I'm sure there could be a thousand logical explanations and so I chalked it up to a quirky coincidence even though I knew in my heart it connected me back to Joe.</p><p>Then, I started hearing stories from other widows. They shared with me their own interactions with electricity and every day items that require power to run. Clicking off and on. Working and then not working and then working again. All at moments or in ways that had some particular significance. Many of them felt the same presence, the same saying hello as these things happened that I did with the car stereo. I found comfort in those stories and told Joe that I'd listen and pay attention.</p><p>Fast forward to now and the story of Joe's little tree and the outdoor Christmas lights.</p><p>We have a tree in our home that we call the "Joe Tree". It was the tree that he had in his apartment before we were married. His mother had bought it for him and started him off with a selection of ornaments so that he had some Christmas in his place. I love her for that. It has white lights and a beautiful gold star tree topper that also plugged in and lit up. Our favorite ornament that goes on the "Joe Tree" is a naked Peter from The Family Guy holding a strategically placed present. The tree is both fun and sentimental.</p><p>Joe and I continued putting up his little tree in our home after we married and when he died it took on an extra special meaning as Domani and I put it up each year. We add to it ornaments from places that we have visited. It's our way of sharing those adventures with Joe.</p><p>This year, we carefully brought the tree down from the attic and set it in its spot in the living room. We plugged it in and enjoyed its lights for a few days before putting on any ornaments. Wouldn't you know it though that just as we were preparing to decorate, the lights stopped working. Domani decided we would replace the white lights that weren't working with new multi-color lights. And then we plugged in the star which was also not working. Obviously it's not unique for lights to stop working. Any of us who have cussed out a strand of lights while trying to decorate can attest to that. It's the timing and 1-2 combo of the lights and the star that caught my attention and once again had me noticing Joe with a smile and a quiet nod. </p><p>However, I was not at all prepared for what happened next.</p><p>It was time for the grand finale of "Doorbells, Alarms, and Lightbulbs" - this time with the outdoor Christmas lights. My mom had offered to help me put up the rest of the outdoor lights I hadn't gotten to so they would be up when we held Joe's remembrance yesterday. On Friday afternoon, she came over and put up lights on our trellis, bushes, and along the back fence. When night came and the lights clicked on I noticed there was one strand along the fence that was completely out. I tried adjusting them that night and even took a look the next morning. I just couldn't figure it out and had resigned myself to having one strand out for the Christmas season.</p><p>When I told my mom about it she confided that she hadn't tested the lights, just asked Joe for his help in making sure they all worked. She jokingly complained that Joe hadn't done his job and we both got a laugh.</p><p>That night I arrived back home to the lights still out. I left the house for all of 2 hours and when I came back the strand was ON! I immediately was thankful to my mom for coming over and fixing the lights. Except that when I asked her about it the next morning, she said it wasn't her. At that point, there was no holding back the tears because we both knew in our hearts what had happened. I'm done trying to find logical explanations for things that are, in fact, liminal in nature. </p><p>There are ways that Joe still says hi even 10 years later and sometimes that way is as simple as turning on the lights.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XUFl28V5W6diNQqibEcMF3HoxejAthkPxPQaOA4Hx6yLzsRCKak2vt8XRh5IIlqrwkn49N1WTFZN784HAFVpymq6f3Hfax_KSeLgHLNa-TkLG0BpTWK6kuE68wAPSfWxGYE6wQDmFKHb/s2048/IMG_3301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XUFl28V5W6diNQqibEcMF3HoxejAthkPxPQaOA4Hx6yLzsRCKak2vt8XRh5IIlqrwkn49N1WTFZN784HAFVpymq6f3Hfax_KSeLgHLNa-TkLG0BpTWK6kuE68wAPSfWxGYE6wQDmFKHb/s320/IMG_3301.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-83101580484164351682021-04-03T23:51:00.002-04:002021-04-04T20:53:16.647-04:00Lent and Grief and Waiting for Easter<p style="text-align: justify;">Anyone who knew both Joe and me also knows that he was the neat and organized one who could always put his finger on anything he was looking for and I am the messy one who is always searching for something I put somewhere. So, to say that Joe would have been amused (and thrilled) with my Lenten undertaking this year would be an understatement. <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2014/03/creating-space-40-bags-in-40-days.html" target="_blank">For the second time since he died</a>, I decided to embark on the "<a href="https://www.whitehouseblackshutters.com/40-bags-in-40-days/" target="_blank">40 bags in 40 days</a>" idea and ride the wave of cleaning, organizing, and moving things out of my life.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I completed this in 2014, it was intense. It involved finally eating the two chocolate bears that were in my refrigerator (one with my name and one with Joe's) from three Thanksgivings before and wrestling over and over again with WWJD (in this case, What Would Joe Do?)</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Over the past 46 days (Sundays are "little Easters" in Lent for those who don't know), I have cleaned out a wide variety of spaces in every room of my home. For good measure, I even added in some spaces not in my home. I used this opportunity to clean out the car that was Joe's and is now mine and to start throwing away some non-essential items in my office. For the most part though, I was tackling my overrun junk drawers, packed until they burst cabinets, and closets that could have been hiding just about anything.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I shared with a friend early on in the journey that I always feel more connected to Joe when I do things like this because he was the one who would not hold on to things. So, anytime I hit a moment of hesitation, even around things that may *feel* sentimental, I channeled an inner conversation with him and found the resolve to either throw it away or give it away.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Obviously not every item got moved out. During one particular night of work I came across a ticket stub (remember when those were a thing?) to the last concert that Joe and I attended together. We saw Greg Dulli at the Trocadero in Philly. We sat in the balcony because with his colostomy bag and generally weakened state, he wasn't up for standing on the floor - our usual spot at shows. As I looked at that ticket stub and remembered that show it hit me that the Trocadero is now closed. Even before COVID-19, the Troc had closed. At least I have the ticket I thought as I tucked it away in the display on my wall that I have for such things.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Over the course of the last 46 days I have come across so much that reminded me of Joe. It is now almost ten years since he died and after a lot of grief work these remembrances are much more likely to bring smiles than tears for me. I still miss him in a million different ways, but I have learned that processes like this one help me to keep bringing him with me as I move forward in life.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It has been years since I remember having a dream about Joe. But during this process, as I was moving through the spaces of our home and channeling those "inner conversations" I had a dream about him. Even now I get teary thinking about how I felt that morning when I woke up. I don't remember the details of the dream, but the way it made me feel sits deep with me even weeks after it happened. As I found during the first time I spent my Lent cleaning and organizing, there is something profoundly spiritual about making space.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As I made my way through my 40 days I documented each day with a photo. It was pure joy today for me to be able to look back on all of those photos and think about the myriad areas in my life that now have more space. I admit that there have been times that I have opened my drawers just to remind myself that they are not loaded down with things or looked into my bathroom closet just to admire the way that everything has a place. I can feel Joe cheering me on (and also reminding me that there are still random piles of things on the bedroom floor). Perhaps I will get to those too.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzcRfDTMlOUVkYGC90oFdT27ljU4FdoqlXBjmparokTLhv8y7t6gpmXowRzkgPvcKfbmrgWyyXQc61Aqyazgw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyZJdqStkZpvN7VTXvVUS0akAijZ8XC52c-Mv_PPQiFF7HrxWX54ols5vTp52VsFhSsaSnPLBhUud6lpDYbTg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy0jkHzriYFljZenfnWFL6Om_mXb8y1VT-JUxSbgN0eUdDdfa27cegTdxdgIuzGlIAhENd2WmjVbTXUap8iuA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmVW9cES-phzYGKLvrDygxa-YouT3XyaPi_EMUtORhsYHC8jAxKWj3CLcX5-ap43X72cMYYVtBeyHA3TYQhw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxR4B1-KcBjdcJxrL3nr-BdL4h97vDVMBurI71JMKN706WY-nCkiISbkKm6FlP--ESQiRfUeyEqTiI02zSnXg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I rounded out my 40 bags in 40 days with a Holy Week focused on moving and listening. Each morning no matter the weather I went for a walk (as I have every work day since January 19) and on Good Friday I did something extra special. At the suggestion of a dear friend, I listened to David Suchet read the Gospel of Mark. It took two hours and I listened and walked as the sun came up on Friday morning. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Throughout that walk there were moments when I stopped to process, to let my tears flow, and to take in all the beauty around me. I was overwhelmed by this story of Jesus that emphasized God's abundance, unconditional love, sacrifice, and even humor. It left me feeling thankful and hopeful, two things I needed at my core.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Tomorrow will be Easter. It will also be Joe's birthday. He would have turned 46. Thanksgiving and hopefulness are two states of being that I crave for myself tomorrow.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Since I found them on my Good Friday walk, it seems fitting that I close out this writing with the photos I took while I was listening to Mark. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">May you encounter the spiritual in a way that leaves you with thanks and hope for the road ahead.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaglMtBjudosh-V8jQ2T5O1RGTC-v8vTtw9sqBW6mNcu81CP_KIp6RiF-JJP67ZwH6MB2XVYPL39_4htsiJjTqk5aBOZgS6q_FnkTEa2F91q0XMelWxpUdkwa4edSi5R0tsmFGCT_ZkGlm/s1280/IMG_1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="678" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaglMtBjudosh-V8jQ2T5O1RGTC-v8vTtw9sqBW6mNcu81CP_KIp6RiF-JJP67ZwH6MB2XVYPL39_4htsiJjTqk5aBOZgS6q_FnkTEa2F91q0XMelWxpUdkwa4edSi5R0tsmFGCT_ZkGlm/w213-h400/IMG_1111.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWJ7mVRwlYmnD56yRNmVr75xhLA8_tdmupPZtVi2bEIgk0zPTO8QYkz9j79KJNT3NLL-Z4m95Z7sM84sTulWcCfuQ6tYig5lJ40kM5Q0SMPmKDsmpVOqIcfP07zCVh4Gyu5Ut-mpSHozi/s2016/IMG_1115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWJ7mVRwlYmnD56yRNmVr75xhLA8_tdmupPZtVi2bEIgk0zPTO8QYkz9j79KJNT3NLL-Z4m95Z7sM84sTulWcCfuQ6tYig5lJ40kM5Q0SMPmKDsmpVOqIcfP07zCVh4Gyu5Ut-mpSHozi/w300-h400/IMG_1115.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZNNvVfbElZ-sDuKupqJNYu7EQ5OJj9qs1U0762CA2RWTCyQwmR1u5pRV7FOMZB1LpZAxHXqsmcxUwECe77BOOPU0s4PdP0dduinomL_zJ6mfAaGTilrhxX52kDoH2ZQt4Ji504MN3UMl/s1544/IMG_1116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1158" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZNNvVfbElZ-sDuKupqJNYu7EQ5OJj9qs1U0762CA2RWTCyQwmR1u5pRV7FOMZB1LpZAxHXqsmcxUwECe77BOOPU0s4PdP0dduinomL_zJ6mfAaGTilrhxX52kDoH2ZQt4Ji504MN3UMl/w300-h400/IMG_1116.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmM3IdkPcfxxDgyN8GI3JUG4i4P-A_hSzklQlmWeBqvK0SN3D9yM8oNaiz1UoG8LyzQbvsbQGYZowQ4aERRL-sZu1q2KJKofpmowcCrhcH6otzywQjAWRWaefsd34I4KctV6IthX4gMNUi/s2016/IMG_1119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmM3IdkPcfxxDgyN8GI3JUG4i4P-A_hSzklQlmWeBqvK0SN3D9yM8oNaiz1UoG8LyzQbvsbQGYZowQ4aERRL-sZu1q2KJKofpmowcCrhcH6otzywQjAWRWaefsd34I4KctV6IthX4gMNUi/w300-h400/IMG_1119.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTLGTvWlhuEYjkmarU0NHpPMB37KlUHii9kikfWyPwhRjoRp4j3FDQe_pgN3vbC2-zR0mPYPIG9C71agpRrCDhcoCp36xsz1Bs8v6zibgYzZluMog61Do8b9M1OCnv6ih7bwuhe8-y0dS/s2016/IMG_1121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTLGTvWlhuEYjkmarU0NHpPMB37KlUHii9kikfWyPwhRjoRp4j3FDQe_pgN3vbC2-zR0mPYPIG9C71agpRrCDhcoCp36xsz1Bs8v6zibgYzZluMog61Do8b9M1OCnv6ih7bwuhe8-y0dS/w300-h400/IMG_1121.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbgPSbJq7Cd1keDXdfuRYt-bFjqAvl0CF4Nwrnfm9uN5xrGdFnpir-aafEFifM_tQvYlFamsI3jpKwxYYVen-jl5Ru5XLddBkLLdDttKVlXM1KrY7PnnTgiBATnupvGk6SRItNc0iekg0/s2016/IMG_1122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbgPSbJq7Cd1keDXdfuRYt-bFjqAvl0CF4Nwrnfm9uN5xrGdFnpir-aafEFifM_tQvYlFamsI3jpKwxYYVen-jl5Ru5XLddBkLLdDttKVlXM1KrY7PnnTgiBATnupvGk6SRItNc0iekg0/w300-h400/IMG_1122.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqIts6Hbc6g_KsHazq69nLVmpBxDfey6LKkJzaJS-dK-JpU6blaC7Xw-bgBVEVBA0O1kksmOKYT6YhfN0CBrYUZq42Uj_oVl2lRHgaDnsuUj66SJ9ygkpyl2N_e1MMsd5ceAX0Dq-w1oh/s2016/IMG_1123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqIts6Hbc6g_KsHazq69nLVmpBxDfey6LKkJzaJS-dK-JpU6blaC7Xw-bgBVEVBA0O1kksmOKYT6YhfN0CBrYUZq42Uj_oVl2lRHgaDnsuUj66SJ9ygkpyl2N_e1MMsd5ceAX0Dq-w1oh/w400-h300/IMG_1123.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-55868315363038091702021-03-08T22:55:00.000-05:002021-03-08T22:55:36.064-05:00Ten, A Poem<p>1...</p><p>2...</p><p>3...</p><p>they continue</p><p>4...</p><p>5...</p><p>6...</p><p>still more</p><p>7...</p><p>8...</p><p>9...</p><p>not quite done because at this moment the final number is</p><p>10...</p><p>Easy counting</p><p>if you're a toddler and don't know</p><p>that each one is a minute and a lifetime </p><p>all at the same time.</p><p>Two hundred and forty hours of birthdays.</p><p>14,400 minutes acknowledging a milestone.</p><p>864,000 seconds celebrating without him.<br /></p><p>And some of that, </p><p>mercifully, </p><p>I spent sleeping.</p><p>Please let me wake up and have it be over or maybe let it last forever </p><p>in pregnant expectation of what could be</p><p>Each one</p><p>Empty and full.</p><p>The glass is both.</p><p>It's a steady stare at all that's firmly in the past, but also a bright red arrow pointing to what is still in my</p><p>soul.</p><p>Joy and pain living together </p><p>like opposites that attract</p><p>and refuse to be pulled apart.</p><p>Never completely one thing or another</p><p>Always some mix of what's gone and what remains</p><p>A decade of birthdays with me</p><p>and not him.</p><p><i>Written by Anne Luck-Deak, 3/8/2021</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, my 43rd birthday, was a good day. I didn't work, spent some time with one of my best girlfriends, and ate so many foods I love. Domani and I took some old gift cards and went shopping at Target, we walked on the towpath at sunset, and then grabbed our favorites from Tortugas Mexican Village for dinner. My order was undoubtedly the same one I got 10 years ago today when Joe and I brought 6-month old Domani there to celebrate my birthday.</span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLp5cJBn5ivFBMqJsUe-mm6OmqyaynVqtQaxSEhS7XW4nydSNuu33rp2aWBIWdSWLyNy9N_vSZzPCbEXic6qUDDPUw64ax8ixmLTOP2zQqi-cGK30AV3plknHikeQhRMwRJZCnckYNkNu/s2048/IMG_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1085" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLp5cJBn5ivFBMqJsUe-mm6OmqyaynVqtQaxSEhS7XW4nydSNuu33rp2aWBIWdSWLyNy9N_vSZzPCbEXic6qUDDPUw64ax8ixmLTOP2zQqi-cGK30AV3plknHikeQhRMwRJZCnckYNkNu/w213-h400/IMG_0909.JPG" width="213" /></a></div></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-77630160816945623052020-10-11T00:26:00.000-04:002020-10-11T00:26:08.335-04:00Dear Joe (A letter on our son's 10th birthday)<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZutYZw5P5L-Lrw6IP1htH8fuDFJk7OntifO8I4tNzcDLqKWWC7MSCAE2SMBAnOA3tBnEgorTDwbo4jX2kBBYBz7RCu8dvNavmw-E8-EG-xSk4ZNXKw397iNeOSzBMOgi2yN6I5Au490G3/s2048/Domani+collage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZutYZw5P5L-Lrw6IP1htH8fuDFJk7OntifO8I4tNzcDLqKWWC7MSCAE2SMBAnOA3tBnEgorTDwbo4jX2kBBYBz7RCu8dvNavmw-E8-EG-xSk4ZNXKw397iNeOSzBMOgi2yN6I5Au490G3/s320/Domani+collage.JPG" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Dear Joe,<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today - Sunday, October 11, 2020 - our son turns 10 years old. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">That means it has been 9 years since we celebrated his birthday as a family of 3 - his first and only one with you here. He is way past the Sesame Street of that party, but the memories linger and they make me wonder what it would be like if you were here with us this weekend.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Double digits is a big deal for any kid. It's an even bigger deal when two years earlier Mom promised that 10 is the magic number for being able to get a cell phone. (Yep, I did that.)<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The excitement has been building here in the Deak household for more than a month in a way that I only remember counting down to my 17th birthday and my driver's license. Maybe you wouldn't have agreed to the cell phone at age 10 or maybe, given your obsession with all things new in technology, you would have caved even sooner. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">You were always the best gift giver so maybe you would have chosen something I haven't even thought to get him. Maybe we would have celebrated in a completely different way than what I planned. Maybe you would have just suggested pancakes for breakfast and a quiet day inside.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>As the time goes by since your death, I feel like I can predict less and less the things you would have done and what you would have thought - not only when it comes to Domani's 10th birthday, but about so many other things too.</b> That gap is a new pain that I've only begun to confront on this now almost 9 year long grief journey.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes I engage in some real mental gymnastics with the "what ifs" and the "could have beens". I wonder if I am losing you all over again when I can't say for certain that you would have let Domani ride his bike around the block or stay up past 9pm. I go back and forth on whether you would have agreed that Domani could watch shows like Drunk History or Trevor Noah with us. I wonder if he ever would have taken dance lessons or played soccer before trying baseball.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>One thing I know, though, is that you would be beaming with pride at Domani the 10 year old. </b></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Two weeks ago he spent all day Saturday building a gaming PC with my Uncle Bob. He had spent time researching parts and brainstorming about how to get the highest quality parts for the best price. He tracked with excitement as each part arrived and carefully packed them into a tub for transport. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The whole process reminded me of the gaming setup you created in our basement and I do know that if you were still here this would have been a father-son project for sure.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Beyond his new found interest in computers, he is thoughtful and empathetic, independent and determined. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He has a quirky sense of humor and is able to land jokes with almost spot-on comedic timing. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He speaks Spanish, excels at math, and has a memory that means I need to be extra careful what I say and especially what I promise to him. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He has an interest in bugs even though he will often be freaked out by them. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He can follow directions to put together small projects like his shoe rack all by himself.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">He is kind and loving and always working to do better. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He has areas to grow too - like his constantly messy room and displays of impatience (he gets both things from me obviously) - but he is an impressive 10 year old which helps me feel like we are on the right path.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>We miss you terribly, Joe, and there is no doubt that life would be more full if you were still here with us. But you are not absent from our lives. In fact, you are woven into all that we do and who we are as a family.</b></p><p style="text-align: justify;">So, in those moments when I am unsure if I'm doing things right with our son, I return to a truth that I learned not long after you died. We can only do the best we can with the information we have at the time. Judging our past actions using information we did not have isn't helpful. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So, today, on our son's 10th birthday, I center myself in that. Even though I may not be certain what you would have picked out for Domani's gift this year or how we would have planned his celebration in the midst of a pandemic, I do know that he has a lot of you in him and that's more than enough for me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">With Love,</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Anne</p>Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-8010763661505242842020-04-10T18:33:00.001-04:002020-04-10T18:43:16.676-04:00Good Friday in a PandemicGood Friday.<br />
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The day on our Christian calendar where we fully acknowledge death and the separation it brings. Before Joe died, it was nothing more to me than a speed bump on the way to Easter. Once 2012 rolled around, though, this day began to carry much more weight as I felt the sting of death in unique ways with each passing moment that year.</div>
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How much more it stings now for those mourning in the midst of a pandemic as waves of grief are flowing deep and wide around the world.<br />
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Good Friday is the world as it is - with all its pain and brokenness, anxiety and fear. Over the years, I have come to appreciate this day not as a speed bump, but as one of the truest reflections of our reality. </div>
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After all, it is in this "world as it is" that we all live. We see it around us starkly now, as family members grieve in isolation without the physical gestures that often get us through those initial moments of shock and despair. We see it in the frontline workers who are confronting an unseen, but deadly virus every day. We see it in the desperation of people whose place in our destructive economy is laid bare in new and frightening ways.</div>
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I recognize that in my own life over these past few weeks I have gotten through day to day by finding ways to compartmentalize all of the pain, only allowing it out from time to time in small doses. I have made it a point each day to instead list 10 things for which I am thankful. I have purposefully sought out moments of joy and ways to change up routine within our home.</div>
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But today, I observed Good Friday by allowing myself to connect with it. I prayed through the stash of Christmas cards I keep by the side of my bed. As I touched each card and looked at the faces and handwriting of friends, family members, and co-workers, it drew me to the flood of pain that so many of them are working through right now. I began to feel the heartache of living in this world as it is right now.</div>
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And then I turned to writing. I have never written so many sympathy cards in one sitting and the truth is that it shook me. We aren't even through this yet and there are so many people who are enduring deep levels of pain and are doing it in isolation. </div>
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I know that I can't fix the grief for my friends or family now any more than they could do that for me 9 years ago. In fact, my favorite card that I dropped in the mail today says on the front "Please let me be the first to punch the next person who tells you everything happens for a reason." (Thank you, Emily McDowell cards.) This is not a time for pithy expressions. It is a time for us to be real with each other and acknowledge that, even though this is our reality, we can show up for each other in the midst of it.</div>
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Good Friday is about the world as it is. </div>
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Yes, ultimately we can change that. It can happen through building community. Through organizing. Through showing up for one another. Through the model of hope that comes on Easter morning. </div>
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But let's not rush through today to that. Let's not pretend as if this doesn't hurt. </div>
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Let's allow our friends, our family, our loved ones time to grieve.</div>
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Let's allow it to be Good Friday. Easter will come. It's just not here yet.</div>
Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-32419802672288136472019-12-31T15:22:00.001-05:002019-12-31T20:35:41.276-05:00These Last 10 YearsNew Year's Eve 2009 seems like a lifetime away.<br />
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Before Domani was born. </div>
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Before Joe's diagnosis. </div>
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Before single parenthood. </div>
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Before running a marathon. </div>
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Before the Afghan Whigs reunion. </div>
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Before the big 4-0.</div>
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Before running for school board. </div>
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Before this blog. </div>
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As the enormity of the last decade settled in with me today I had a sudden, overwhelming fear that the stroke of midnight means I am leaving Joe behind. A decade that had started with him and so many hopes and dreams is ending without him. It's not what I had imagined and it sucks.</div>
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But, as I thought back over the past ten years I realized that for all of the heartache there has also been incredible joy. It sucks that Joe isn't here with us to enjoy life as it is now, but he is carried with us into this next decade in some special ways - in baseball, in music, in the home we created together, and most importantly in Domani.</div>
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The truth is that this past year especially has been a good one.</div>
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I read more books than I have in a long time.</div>
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I saw some of my favorite bands in concert and even got to a show with my sisters.<br />
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I replaced actual marathons with some of the Netflix variety and even managed to peel myself away long enough to do another Spartan race.<br />
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I won another kind of race, being elected to our community's school board by only 14 votes.<br />
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Domani did his first (& second) Spartan races and just went with me to his first Star Wars movie in the theater.</div>
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Domani and I watched Pete Alonso break the rookie single season homerun record from our seats at Citifield.</div>
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We perfected our guacamole and experimented with making different foods together.<br />
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He started playing Little League and decided he loves rollerblading.</div>
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We got to see the Mets play in Chicago, Minneapolis, and Kansas City and visited plenty of museums and other sites.</div>
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Before the end of the next decade, Domani will be driving and I will have celebrated my 50th birthday. Both of those things feel overwhelming right now, but if there is one thing I have learned over the last 10 years it's to take each thing one step at a time. So, that's what we will do and we will carry Joe forward with us as we go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfDpAokfL1uAPT1f9nw0GtQxRynfLTR80t1HBZgk1szmrNtuWmw_X9abcoa6_QNUxxngdB5ZaDWijRYqf3gp0Tqjk1BkBeeHVyJzRJAeBVSyJ0l1RljAnopK51ws3j38ZEoTvtY30AyCE/s1600/IMG_8313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1080" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfDpAokfL1uAPT1f9nw0GtQxRynfLTR80t1HBZgk1szmrNtuWmw_X9abcoa6_QNUxxngdB5ZaDWijRYqf3gp0Tqjk1BkBeeHVyJzRJAeBVSyJ0l1RljAnopK51ws3j38ZEoTvtY30AyCE/s320/IMG_8313.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 2019 "Top Nine"</td></tr>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-46224264213998012352019-12-04T22:29:00.000-05:002019-12-04T22:29:15.463-05:00December 5, 2019The past month has been a whirlwind. It started with my election to the Jamesburg Board of Education on November 5th and continued with a travel schedule for work that has more than tripled my typical days on the road. Now, as the hours creep closer and closer to December 5th, I find myself in a hotel room in Boston doing a lot of remembering. Tomorrow will be eight years since Joe died and even eight years later this week brings up a whole range of emotions. There are still moments of deep sadness for sure, but as I sit here in the city where we spent our honeymoon I realized that what I feel most is grateful.<br />
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I am grateful for who he was and who we were as a couple. I am grateful for how our relationship shaped me then and continues to shape me now. And I am grateful that he lives on in so many ways. He's in that first sound of a new Greg Dulli song or the crack of a bat at a Mets game. He's in the nooks and crannies of our home and each moment that I try like hell to model his patience. And he is most definitely in our son Domani and the countless friends and family members who have continued to love us like he did.<br />
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As I was waiting at the airport earlier I started reading back on my old CaringBridge blog posts from the days before Joe died. It's been awhile since I've looked back on them, but I'm glad I did.<br />
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In their own way, they reminded me of the preciousness of Joe and me - the preciousness of Joe and me which became the beauty of Joe and me and Domani and then the strength of Domani and me and all who loved Joe. I thought it made sense to share those posts here today.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e36ca0045c64005987-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e36ca0045c64005987-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Nov 30, 2011</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">It is late and we are all quite tired in the Deak household. After a long night last night which included a visit from the hospice nurse, we went to Joe's oncologist today. Joe had been scheduled for his next chemo treatment, but given his weakened state it was hard to believe they would do it. That proved correct but on top of that we were told by the doctor covering for Joe's regular oncologist that no further treatments would be possible. A punch in the gut. And she wasn't particularly helpful or sympathetic. Another punch in the gut. While we were there Joe was given oxygen and some fluids. He also had a nice nap while receiving the fluids. Thankfully, after returning home We got a visit from his hospice nurse and later a call from his regular oncologist. His oncologist's heartbreaking conclusion was still the same but it was helpful to have our questions answered and to hear the details about his reasoning. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">The honest truth is that it was very difficult for Joe to travel to Basking Ridge today. His weakened state makes even a walk from the living room to the bedroom a difficult task, let alone walking around to get ready and then out to the car. It would just be too much for him to continue going through the motions of treatments which aren't really having an impact on the cancer. We will receive some additional services from hospice and are still considering any other possible options for Joe. Please pray for wisdom in how to proceed and for peace during this seemingly impossible time. As difficult as today was, it was nice to come home to a freshly cleaned house and some yummy food in the fridge. We have the most amazing support network and I have a suspicion it will only get better. Love to you all!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c6400599f-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c6400599f-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Dec 2, 2011</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">As difficult as the last few days have been I am happy that now, finally, my husband and I can share a bedroom again. With the delivery of his hospital bed today and a borrowed twin bed for me we are now back to sleeping in the same room. No more living room/bedroom split. It's a simple thing, but something that makes both of us smile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Given his weakened state, Joe is unable to walk now without assistance and he requires help with his medications and with the overall management of his symptoms. It is becoming quite a team effort with help from a full hospice team and many loving family and friends. It took very little time today to prepare our bedroom for our new sleeping arrangements. Everyone who was here pitched in to help move things, including the hospice social worker.We are feeling very supported.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">The highlight of the day for me (aside from TWO yummy giant chocolate chip cookies from Mendoker's) was time spent looking through some photo albums with Joe. We looked back over our trip earlier this year to Cooperstown, NY (Domani's first vacation) and reminisced about our honeymoon in Boston (Duck Boat ride, Megatouch at the local bar, dinner at the table where JFK proposed to Jackie, a tour of Fenway, and the most amazing Boston Cream Pie at the Omni Parker Hotel were all highlights).</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">While it is frustrating to see Joe's health in decline, I am reminded of just how blessed we are to have had our paths cross again the way that they did. He is one amazing guy and together we make a darn good team.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">A special hello to all those who have started following this blog in the last few days. You all have kept me busy approving requests, but with each one I know there is another person (or family) supporting us in thought and prayer. Thank you for being here and joining us through our journey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059a7-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059a7-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Dec 4, 2011</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Joe had a difficult night last night. His breathing is much more labored and his blood pressure is high. After being up all night and a visit from the hospice nurse this morning, the decision was made to move him to 24-hour nursing care in our home. Star (love the imagery of her name) arrived this morning and will be here until 7pm. She has been helping us to take great care of Joe. With assistance, he just made the move from his hospital bed in our bedroom to his La-Z-Boy in the living room. Our project for the day is to keep him comfortable and surround him with love. As much as possible we will read to him the cards and notes we receive (both IRL and on this blog!) On behalf of our whole family, we thank you for the outpouring of support we have received. It is helping to sustain us through this unimaginable time. Hug your loved ones and smile at a stranger. Today only comes once.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059ab-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059ab-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Dec 4, 2011</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">After a day of being with each other and being with Joe, I am here in the bedroom with him and the nurse while my Dad puts Domani to sleep. Joe is resting comfortably, but has been non-responsive since about 3pm. That has certainly not stopped us from reading him emails and posts and sharing our own musings with him. Although it arrived much too quickly, it was a good family day. I just wish it weren't a part of saying goodbye to my best friend. There were tender moments: Domani "brushing" Daddy's hair In the morning and then later in the day grabbing Joe's hand and saying DaDa (along with a few other random syllables.) His kind words to me this morning about my support to him. Visits from some dear family and friends. The smile on his face while I massaged his feet. I am just happy to know that he was able to hear so much love from so many people today. Thank you all. Will do my best to keep you up to date.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">At Peace</span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059ad-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e46ca0045c640059ad-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Dec 5, 2011</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: white;">Joe passed away peacefully this morning just before 6am. I was there in the room with him and had just laid down to rest on my bed next to his when he took his last breath. He is finally done battling and at peace. Heather Diaforli-Day continues to coordinate assistance for our family including the provision of meals. I will post updates regarding services and other ways you can assist our family in the coming days. Thanks for standing with me, Joe, and Domani and letting us know how very much we are loved.</span></span><div class="read-more" style="box-sizing: border-box;">
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-68934020712964629552019-09-15T14:50:00.000-04:002019-09-17T10:16:53.656-04:00Anne Luck-Deak for Jamesburg School Board<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of the things I feared with intensity when Joe was diagnosed with cancer was the possibility of having to send our unborn son to school without his Dad by our side. Those fears started even before we knew that our child was to be a boy and his name was to be Domani. It seemed like a ridiculous place to land, but as I was holding Joe's hand in his hospital room just after his emergency surgery, I remember that fear being what crept in. As he slept, I whispered to him that he couldn't leave me. That he had to be here for our child's birth, for this kid's first birthday, for the first day of kindergarten. I stopped there because at that point we hadn't even heard a diagnosis yet and, if I was being honest, I couldn't see past the next five minutes, let alone the next 5 years. </div>
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We had just found out two days before that I was pregnant. I hadn't even been to an appointment with my midwife yet to confirm it. And, already, I felt it all unraveling. How would I ever be enough for this kid? Our happily every after would not be what I expected and I was worried about how our child (let alone me) would ever make it through.</div>
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Joe was there for Domani's birth. He was there for his first birthday. But just two months later, only a few weeks before Christmas, he died. He died in the bedroom of our home where, if you look just out the window, you see the entrance to what is now our son's elementary school. </div>
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When we decided to buy this home in Jamesburg it was the proximity to the school (and to the lovely local businesses in town) that won us over. Now, after being here for 11 years, this place we call home means so much more to the two of us left behind after Joe's passing. It's the neighbors who have been there for us in immeasurable ways. It's the convenient and challenging running routes I have come to know as I trained to run 5ks and then half marathons and then, eventually, the Boston Marathon. It's the education I see my son receiving in that school which 4 years ago seemed so daunting a life stage. </div>
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There have now been 4 first days of school for Domani at the elementary school across the street from where Joe and I decided to plant our roots in 2008. Joe hasn't been physically here for any of them, but he has been here with us in many ways. I have begun to realize that what I feared so desperately in 2010 is not so scary now that Domani and I are doing it. Domani is surrounded by people who are interested in him and provide him with an education that includes learning in Spanish, after care that is both fun and educational, and a whole school community that shows its care daily. He impresses me more and more each day with the ways that he is growing and learning, with his ease of making friends, and with his excitement for everything around him.</div>
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I have also found my own place as I've become more and more active in his education. As Domani made friends, so did I, and Jamesburg became more than the place we live, but our community. That doesn't happen everywhere and I am thankful it happened here for Domani and me. </div>
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So, at the beginning of last year, I decided to act on that and I put my name in to serve a one-year term on our local School Board. That year was a defining experience for me. I saw in a clear way the impact that decisions of the Board have on the young people in our schools and our community at large. When my term was over at the end of 2018 and the Board was officially downsized to seven members I remained open to serving again at some point in the future. </div>
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As I attended Board meetings this year and spoke with friends and neighbors, it became clear to me that the time to throw my hat in the ring has come sooner than I thought. I decided to run this year because I feel it is an important time for my voice to be included. As a single mom of a 3rd grader in the district, I know both the importance of a strong education for the children in our community and the stress of making ends meet as a homeowner. </div>
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I am excited to take this next step and know that even though he isn't here physically, Joe is cheering me on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFPKZPK1P8XrKSJgRR7Y9yHb-fPwo6BuyDvolNMbAGCCxzmntcc8VO6xHYcBlYtFnqH6jyVQTfeKTzukve2JtfcjKcrE8eEwEjHUS9gbdBGs3V2tyirtCSCYbv2g7Lpi9StOsonZymR-l/s1600/AL4BOE+FB+Post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFPKZPK1P8XrKSJgRR7Y9yHb-fPwo6BuyDvolNMbAGCCxzmntcc8VO6xHYcBlYtFnqH6jyVQTfeKTzukve2JtfcjKcrE8eEwEjHUS9gbdBGs3V2tyirtCSCYbv2g7Lpi9StOsonZymR-l/s320/AL4BOE+FB+Post.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-73961891594498014062019-06-22T01:04:00.000-04:002019-06-22T01:04:01.493-04:00Taking Time for Appreciation (and for Mowing the Grass)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tonight I finally found myself with a couple of free hours at home that happened to coincide with daylight and a lack of rain. It was as if the universe was telling me - MOW THE GRASS. Well, grass is probably a tad generous since in my yard I mostly mow weeds, but that's another story. </div>
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About halfway through I was tired. It was the kind of tired where you just want to collapse wherever you are and not get back up for twelve hours. The kind of tired where all of your muscles feel like they're on fire and every once in awhile you zone out and forget what you are even doing.</div>
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But, since I knew that the next time I would likely have the "clear sky-daylight-free time" stars align would be at least a week and a half from now, I pressed on. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It didn't take long before my mind turned to Joe. </span></b>At first it was definitely a "dammit why was I left stuck with this task" thought. Then, I thought about how excited he was to have a yard of our own that he could work in. He always took great pride in doing work in and around our home. And then I remembered that last summer. </div>
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Eight years ago now. </div>
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He was a year and a half in to his cancer diagnosis. That meant a year and a half of chemo treatments. An ostomy bag. Slowly accumulating fluid in his lungs.</div>
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And yet, I remember him mowing our grass that summer. It wasn't as frequently as I know he would have otherwise and sometimes he had help. But he did it. He did it all without the self-propelled mower I ended up buying myself last year. <i>(Although I do remain convinced that if Joe were still here mowing grass today he would have gotten himself the same setup I did.)</i> And he did it with the pride of home ownership and care for his family pushing him along.</div>
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So tonight, as I yanked and pushed the mower up and down the mean slopes of our yard, it hit me.</div>
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Here it is seven and a half years after he died and I am realizing a new way to appreciate him. How is that even possible? But it's what happened. <b><span style="font-size: large;">The work of mowing reminded me just how super our Superman really was to us.</span></b></div>
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I realized it because he's gone and the chore now falls to me. It's not the first time I've mowed the grass so it's a little weird that it took me this long to get it, but I guess the point is that I finally did.</div>
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That realization got me thinking about other things I am missing in the people around me. What else is going on right in front of my nose that I'm not fully appreciating?</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It took me over two hours to mow the grass so I had a lot of time to think. </span></b></div>
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I started talking to myself <i>(hot tip: when you're using a lawn mower, no one can hear you talking to yourself)</i>, but once the ideas started flowing they kept coming.</div>
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My Dad's humor, generosity, and faith displayed in a hundred different ways even while he has faced health issue after health issue. He makes jokes with the hospital staff, buys books for his grandkids, and listens to God's prodding on issues even when it's difficult.</div>
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My Mom's willingness to always find a meaningful way to help out. There are never dirty dishes in my sink when she leaves no matter how many were there when she arrived and my yard would be nothing more than an assortment of dead things if not for her.</div>
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The fact that not only can I talk honestly with my sisters about so many pieces of our lives, but that we can also travel together and actually have a great time <i>(even with the kids)</i>.</div>
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That Erin will talk with me about death and not be weird about it and that she can be counted on to provide the nudge I need to really take a vacation.</div>
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That Julia always has an open door, a bottle of wine in the fridge, and a listening ear.</div>
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That people in my life like Sara and Heather still remember the tough days with a text or a call or a card even so many years later.</div>
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Co-workers who always seem to find a way to push forward even when the deck is stacked.</div>
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Friends new and old who step in with support and advice when I'm about to try something new.</div>
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Domani, who can lighten my mood in a million ways, whether it's a funny joke, his own laugh, or a conversation about black holes and Trans-Neptunian objects.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm glad it took me as long as it did to mow the grass and even happier that I don't have to wait until I do it again to look for things I can appreciate about the people around me.</span></b></div>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-37737839666421059552018-12-31T14:22:00.001-05:002018-12-31T14:22:42.800-05:00Ferraro Foods and Don't Stop Believin'When Joe and I started dating again in 2005 he was working at Ferraro Foods in Piscataway, NJ. He worked an overnight shift doing IT work. The first time we saw each other after several years was at the Dunkin Donuts near where he worked while he was on his "lunch" break. I don't remember exactly what time we met up, but my sister Karen and I were on our way home from line dancing at the Colorado Cafe so I'm sure it was midnight or later. It was good to see Joe and it wasn't long before we were dating again. We started where we were, with all that had happened in the time in between, and just kept building.<br />
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His overnight shift at Ferraro Foods defined much of our early relationship as we had to juggle when we would see each other around his work and sleep schedule which were the opposite of my own. We managed it well enough and after about a year he had landed a new job with a more traditional Monday-Friday, 9am-5pm schedule. Even still, in my mind, Joe was connected with Ferraro Foods, and that place to me was a reminder of what it meant to start where you are and keep moving. That place was a part of the story of our re-kindled relationship and even then seeing any reference to the company would give me a little flutter of hope.<br />
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After he died, it was even more pronounced. I began noticing trucks with Ferraro Foods emblazoned across the side or a strategically-placed package of food with their logo at times when I most needed some encouragement. Just like <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/04/dont-stop-believin-5k.html">how I feel about the song Don't Stop Believin',</a> seeing something with Ferraro Foods became a little hello from Joe.<br />
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December has been a tough month. It now starts off with the anniversary of Joe's death on the 5th and this year concluded with my Dad in the hospital. He spent his birthday there as well as Christmas and now will be there for New Year's too. In the midst of the hard though, I have gotten little hellos from Joe at just the right times. There have been many moments, but the big one came on Dad's birthday. I was driving up to work, approaching the Turnpike exit for the hospital, and I started feeling overwhelmed with sadness. I glanced over to the truck lanes only to see that familiar Ferraro Foods truck right there, moving at the same pace. I almost couldn't believe it. But I had to because at just that moment, as if I had planned it myself, "Don't Stop Believin'" came on the random shuffle. Random. But not really.<br />
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I am thankful when signs like these pop into my life. They reassure me that I am not alone and that there is a reason to hold out hope. Thirteen years ago when Joe and I started dating again I had no idea how things would turn out for us. But there was the hope of something new and meaningful, which was exactly what we both needed. That hope is what I will carry with me into 2019, knowing that to get to where I want to be I must first start where I am.Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-18214594349066400962018-11-03T16:38:00.002-04:002018-11-03T16:38:59.143-04:00God Is Present: Reflections on Who Is God When We Hurt
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">I've been reading a lot lately. I made a decision a few months ago
to always have a book that I'm reading and to carry it around with me in my
giant mom bag. As a result, I've read a lot of books and have spent plenty of
time digesting what they mean for me. Also as a result, I have become a
collector of books I want to read and now have a stack of them still to be read
by my bed. Never do I finish one without having the next lined up. Over the
past month, I've read some great ones including <i>Curveball: The
Remarkable Story of Toni Stone,</i> <i>The Happiness Project, The Magic of
Thinking Big</i> and most recently <i>Who Is God When We Hurt?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Who Is God</span></i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">...was a special one
and I couldn't wait to dig in. There's just something about seeing the smiling
face of someone you know and love in the author spot that sends the act of
sitting down to read a book over the top. That was all kinds of true with this
one written by Beth Scibienski.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">When I finally looked at the finished copy of <i>Who Is God
When We Hurt? A Pastor-Caregiver wrestles with loss, grief, faith, &
doubt </i>I remember thinking...Oh, this is something I know a lot about.
Perhaps even everything there is to know. I did, after all, care for a cancer
patient and a newborn at the same time - my husband of one and a half years and
our newborn to be precise. If I'm honest, somewhere in my mind as I first sat
down to read Beth's book I was thinking "I could have written this book
myself."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">I couldn't have been more wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Almost instantly I found that, as a pastor, Beth brings a unique
perspective to her journey as a caregiver. Not only does she bring a unique
perspective, but she does it in a way that allowed me, as the reader, to both
enter into her journey and reflect on my own. From the first chapter on wedding
vows to the epilogue wrestling with "lasts", it resonated. There was
much head nodding and "Mmm-hmmms" as I made my way through the book,
but it was not a re-telling of my own story. And I think that is what brought
me the most comfort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Since my own experience with caregiving and grief, I have noticed
a strong desire on my part when speaking with those also in the midst of caregiving
and grief to look for the similarities I have with that person and to
immediately latch on to them. Recently, I have been noticing more my own
tendency to briefly listen to someone else's loss and then immediately jump in
to talking about my own and what I may find to be similar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">It makes sense. We are all searching for connection and validation
and in some ways it is more comfortable to talk about our own experiences than
to sit with someone else through theirs. But what I have come to notice,
especially over the last few months, is that the longer I listen and hold back
from jumping in to my own story right away, the more likely it is that two
beautiful things will happen - I learn more about my own caregiving and grief
journey and I allow for a much deeper connection with the person to whom I am
speaking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Certainly, there were places and spaces where I saw my own
caregiving and grief journey reflected in Beth's writing, but what I valued
most was the ability to "listen" to someone else's unique story and
insights without the temptation to interrupt the flow with my own. In the end,
it meant that I felt her story and all that surrounded it in a powerful way,
which in turn meant I could think in ways I had not previously about my own
journey and how I relate to those around me who are also struggling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Beth was the pastor present with us the
night before my husband died. She shares about it in a chapter in this book,
but even as I read that section I didn't know it all. I couldn't have written
it in the same way and that, I think, is a beautiful thing. She ends that
chapter by referring to a plaque in her office with words that have been
circling around in my head and heart since I read them in this book. It was the
power that I experienced that night before Joe died, but expressed in a way
that helped me understand it on a new level:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">"Bidden or not, God is present. Called or not, God is
present. Summoned or not summoned, God is present. Invoked or not invoked, God
is present. For us, holding hands in a circle around Joe's bed, with the Giants
playing in the background, God was with us."</span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">I thoroughly appreciated the opportunity to step in to Beth's
wrestling match with loss, grief, faith, and doubt through this book. And
unlike the last few books I've read after which I've immediately dived into the
next one, I find myself lingering with this one a bit. And I think that's just
fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-31626562292333485002018-09-29T11:21:00.000-04:002019-01-02T08:04:50.547-05:00Soaring Victories, Crushing Defeats, Goodbyes, and New Beginnings<div style="text-align: justify;">
I own two David Wright jerseys. He is my favorite Mets player and both jerseys were gifts from Joe. Wearing them and even looking at them since he died has been overwhelmingly bittersweet. I have no idea which one of them I will wear today as my son, sister, and I go to Wright's last game, but I know putting it on will pack a punch. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdZw9JT6ocWq911w_uzjQuOfZ0EetzA2ivOQj8YDOgJFwziSe3V6DTCymZSkDvpSsfktzqMEzFk3GdUPl8yKiVkvm1q-SXZOvwE4eXEy-QJYXGCRZPLskFDkazuC5PRWxQfDkCb_D-b5h/s1600/IMG_4977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdZw9JT6ocWq911w_uzjQuOfZ0EetzA2ivOQj8YDOgJFwziSe3V6DTCymZSkDvpSsfktzqMEzFk3GdUPl8yKiVkvm1q-SXZOvwE4eXEy-QJYXGCRZPLskFDkazuC5PRWxQfDkCb_D-b5h/s320/IMG_4977.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a lot of ways those jerseys carry the story of us. So many games together where I wore one or the other. So many baseball moments for us as a couple over the years and the one consistency on our Mets was Wright. There were lots of games in 2006, the year I got Joe a ticket pack halfway through the season as an anniversary gift. We even got to be at the first game of the Division Series that year, an experience that yielded a Mets win and my favorite photo ever of us.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3Vf6CQNVSwz4PTIpqsF_vHZYFoz3rUMmaKKtwqKxOtp1OikReArFZ7n_vLrx432K8jD4V032M7DUTWAoT0Y-9xMhorUSEfTg49VzIzKJYO8nJLIt8Xpv_7HWqAXxPYgRFLvagYS4Q3jt/s1600/IMG_2480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3Vf6CQNVSwz4PTIpqsF_vHZYFoz3rUMmaKKtwqKxOtp1OikReArFZ7n_vLrx432K8jD4V032M7DUTWAoT0Y-9xMhorUSEfTg49VzIzKJYO8nJLIt8Xpv_7HWqAXxPYgRFLvagYS4Q3jt/s320/IMG_2480.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I still remember taking photos of the TV in my living room as the Mets celebrated winning the NL East that year, burning forever into my memory images of Wright and Reyes celebrating together. Joe made fun of me for doing it and I thought of him when I did the same thing after Santana's no-hitter and the 2015 NL East-clinching game.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPQC6sQoIctB0NlNTYfzmpSa-YCbxwxx-54xSeEVR9aMrIMJNU_cVPHqr2B-12l-l2c_XfnretF3h8E9qh712_jfwCGoOz6WnKY0QHVbNnmxKp-ul3xQC_vpm_1rmXjWONiqU8hob8TJ_K/s1600/DSCF0791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPQC6sQoIctB0NlNTYfzmpSa-YCbxwxx-54xSeEVR9aMrIMJNU_cVPHqr2B-12l-l2c_XfnretF3h8E9qh712_jfwCGoOz6WnKY0QHVbNnmxKp-ul3xQC_vpm_1rmXjWONiqU8hob8TJ_K/s320/DSCF0791.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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In 2007 and 2008, David Wright won both the Silver Slugger Award and a Gold Glove. Joe and I got engaged and married. We never stopped going to games and cheering on our Mets. We went to one final game at Shea together on closing weekend in 2008 and watched with some tears from home as Mike Piazza and Tom Seaver walked off the field. Baseball was life - with its soaring victories and crushing defeats, new beginnings and goodbyes.</div>
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We, of course, made our way to Citifield in 2009 - Joe with his Johan Santana jersey and me still with my David Wright gear. In May of that year we also traveled to Boston to see our Mets take on the Red Sox. Even though the Mets' record was awful, it was a good year.</div>
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Then, in January 2010 came our own crushing defeat paired with a new beginning. In a matter of one week, we got the news of Joe's stage 4 cancer and a positive pregnancy test. Baseball was one of the things that saved us that year. Being able to go watch Wright play and Santana pitch complete with our soon-to-be Mets fan son was a bright spot in the midst of a tough year.</div>
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Since Joe's death in December 2011, baseball has been life-saving for me. I go to games with my little guy and we acknowledge his Dad's part in that even though he isn't physically here. It may be remembering how at his first game at Citifield his Dad bought him a Mr. Met doll or how he fell asleep in his Dad's lap at Nationals Park at his first Mets game ever. I tell him about his dad's favorite players and how he hated to high five. And I teach him about the game, something I'm sure his dad would have loved to do, but I will not have go undone in his absence.</div>
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My son and I went to Opening Day at Citifield on April 5, 2012 with one of my good friends. It was 4 months since Joe had died and the day after his birthday. In that game, Santana pitched 5 scoreless innings and David Wright went 2-3 with a walk. The Mets won 1-0. It was my first time at Citifield since Joe died - a goodbye and a new beginning. It was a day with, as I like to say, "all of the feelings", but I left feeling thankful for this sport and this team that has taught me to believe even when the odds seem so long.</div>
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This morning I watched a clip from an interview Wright did recently with Steve Gelbs and in it he said so much of what I've been thinking over the last 7 years since Joe died. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"This is adversity in the baseball world. This means nothing in the real world. In the real world, people go through real adversity. But even using baseball as an example. Fight. Just fight. Keep fighting." -David Wright</span></b></div>
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I am inspired by Wright. Just like in the real world, in the baseball world things don't always go the way we want them to go, but Wright's observation in this interview that when the results don't go the way you want them to don't let it be because you didn't work hard enough or want it bad enough resonates. I see in him someone who was dealt a painful detour in life, but persevered with hope. For years, he dealt with the effects of his spinal stenosis and surgery after surgery, all while working to come back to major league baseball. When I heard him talk about it over these last few years, I saw in him not only the heartbreak and humility of a setback, but also the hope and determination of a comeback. Those are the things that make us human and they are also the things that make us great.</div>
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No matter what happens today (or which Wright jersey I decide to wear), that is what I will take from this moment of David Wright's last start at Citifield and my own journey forward through grief. I know Joe will be there with us as Domani and I take in this amazin' moment at Citifield and that makes me feel all of the feelings.</div>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-28178296931414399672018-08-16T03:38:00.001-04:002018-08-16T03:38:48.067-04:00One of Those Days<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been quite a year. As I sit here in the wee hours of August 16th on what would have been my 10th wedding anniversary with Joe I can't help but think about all of the things that have already been packed into this year - and how they would have been different if he were still here by my side.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiO0QZXIi5tpUzNf1QExZdbPRpr52JI7-FU3xKiZMNtdpCXJJHTmFhCVBuFYNS0k0FrGOZrgTk9hiSV-JbMldR85eiq673wIP7cWwAJl1r8DGQUnZNidhPknBTQquR-DT9h2I3b1PNWRkX/s1600/20799034_10154641459207161_3057146114475120884_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="401" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiO0QZXIi5tpUzNf1QExZdbPRpr52JI7-FU3xKiZMNtdpCXJJHTmFhCVBuFYNS0k0FrGOZrgTk9hiSV-JbMldR85eiq673wIP7cWwAJl1r8DGQUnZNidhPknBTQquR-DT9h2I3b1PNWRkX/s320/20799034_10154641459207161_3057146114475120884_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Wedding Day - August 16, 2008</td></tr>
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<br />I imagine what it would have been like to have his support in January when my Dad went into the hospital and during each of those times that followed when the news seemed to be scarier than the last. I think back to the sleepless nights and countless trips back and forth to New Brunswick and remember how desperately I just wanted to be able to fall into his arms with whatever downtime I had. While I am thankful for our tight knit family and my incredibly supportive friends I know that it was measurably harder to be on that roller coaster of concern without him.</div>
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I think about the day in February while my Dad was still in the hospital when my mom called me on my way to church to let me know she had been in a car accident. I remember what it was like to pull up to the scene of the crash only to see her being put into the back of an ambulance. Once I was on my way to the hospital to meet her at the ER, I remember the overwhelming urge to just grab my phone and call Joe. But his number has been disconnected for years so all I could do was talk to the air through my tears. It's been over 6 years since I've been able to pick up the phone to call my husband and talking to the air is just one of the ways I work shit out in this life after Joe.</div>
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He was always my calm when I was on the high seas and there have been many times this year when his patient way and gentle touch would have made my path easier. Even now almost 7 years later and even though I have learned in some ways and at some times to emulate his patience and calm, there is still a certain emptiness that comes when I am faced with these moments. He's not here and so sometimes I stay on the high seas. Sometimes there are others who help. Sometimes I go for a run. And sometimes I talk to the air.</div>
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This year I turned 40. I never imagined I would do that without Joe. I suspect that if he were here the celebration with friends and family would have taken a slightly different form. He likely would not have planned a brunch where people run a collective total of 40+ miles together before eating and drinking. But given that running has proven to be one of the most powerful outlets for my grief over these past six years, it only made sense to me that my friends and family would join me to "run in" my 40th birthday. Six of us gathered early that morning to run a 6ish mile loop through my neighborhood and then the rest of the crowd joined up to run a mile (or two if you got stuck running in the pack with me) in the park near my house. A few friends and family members got a pass on all the physical activity in order to get the food and drinks ready while we ran.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiae6vwZKCjfkhJy_FouOyR3fC4NUYObYrtEjSyH6ZZicsUgYXJc7YL_gA2jWmcAyEx8N5ca8UXZhXzGqaZ1Gx1Yl4E9FxdTVWUinNtdkddHmYg764XuGIDvweWVcztkFaatogdiOZ5r2EN/s1600/29028213_10155151645717161_6038199297726480384_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiae6vwZKCjfkhJy_FouOyR3fC4NUYObYrtEjSyH6ZZicsUgYXJc7YL_gA2jWmcAyEx8N5ca8UXZhXzGqaZ1Gx1Yl4E9FxdTVWUinNtdkddHmYg764XuGIDvweWVcztkFaatogdiOZ5r2EN/s320/29028213_10155151645717161_6038199297726480384_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 6 mile 40th Birthday Crew</td></tr>
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We covered well over 40 miles and I felt so much love that day. The icing on the cake (of which there was a homemade Mets one from a friend in my running club) was that both of my parents were able to join us for the festivities. After all that they had been through during the first two months of the year, that was really all the birthday present I needed.</div>
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Not long after my birthday, there came a big day in the life of Anne. On March 22, I was appointed to my local Board of Education and then later I was honored with a Power of Women in the Labor Movement Award. It was a special night and I am thankful that I had my son as my date to the Awards dinner and plenty of friends there along with my parents. But I realize more and more as the years go on without Joe that it's when I return home after these kinds of nights that I miss him the most. It is those times when I'm either on top of the world or feeling lower than dirt that I just want to be with someone who gets me in the context of the whole back story of me. He certainly did that in a unique way and I miss it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Mom, Dad, and the Little Guy at the Awards Dinner</td></tr>
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<br />On March 29, it was Opening Day for our beloved NY Mets so Domani and I went as we always do to officially welcome in the baseball season. It has become a tradition for us since Joe died, something we do to spend time together and to be in a place that reminds us of Joe. A reporter started talking to us while we were waiting to get Domani's Kid's Club passport stamped and we ended up on the CBS 5 o'clock news during a segment on Opening Day at Citifield. We talked about Joe and how we go to Opening Day to keep his memory alive. It was a beautiful segment, complete with Domani spinning the prize wheel (just like we always do) and winning a t-shirt on camera. I remember getting home that night, falling into bed, and marveling at the twists and turns that had brought my son and I to that point in our lives. That news segment coming on Opening Day for our Mets at a point in my life when so many other things were feeling hard felt like a little hug from Joe. It's a hug that I feel like I've gotten many times throughout this year in many different ways and for that I am thankful.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7tcaHIa05tinh9fBPOOlUSFbhlFDcCPAhvEPf6NCbiq4zMafB2Jzjt6m6CluNIcP5l2Kds_tyhdUVjVvKXRqrfnNblTiGKCLLtdIL-8ExmowMjDjzlQgLOxaFPLnWwAxaSOtynWWrNRn/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-08-16+at+2.35.08+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="496" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7tcaHIa05tinh9fBPOOlUSFbhlFDcCPAhvEPf6NCbiq4zMafB2Jzjt6m6CluNIcP5l2Kds_tyhdUVjVvKXRqrfnNblTiGKCLLtdIL-8ExmowMjDjzlQgLOxaFPLnWwAxaSOtynWWrNRn/s400/Screen+Shot+2018-08-16+at+2.35.08+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Screenshot from the CBS news segment</td></tr>
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One thing that I suspect I would not have gotten myself into this year had Joe still been alive is the crazy Spartan Beast race I did in celebration of my 40th birthday. My guess is that we would have taken a fabulous trip somewhere instead. But since <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2018/01/happy-birthday-to-mewithout-him-reprise.html">I was the one doing the planning, it was off to Mountain Creek for me.</a> I have done a lot of races since I started running in 2012, but none as physically, mentally, and emotionally challenging as the 13+ miles and 30+ obstacles of the Spartan Beast race. I feared that I was doomed from the beginning when I couldn't even hoist myself over the wall to get into the start corral. Thankfully, a kind soul gave me a boost and with some perfectly timed pump up music before our start I hit the race course determined to put it behind me. When I came upon the same wall within the first few obstacles I almost froze in my path. Instead, I found something deep within me and just went for it. I lifted myself right over on the first try and then promptly shouted "HOLY SHIT I DID IT!" over and over again. It felt awesome. </div>
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I had the "HOLY SHIT I DID IT" moment again with the "Bender" obstacle. By that point I had already done penalty burpees on the Tyrolean Traverse and I had no interest in doing more. In my mind I was going to do everything possible to get by that Bender obstacle without subjecting myself to another set of that misery masquerading as exercise they call burpees. A woman who I had been chatting and racing with through a couple of obstacles helped make sure I secured myself along the first rung of the Bender and then I started working my way up and over with some other racers on the ground giving direction as to how to maneuver myself. I am certain this obstacle is where I racked up most of the bruises on my body as I both clung tightly so as not to fall and pushed through many awkward and painful positions to get myself over the obstacle. Once I was finally over and safely on the ground, I almost cried. And that was only a third of the way through the race.</div>
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There were so many things in that race that I thought I could never do which I did. Carry this huge stone. Climb over this wall. Crawl under this barbed wire. Keep going up and down this mountain all day long. Go under this dunk wall. Carry this bucket with rocks along this path. Burpees. Burpees. And more burpees. Carry this sandbag down this hill and back up again. Penalty hike up this mountain for missing the spearthrow. And this one for falling off the Twister. Keep going through the pouring rain and in the thunder and lightning as they close the course while you are less than a mile from the end and then wait to hear if the race officials will even let you finish. By the time it was over I was soaking wet, bruised, bloody, and happier than I had been in a very long time. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bucket Brigade and my race in a nutshell</td></tr>
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It took me weeks to recover, but it only took me hours to decide that I would be finishing the other two (shorter) length Spartan races this year in order to complete my Trifecta. I've got my eye on conquering Mountain Creek again in October and I plan on doing way fewer burpees this time around.</div>
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This year I also opened the last gift I ever received from Joe. Music was always one of the things that kept Joe and I connected. We loved going to shows together, listening to music at home or in the car, and learning new things about our favorite artists. Joe always seemed to be the guy who knew everything about everything when it came to music. It should come as no surprise then that, unbeknownst to me, he had pre-ordered a CD recording of the NYC show for the Greg Dulli tour we saw in Philly in 2010. That Philly show was the last one we saw together. We had tickets for the one in NYC too, but between having a baby at home and Joe not feeling 100% we decided that one show would have to be enough. </div>
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The CD arrived about a month and a half after Joe died and although I had opened the envelope (which was addressed to him) I had left the CD in its packaging. Until this year. So, in May, on the day that was 7 years from our last show together, I opened it. Listening to that album was one of the greatest moments of catharsis I've had in awhile. It became a special part of my year and I keep the CD in my car for those times when I want to have some moments with him where I'm doing more than just talking to the air.</div>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-87446934874273818422018-06-17T02:04:00.000-04:002018-06-17T02:04:18.884-04:00Memories of His Dad - A Box for Domani<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tonight my heart is full. I just finished putting together a Father's Day gift for Domani that has been more than a month in the making. Friends and family have been sending me photos and written memories of his dad in order to create a memory box for him to keep and I couldn't be more excited to give it to him. This past year as Domani has been attending his peer grief support group he has become more and more interested in hearing stories about his dad so it seemed like perfect timing to pull together a gift that would do just that.</div>
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When Domani is thinking about his dad or on special days like Joe's birthday, he loves looking at old Shutterfly photo albums and the two "Daddy and Me" board books I made for Father's Day (one for Joe in 2011 and one for Domani in 2016). He has gone through those albums and books so many times over the past year especially that he almost has them memorized. I realized that it was clearly time to expand his "Joe library". We started to do that over the holidays with some family members writing down memories and a few including photos too, but I could tell that as we moved past Mother's Day and towards Father's Day there was a need to do something meaningful for him. He was looking for ways to connect to who his Dad was.</div>
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I know as his mom that I will never be able to <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2015/06/i-am-not-his-dad-fathers-day-post.html">fill the void that was left when his Dad died.</a> There will be moments when he feels cutting pain and sometimes those moments will come in the midst of really wonderful things. There will be times that he is caught off guard by his grief - like tonight when he was asked by a well-meaning acquaintance what he had gotten his dad for Father's Day. There will be times when all he wants to do is rail against how unfair it all feels. </div>
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I know some of those things as a woman who has lost her spouse. I do not know them as a child who has lost a parent. So I do what I can to support my son. Just after Mother's Day, I made the difficult ask of friends and family to go through photos and write about their memories of our beloved Joe. I know it wasn't easy. I did it myself and for as many times as I have already cried looking at our photos from our 2010 tour of Citifield there were still a few more tears left. <b>But things are not easy for my little guy either and I know that having these stories will be such a gift for him as he grieves his dad.</b></div>
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I think I received memories by every method you could imagine, with the exception of fax and carrier pigeon. The flood of Joe stories and the diversity of people who shared them were truly special. <b>As the memories came through, I was struck most by all of the love - the love in the stories, the love in the time and emotional effort it took to tell them, and the love of those who are continuing to be in community with Domani and me through so much of life's hard stuff. </b></div>
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This is a beautiful box because it is full of love and I am sure we will be adding "Joe stories" to it for Domani for many years to come. This truly one of those moments in life where pain and joy can co-exist. Father's Day is hard in our house, but my heart is full and I am thankful.</div>
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I leave you with a quote I came across in a book I'm reading that has been life-changing for me this last month.<br />
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">"In the end, nothing we do or say in this lifetime will matter as much as the ways we have loved one another."</b> -Daphne Rose Kingma as quoted in The Happiness Makeover by M.J. RyanAnne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-49661057381802977632018-01-23T07:59:00.000-05:002018-01-23T08:00:33.226-05:00Happy Birthday to Me...Without Him (the reprise)<div style="text-align: justify;">
It hit me all at once while I was out to lunch with one of my best friends last Wednesday. I'm turning 40 in less than 2 months and I have a lot of feelings about it. The only thing is they have so little to do with getting older. Sure, I am catching myself wondering from time to time why I can't seem to remember things quite the way I used to and I am noticing an increasing number of aches and pains setting in. But what I've been feeling is bigger than dreading a few "over the hill" balloons and banners and an aversion to the getting old jokes constantly thrown at me from younger friends and family members. </div>
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This was a troubling to my spirit that had started bubbling up more and more each time a conversation turned to what I wanted to do for my birthday this year. It's not that I hadn't thought about it. Maybe I wanted to go on a cruise with my sister or down to Port St. Lucie for Mets Spring Training or perhaps I wanted to throw myself a big party. Each time I would contemplate any of these things (or others) I started feeling outside myself. Then disoriented. Then tight. Then sad. </div>
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At first I did write it off to the typical emotions that must come with approaching a milestone birthday, but the more I started really examining what was happening the more I knew it was different. And then, for some reason, what I had started to talk about in bits and pieces at a grief group the week before all became clear for me that Wednesday afternoon over my portobello mushroom sandwich at the Mill Hill Saloon. <b>Because what I wanted more than anything was for Joe to be able to answer those 40th birthday questions with me (or perhaps even for me) and for me to have been able to do the same for him 3 years ago when it should have been his 40th.</b> Missing these milestones with each other is exactly what has been gnawing at me. It has been that uncomfortable chunk sitting in the back corner of my brain and it has been that unsettled part of my heart.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's another one of those times when grief, even though far removed by years, has snuck back into my life for one more bite at the apple.</span></b></div>
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I started this blog with <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/03/happy-birthday-to-mewithout-him.html">a post I wrote</a> on the first birthday I celebrated without Joe. Our respective birthdays continue to be heavy days for me because even without him here physically, they are markers. There always remains the question of what will I do (or not do) on those days and there are always the what ifs that play in my mind. The one thing I have come to realize, though, is that ignoring the day never seems to work. Some years have been <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2017/04/trainspotting-redux-choose-life.html">better than others</a>, but always he is there in some way.</div>
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The Wednesday lunch cry was helpful. It led my friend and I to a discussion about ideas for what I actually wanted to do for my birthday this year (a run with friends and family and perhaps a small birthday dinner) and it freed me to set aside those things which I actually did not want to do (the trips and big parties I would have to plan). We are still talking and planning, but I am confident we will figure something out - even if it means scrapping all the "plans" the day before and doing something completely different.</div>
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The cry also provided me the final kick in the ass I needed to do something for myself.</div>
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I had been waffling about signing up for my first Spartan race for some time, feeling like I needed a new physical and mental challenge to welcome in my 40th year, but also feeling beaten down about my ability to actually do it. The cleansing tears and conversation with my friend were just the push I needed to sign up. During that lunch break, I finally committed to the race and to the training. Before I was back from my lunch break I had the race confirmation in my email. So, at the end of April I'll be taking on my biggest racing challenge yet - 12+ miles up a mountain with obstacles thrown in. I have my work cut out for me, but as my friend pointed out...this is exactly the kind of thing I thrive on. </div>
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And it is exactly what I need.</div>
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So, a big thank you to Julia. Now, for better or for worse, I have one big piece of my 40th year already coming together and I couldn't be more terrified...I mean, excited!<br />
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-91896725660944498362017-12-02T04:28:00.003-05:002017-12-02T04:28:28.503-05:00Grief is GoodMy husband Joe died six years ago this Tuesday. My son was 15 months old.<br />
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A 33 year old widow.<br />
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Although the grief was palpable, there was no way to know then the journey that was ahead for the two of us.</div>
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How could it be that just as my own grief was finding its settled space that then I would be watching my son only beginning his grief process? </div>
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How could it be that just as I was establishing a balance of living life and honoring Joe's memory that grief would then start all over again in our household in the heart of my sweet 7 year old child? </div>
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Who said THAT was ALLOWED?</div>
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Allowed or not, it's what happened. In fact, it has been happening in varying degrees since my little guy was about 3 years old. But this year it hit like a ton of bricks around Father's Day. There was an emotional night on the soccer field after practice. There were many heart-wrenching conversations about feelings of loss. It was all accompanied by plenty of tears - of both the mommy and then-6 year old varieties.</div>
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Thankfully, I had been made aware of an incredible program located not too far from us called Good Grief and we quickly went for an introductory meeting.</div>
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Although my son was hesitant at first, they had him sold with the fidget spinner in the welcome bag. Ever since that first visit, he has grown more and more comfortable with the people, the space, and with bringing his grief into the midst of it all.</div>
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Thanks to Good Grief we have grown emotionally and in our relationship with each other. For me, much of my time there so far has been about learning how best to support Domani as he both gets to know his dad better and grieves his death. For his part, Domani has found a crucial space for peer support. He now feels more comfortable asking questions about his dad and is more open about sharing what he is feeling when something strikes him. I am thankful that he is moving forward in these ways. Good Grief has been the space that we each needed.</div>
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These past two weeks leading up to the 6 year anniversary of Joe's death were significant for Domani in his grieving, but perhaps even more so for me. It was during the course of these two weeks that I fully realized he is in the midst of his own grieving process. There are ways that his process affects me, but I feel like he is now making his own way. </div>
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Up to this point, I have shared about various pieces of our grief journey on this blog. However, it has become clearer and clearer to me over these past two weeks that Domani and I are now at a place where he has stories that are his alone and not mine to tell. So, when he has big moments along the way (as he did recently) and I am privileged enough to be part of them I have come to understand that the right thing is for me to be present and supportive, but let those moments truly belong to him.</div>
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I struggled a lot with what I should do as I watch him through these moments and I'm honestly not sure if I've landed in the right place. I did write about the progress I observed him making over the last two weeks and I saved it as a private post for him. I hope that someday when he is a bit older he will read it and it will mean something to him to have a record of that time from my perspective. Maybe at some point he will want to share it or maybe he won't. Either way, it will be his to do with what he wants.</div>
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In the meantime, I'll keep sharing moments from my own life, knowing that once in awhile those moments will include my little guy.</div>
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November 16th was one of those moments. It was the 3rd Thursday in November and that meant it was <a href="https://www.childrensgriefawarenessday.org/cgad2/about/index.shtml">Children's Grief Awareness Day</a>. Before this year, it was a day I knew nothing about. Now that my son and I are both participating in peer grief support groups our participation in this day was a no brainer. He wanted to wear the special shirts that Good Grief was providing to participants and I took on the task of spreading the word to family and friends using some brochures and social media. I came across and shared this TED Talk titled "Grief is Good" which I found to be particularly powerful.</div>
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Nothing could have prepared me though for what happened at my son's school. On November 15th I sent him in with a brochure about Children's Grief Awareness Day and a note explaining how he would be participating the next day by wearing his Good Grief shirt. That afternoon, my cell phone rang and I found myself choking back tears as his teachers asked if it would be okay to send out a request to the parents of his classmates for the children to wear blue in support of the grief day. I was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness and care and agreed that would be a wonderful thing to do.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In our Good Grief shirts for CGAD on November 16th</td></tr>
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As I was walking him to school the next morning, I let Domani know that his teachers had sent out a notice about Children's Grief Awareness Day and that some of his friends in his class may wear blue to school to show their support. He was so happy. Later that day when I got a notification that a photo had been posted to the classroom app I cautiously opened it up, hoping that some kids had remembered and worn some blue. What I saw was my smiling son in the middle of a sea of blue, arms slung around two classmates in the happiest way. It was a most amazing moment and I was thankful beyond words.</div>
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The support network that I see growing around him reminds me of the one that surrounded me in those first months and years after Joe's death. It was critical for me as I grieved and is one of the reasons why I am in such a different place now six years later than I was then. Now as Domani grows and begins moving through his own grieving process, I am encouraged that he has his own network of friends, family, and caring adults to see him through. If there is one thing that the last eight years going back to Joe's diagnosis have taught me it's that we are stronger when we do the hard things together. What power and blessing there are in community and solidarity!</div>
Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-31272156924430498672017-09-28T03:46:00.002-04:002017-09-28T03:47:24.099-04:00Seasons of Love and Grief<div style="text-align: justify;">
September is already on its way out and with any luck it will take with it the summer weather that has stuck around just a bit too long. We are officially into the fall and soon enough the weather will undoubtedly catch up. Without fail, the change of season from summer to fall is a trigger for me. It was the time when Joe's health started to decline and so the fall included the last times that he, Domani, and I ventured out as a family. This year, though, the summer, too, carried its own weight so as the calendar turned to September and I felt the usual stirrings, I also felt myself finally starting to process the months that had come before.</div>
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I have realized several helpful things.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One - </span></b>Loss and grief are unpredictable and can never be packed up in a neat box. In many ways, I have born witness to the pain of loss and grief in the lives of my friends and family over the past several months. In my own home, I continue to engage with my son as he works to process his dad's death. The quote that keeps coming back to me is one of my favorites from Anne Lamott.</div>
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I am thankful for the ways that I have moved from mourning to joy in my own life even in the midst of additional losses and the distinct pain that comes with them. I am also glad that I have learned enough about myself and the ways I grieve that I can do it with patience and find the strength through my faith to be there for others who are experiencing a loss. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Two -</span></b> There are some people who are in our lives for just a season and that is perfectly fine. It's important to soak up all of the good from that time, learn lessons where applicable, and let go when the time is right. It was true for me in more than one way over the last few months and the letting go has opened itself up to more good than I could have thought possible in even this short time - new people, new experiences, personal growth, deeper relationships - in a word, it's been healthy. It makes me think back to the biggest example of this in my life so far - when I finally accepted the end of a toxic relationship only to open the door to reuniting with Joe. Expending energy on pieces of life that are better let go keeps that energy from all of those other healthier places. I'm relieved that I was able to leave behind the toxicity all of those years ago and to once again accept when the season called for change and the redirection of my energy now.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Three - </span></b>Although a week plus at Disney World certainly tested the boundaries, I could not be more thankful for my family. All 10 of us took on Orlando for our family vacation this year and it was not lost on me how lucky I am to have a family I can enjoy myself with for that long in such a high stress environment.</div>
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While we were there, I watched my super-mom sister Karen navigate her 3 children all under the age of 7 around 8 days of Disney World, ensuring that they saw and did each thing they wanted to do. It was nothing short of miraculous and we have over 700 official Disney pictures to prove it. </div>
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I watched my dad tear up as he witnessed his grandkids getting hugs from princesses and then laugh with joy while getting his own photo with Chewbacca. It was not too long ago that my dad couldn't even walk around the floor during his hospital stay let alone spend 6 days walking around Disney World. At that realization, I was the one with tears in my eyes. We had serious life conversations late into the night while lounging in the hot tub, played insanely competitive poker games wagering whatever random things were lying around the dining room, and covered more miles than I can count making memories that will last a lifetime.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very happy Dad making friends with Chewbacca</td></tr>
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I've always known that my family is something special. After all, not only can I survive a week at Disney World with them, but they inspire me, encourage me, hold me accountable, and love me unconditionally. But there has been something about these past few months that has made me realize on a deeper level just how fortunate I am to have such a close-knit, loving family in my life. They are a lifeline and God knows I need that right now more than I ever have before.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole family with Chewbacca</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading out to the field to run the bases<br />
after our last game of the year!</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Four - </span></b>Baseball is still my oasis even when the Mets are awful. Whether it was Citifield, Citizens Bank Park, or PNC Park, taking in a Major League Baseball game this summer was one foolproof way to calm my nerves and reset anything else in my life that seemed off kilter. Now, the standings don't lie. This was a tough season to be a Mets fan. The injuries. The drama. The "trades". The losses after losses after losses. My Neil Walker shirt still teases me every time I flip through my closet. Domani's Lucas Duda growth chart stares at us from the wall each night when I put him to bed - a bed that has a Curtis Granderson fathead within reach in one direction and a Thor news article in the other. This season with its high expectations that came crashing down has felt like a million tiny papercuts that never stopped coming.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting out a rain delay, finding some hope in a rainbow</td></tr>
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Yet even on our worst days this season when it was nearly impossible to find a "fan" with a good word to say, I still had the privilege of enjoying baseball with my son. We did it for 20+ games between NYC and Philadelphia and because I never know when that privilege may be taken from us, I will never take it for granted. Domani is a smart and enthusiastic baseball fan. He studies statistics, watches replays, and now knows more about the Mets roster than I do. He cheers for his Mets in any and all circumstances. It is a pleasure going to games with him.</div>
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This season he decided that he wanted to choose an American League team to cheer for as well. To make his decision, he studied. He spent many weeks following statistics and standings, reading about players, and checking out replays from games. About two months ago, he chose the Twins. (There was, admittedly, quite a bit of lobbying from my co-worker Mr. Seth, although this only served to make Domani resistant initially.) I guess the good news now is that at least one of us has a team to cheer on into October. It also doesn't hurt my "Ya Gotta Believe" optimism that Mr. Seth's Twins finished last year with 103 losses, even worse than our Mets this year. Tonight, I watched them celebrate clinching a Wild Card spot. You never know what can happen in a year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off his Twins hat and batting stance</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Five - </span></b>When I think I can't, I still can. A running lesson re-learned. While I was training for the Philly Marathon in 2014 in hopes of qualifying for Boston <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2014/08/my-holy-shit-training-moment.html">I learned a lesson on a particularly tough 10 mile run</a> that powered me through to qualifying then and still stays with me - "When I think I can't, I can." The problem is that recently I have been talking myself out of it in a hundred different circumstances. This past month I decided that no matter what I would not let that happen.</div>
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Earlier this year I had signed up for the Newport Jersey City Half Marathon because it was a package deal with the Newport 10k. I fully intended on doing some training for it, but I didn't. I have no good reason for not training. I just didn't. Even so, I am still in decent running shape and my doctor assured me the week before the race at my annual physical that all systems were go. So, I decided my mantra would be "when I think I can't, I can" and even though an Afghan Whigs show the night before got me into my Jersey City hotel at 3am I was at the start line and ready to go by the 8:30am gun time.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid-race selfie with the Statue of Liberty</td></tr>
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It was my slowest half marathon ever. Slower than the first one I ran in Miami Beach for my birthday. Slower than the Disney World one when I stopped and took photos with characters. Slower than my slowest by over 5 minutes. But I felt so good about it. I hadn't run the distance in a year so completing the race at a steady pace left me feeling powerful again. I'm claiming it as a personal victory because that is exactly how it felt - a beautiful reminder that when I think I can't, I still can. I feel like it's a mantra I can start carrying again in my life and one that I can allow to seep in much deeper than just for running.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Six -</span></b> Music is still my best medicine and concerts my ultimate church. All summer long I had been looking forward to the fall for one big reason - all of the concerts. Starting with The Afghan Whigs in September and ending with Voodoo Fest in New Orleans, I spent the summer listening to music and longing for my opportunity once again to hear it all live.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brooklyn Steel. 9/16/17</td></tr>
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The Afghan Whigs shows did not disappoint. Three shows, each of them unique. So many of my friends there with me. Music that stirred up all of the feelings. A meet and greet with special merch in Philly. The performance in its entirety of In Spades at The Bowery Ballroom. Front and center with some of my most favorite people for a rock your face off set at Brooklyn Steel. <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2017/07/grief-and-baseball-and-running.html">Remembering Dave Rosser</a> with love alongside others who got it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Malinda. Philly. 9/12/17</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into The Floor. Philly. Viva La Rosser. 9/12/17</td></tr>
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Live Afghan Whigs shows can keep me going for weeks except that this time my music high was interrupted by some shitty news. I couldn't even process it when I saw that Charles Bradley had died. I thought back to <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/09/the-weather-is-getting-crisper-dear-joe.html">when I first saw him in September 2012</a> at ATP's I'll Be Your Mirror Festival in New York City. I stood near Greg Dulli watching him perform one of the most exciting sets I had ever heard. I remembered October 2014 when I saw him open for The Afghan Whigs at The Beacon Theatre. He was my favorite part of that show and by that point I knew the words to almost all of his songs I had listened to him so much. <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2014/10/the-afghan-whigs-do-it-again.html">His music changed me that night</a> and continues to change me as I listen to it today. It's almost as if I have little personal revelations whenever I listen to his songs. Before his cancer came back he had returned to touring and was scheduled to play at Voodoo Fest in October. His name on the lineup was one of the reasons I so wanted to be there. I'm going to miss the Screaming Eagle of Soul, but am so thankful that I can continue singing along with my decidedly worse voice to his soul-shaking music.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">EPILOGUE - </span></b>Over the past few days as I have been writing this post, Domani has taken an interest in having me read to him from this blog. It's a little overwhelming. It started out one night when he was feeling sad about missing his dad and wanted to hear some stories about him. Having already read him the many photo books we have multiple times, I got the idea to offer him something a little different. So, I pulled up <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/09/the-weather-is-getting-crisper-dear-joe.html">a post from 5 years ago</a> that had come up in my Facebook memories and I read it to him. We laughed and cried together. At several points I stopped and asked him if he wanted me to continue reading, which he did. We finished that first post and he wanted me to read more. The following night, he again wanted to hear one of the "poems" I wrote about his daddy. We read <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2012/12/the-one-year-anniversary-in-eight-acts.html">the post I wrote on the first anniversary of Joe's death.</a> He especially loved the photos and the parts of the post that mentioned him. He told me when we were done that he wants me to keep reading to him about his daddy. Reading those posts to him was an incredibly bonding experience. I'm looking forward to more of it as he is ready.</div>
Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-78948404956620903782017-07-05T12:04:00.000-04:002017-07-05T12:04:28.879-04:00Grief and Baseball and Running<div style="text-align: justify;">
I woke up last Wednesday morning still sleepy and reached for my phone, looking forward to yet another sunny day at the Jersey shore. There was plenty of stress brewing back at work and my body was feeling ragged, but at least I was on vacation. I was away with my little guy and he was with his cousins. We had books to read, salty air to breathe, and the ocean to play in.</div>
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Before starting my day, as I do most mornings, I wandered between Twitter and Facebook to see what was new with friends and family and the world around me. What was new was grief. </div>
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<b><i>GRIEF PART ONE</i></b></div>
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First it was one random post. Then another. And then a flood. Until finally, it was the only thing in my timeline. Dave Rosser had died. Dave Rosser, who not only played guitar with The Twilight Singers and The Gutter Twins, but also with The Afghan Whigs. Dave Rosser, who was not only an insanely talented musician, but a remarkable human being. Dave Rosser, who was diagnosed with colon cancer in October.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBu578Kr4sYvy9UvVFNnWiftRoPJd3AJaFEsCLwq-uFSBVX_qOWxUn1F3-vHQZspYRtOdVYPjyivHm4JC1qCHoG-8tSpYJf4qXzs7_DHLCz3k2RtK_qTuwYJXcnHZVWmVn16GJ8RcM_Ac/s1600/IMG_4275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBu578Kr4sYvy9UvVFNnWiftRoPJd3AJaFEsCLwq-uFSBVX_qOWxUn1F3-vHQZspYRtOdVYPjyivHm4JC1qCHoG-8tSpYJf4qXzs7_DHLCz3k2RtK_qTuwYJXcnHZVWmVn16GJ8RcM_Ac/s320/IMG_4275.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Dave Rosser before the October 5, 2012<br />
show at Terminal 5 in NYC</td></tr>
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Talk about ripping a bandage off an old wound. Our favorite music. That same pesky fucking disease. Even right down to them both playing the guitar. These moments don't happen anywhere near as often now - almost 6 years since Joe died - but when they do, it's a bitch. It was a day of not knowing what to do with myself. </div>
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By that point in the week I was finishing up a book called Baseball Life Advice by Stacey May Fowles and starting a book called The Long Run by Catriona Menzies-Pike. If not for the insight from these two books this week I might have found myself today in a messy heap on my bedroom floor. More on the rest of the week in a bit.</div>
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<b><i>BASEBALL LIFE ADVICE</i></b></div>
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Baseball Life Advice was one of those books that had me alternating between talking out loud to the author as if she's my BFF, crying behind my sunglasses, and trying to downplay my obnoxious guffaws. My reading of it seemed to be timed perfectly with what was unfolding in my life. So it goes sometimes in what I like to think of as these miracle moments because when I chose this book for my vacation reading I obviously had no idea what would be brewing.</div>
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It only took me the first chapter to know that Ms. Fowles is "my people". It's there where she explains her deep affection for baseball with prose that had me wiping away tears and carrying on whole conversations with the text. Except for a few details, I could have written many of the words myself and that was incredibly comforting.</div>
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In one section she writes, "Baseball became "my thing," and its stadiums my church, a place to pray in times of hopelessness, the source of a solace I couldn't find elsewhere. I never feel more human, or more sane, than I do inside a ballpark." </div>
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And I thought, "Yes, yes, YES!" </div>
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Baseball has been my medicine since Joe died. Going to games with my son. Going to games with friends. Being alone at games. There is both communion and medicine for me at the ballpark. The crack of the bat. The taste of a pretzel and a cold beer. The isolated cheers that grow to fill the stadium. A stolen base. The predictability of the 7th inning stretch. The crowd on its feet for that final strike. The deafening roar at a game-winning homer. Knowing that more often than not my Mets will break my heart and that will remind me of life too...because that is what's real. </div>
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Ms. Fowles includes in her book a quote from Roger Angell's book The Summer Game which has stuck with me all week.</div>
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"This was a new recognition that perfection is admirable but a trifle inhuman, and that a stumbling kind of semi-success can be much more warming. Most of all, perhaps, these exultant yells for the Mets were also yells for ourselves, and came from a wry, half-understood recognition that there is more Met than Yankee in every one of us."</div>
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Truth be told, I've been feeling very "Met" recently. And not the 2015 postseason-bound Mets or the 1986 World Series Champion Mets or the 1969 Miracle Mets. I've been feeling a lot like the "now" Mets and it seems like every time I turn around there is a new thing in my way. This year the Mets seem to have injury upon injury and I just seem to be accumulating life stuff. </div>
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I wasn't going to get to a ballpark until Saturday, but thankfully we filled in the gap with some baseball on the beach with the kids. It was my son's favorite part of vacation and for sure one of the most tender times for me to both watch and join. It was impossible to do without envisioning how Joe would have fit into the mix. I guess these things were on my little guy's mind too.</div>
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<i><b>GRIEF PART TWO</b></i></div>
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It was two days after the news of Dave Rosser's death when he approached me on the beach looking sad. He cuddled right up to me and wanted to have his beach towel wrapped around him. Once he was comfortable I asked him what he was thinking and if he was ok. I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to me.</div>
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He told me that he wants to be a baby again. When I asked what he meant he said that he wants to stop his life where it is and start it over again because he misses his daddy. If the news of Dave Rosser's death was like ripping a bandage off an old wound, these words from my 6 year old were like that scene from Temple of Doom where the beating heart is ripped out of the guy's chest. I couldn't even catch my breath as I processed what it meant for him to think this deeply about his loss and how much he wants to have his dad here with him.</div>
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I do everything I can to surround him with love and help him grow, but I cannot give him his father back. I can grieve with him (which I did) and I can share stories with him (which I did), but there is this space in his life which Joe occupies that I just cannot fill for him. I am realizing more and more that he is on a grief journey too. He certainly will rely on many of the people around him to love and support him, but in the end it will be his journey.</div>
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<i><b>RUNNING</b></i></div>
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There were many lovely things about Catriona Menzies-Pike book, not the least of which being that it kept encouraging me to run while I was reading it - encouragement which has not been easy to come by for me of late given some seemingly endless health challenges. The most important part to me though was a section at the end because it captured my own feelings towards running while also reminding me to be gentle with myself through all that life throws my way.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I might not have become a champion, but I've become a runner, and somewhere along the way I stopped raging about what my life might have been like if that plane hadn't crashed. </span>That's a life that I can now see has been plotted by surprises: including both an horrific airplane crash and the discovery of contentment in running. I've been fit enough to run marathons and, in between, I have slowed down and sped up again, delighted by my body's capacity for renewal. There are many limits to my progress as a runner: some of them lie within me, some are beyond my control. <span style="font-size: large;">Instead of trying to master the contingencies, I just live with them."</span></div>
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If there is one thing that I have learned in my years of running since Joe died it's that so much running advice is also good life advice. So, perhaps for me right now life calls for a little less of trying to master the contingencies and a little more trying to live with them.</div>
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Last night, the little guy and I were back at the ballpark and for good measure I went in my Viva La Rosser shirt. It just felt right.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinz9xqzDKTbTnDDOgXEGDmFV3MawbdUXpTLIBHWfNDJoZKru2nwRJTKT9LKf0Lp50ud2hWv9Pw_3tMKGXZ5YxzC7pyieoQTeQ6hKyJU-lqzInvu03DpYjiA5BnOebix1jr9TtGxTVRehk1/s1600/IMG_0779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinz9xqzDKTbTnDDOgXEGDmFV3MawbdUXpTLIBHWfNDJoZKru2nwRJTKT9LKf0Lp50ud2hWv9Pw_3tMKGXZ5YxzC7pyieoQTeQ6hKyJU-lqzInvu03DpYjiA5BnOebix1jr9TtGxTVRehk1/s320/IMG_0779.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my son at the Trenton Thunder game<br />July 4, 2017</td></tr>
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<i>(I encourage you to check out both books... Baseball Life Advice: Loving the Game That Saved Me by Stacey May Fowles and The Long Run: A Memoir of Loss and Life in Motion by Catriona Menzies-Pike)</i></div>
Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-73185323973515528972017-04-04T21:31:00.000-04:002017-04-04T21:31:56.124-04:00Trainspotting Redux: Choose Life<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">Today my husband Joe would have turned 42. Instead, it is the sixth time his birthday will pass without him here. Even six years later there is still a sharp tug each year when the month changes to April and I still have a cry when I wake up on the 4th unable to wish him a happy birthday. It's just one of those days where inevitably grief weighs in.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">It also happens to be one of those days that has come with a life lesson for me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">In 2011, when he celebrated his 36th birthday I was in Bangor, Maine on an assignment for work. We had discussed it when I was first told about the trip, but since neither of us were in the habit of making a big deal out of our birthdays unless it was a "big year" we figured I might as well just go. I have no idea if he quietly hoped I would refuse the trip and stay, but my own mind was just not there. I was overwhelmed with my workload and a 6-month old and a husband undergoing chemo treatments. I wasn't thinking about life. I was just trying to do it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: white;">Besides, he was doing well. If you looked at him at that time you wouldn't have even known he had cancer. We both thought he had plenty of birthdays left. <b><span style="font-size: large;">But the thing I know now is that April 4, 2011 when things seemed to be going ok and when he seemed to still have plenty of birthdays ahead of him </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">was exactly the moment that I should have made celebrating his a priority.</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">I knew it before I even returned home from that trip. Before his health started to decline that fall. Before he died in December. <span style="font-size: large;"><b>It's one of those moments that continues to define choices I make today and for that I am thankful.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">It meant some incredibly special moments with Joe and Domani in the months that followed (and some other less important things that fell to the side). It has meant not only fun birthday celebrations with family and friends, but also the seizing of countless everyday moments. <span style="font-size: large;"><b>It has also meant learning how to say no to the things that would steal away the opportunities for those moments whenever it is necessary.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">In our home we celebrated Joe's birthday today. I took off from work and went to watch T2: Trainspotting. Twenty one years ago this August Joe and I went to see the original Trainspotting on our first date. It seemed fitting to spend his birthday seeing what Renton, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie are up to now. On the way home from the movie, I had a great visit with a friend from high school and finally got to meet his lovely wife. <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Visiting with them left me marveling again at the beautiful simplicity of mutual love and the truly meaningful aspects of the work I do - both valuable reminders to me right about now. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">When I picked up Domani, the two of us spent some time looking through old photo books and talking about his dad. Then, I bought Domani a small gift in honor of Joe's birthday and we met up with one of Joe's best friends for dinner at our favorite Mexican place. Our dinner plans were Domani's choice for Daddy's birthday. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white; font-size: large;"><b>Being away for Joe's birthday in 2011 is a regret that I learned from and so I no longer regret it. My life has undoubtedly been richer because of the choices I've made since then.</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white;">I wish I could remember the whole new "choose life" monologue from the movie today. But this part certainly applies...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white; font-size: x-large;"><b>"Choose the ones you love.</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white; font-size: x-large;"><b>Choose your future.</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #660000; color: white; font-size: x-large;"><b>Choose life."</b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGDQFjfXsWJWw7-qIddSkc16VQgXMUMN0SnrD75v2PDcLvuIuxmJJMoJHeHxa4a6D1IGy-V5XgnYi6tK9ZzSyXMVkWGs-ixZBQk266YmFXUNZW20dNAe20GmzB79NkO9zIl_RQPiEsdVd/s1600/IMG_7745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGDQFjfXsWJWw7-qIddSkc16VQgXMUMN0SnrD75v2PDcLvuIuxmJJMoJHeHxa4a6D1IGy-V5XgnYi6tK9ZzSyXMVkWGs-ixZBQk266YmFXUNZW20dNAe20GmzB79NkO9zIl_RQPiEsdVd/s400/IMG_7745.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Getting ready to head in for dinner tonight.</span></td></tr>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-593742210913948912016-12-05T05:58:00.002-05:002016-12-05T06:56:55.230-05:00Five Years<div style="text-align: justify;">
Five years ago the Giants had lost to the Packers in a Sunday Night Football game that they almost won. If not for leaving Aaron Rodgers with enough time on the clock to get into field goal range, Eli Manning might have led the Giants to a victory over the undefeated Packers. Instead, the last Giants game I watched with my husband was a narrow defeat, which then somehow paved the way to a miraculous Superbowl season. Joe died the morning after that loss to the Packers, right about this time 5 years ago. It's startling to my spirit that it has been five years. As I said in <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2016/11/if-there-were-no-love.html">another post</a>, it passes like a flash and like molasses all at the same time. Who knows what this season has in store for our Giants given the way those Cowboys seem to be rolling along, but I will admit that quite a lot has changed in five years.</div>
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Five years ago, I was a different person. Spiritually, physically, and emotionally. It certainly began with Joe's diagnosis, but even more so after his death I have changed. The things that were important to me then are just not that important to me anymore. The ways I spent time then, I tend not to anymore.</div>
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More people. More travel. More health. More experiences. More life.</div>
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I run and I race. I go to Mets games and Giants games and Rangers games and Red Bulls games. I protest. I eat and I drink and I enjoy it. I do my best to say prayers with my son every night. I go to concerts.</div>
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I celebrate everything.</div>
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I choose time with family and friends over time at work. I try to learn something new every day. I make plans with friends. I organize get togethers.</div>
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It's not that I didn't do any of these things before, but the rhythm and drive now is just different.</div>
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I see this change in my friends and family too and for that I am thankful. Every time that someone tells me she is living her life differently because of Joe my heart leaps. I think to myself "we are breaking through"...."we can get to what matters"...."the world of our children will be different".</div>
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On the last day Joe was alive, he and I looked back through the photo album from our honeymoon. We had gone to Boston. We ate Boston Cream Pie every day and toured the history and ate and drank. We let our competitive edge run wild playing the Megatouch game at the bar around the corner from our hotel. Five years later, I can play Megatouch anytime I want in my basement thanks to Joe who bought me one for our first Christmas together. And, thanks to my own competitive edge, I can reach out and touch <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2014/11/im-shipping-up-to-boston.html">my Boston Marathon medal</a> right from my bed. In my book, that has earned me all the Boston Cream Pie in the universe.</div>
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Five years ago, the Mets sucked. Even through the misery, we brought Domani to his first away game (in Washington, DC) and to his first home game at Citifield, but our boys finished the 2011 season 4th place in the Division with a 77-85 record. That's a far cry from the fun of last year when Domani got to live it up at Citifield during the postseason and even this year when we squeaked in to a Wildcard game despite a rash of injuries. Now, five years later, we are looking forward to a 2017 with Yoenis Cespedes on the roster for 4 years and plenty of young pitching to keep things going.</div>
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On the last day that Joe was alive, our son Domani gripped his hand and said "dada". At that time, Domani knew all of two words - dada and doggy. Five years later, he can read and write "daddy" along with dozens of other words. Oh, and he almost knows more Spanish than I do. Each day, I walk him to the school across the street from our house, just like Joe and I had planned out eight years ago when we decided this was the perfect home to buy. Domani is potty trained and opinionated, has already run his first 5k race, and knows how to sing, dance, and act. He is also one of the kindest and most compassionate kids I know.</div>
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Five years ago, Joe and I were watching Greg Dulli on a solo tour in Philly. We were at The Trocadero and it was the last concert we ever saw together. We sat in the balcony because he was not well enough to stand on the floor as was our custom. Right after Joe died from colon cancer, Greg's band The Afghan Whigs announced a reunion show which turned into a tour which turned into a new album. Now, five years later, the guitarist of this, our favorite band, has colon cancer and I'm about to head to New Orleans for a benefit show. Talk about FUCK cancer.</div>
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On the last day that Joe was alive, we were surrounded by friends and family. As much as things change, some things stay the same. Those same people are all still with Domani and me today. Joe's best friends have made a point of being my best friends and they love Domani with all they've got. Joe's family continue to take us in as a natural part of their family and for that I couldn't be more appreciative. There have been births and deaths, engagements and weddings, and our circle has had more than our share of health scares. It all makes me deeply grateful for such a strong core of support.<br />
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And I am even more thankful for the way it has grown over the last five years. There are so many more amazing people though who have been added to the mix since Joe died. I have made friends through grief and friends through work, friends through running and friends through the Afghan Whigs, friends through church and friends through the Mets. I have even been lucky enough to <a href="http://www.mamadeakspeaks.com/2016/10/sometimes-mets-miracles-happen-off-field.html">fall into a new relationship</a> after five years of being out on my own.</div>
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Five years ago, Joe would have been the first to tell you that I wouldn't have even looked at an olive and certainly would never have eaten one. I could barely run two miles, let alone 26.2. I had no idea how to check our home oil tank, had never mowed the grass, and freaked out over killing any bug. Oh, how times have changed in the Deak household. Joe would be surprised. But somehow, I think he already knows. After all, I'm one that believes in signs and he just keeps leaving them all around.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsE8YreK1R7qz_IFnUpjwe1Vkjj9MMJ6j0z9wXkr24PSZo8OJ7_JJgTIKIzIRiVnWTpgQTmmYHLYd1yqBCPzmH93D4bplLvUq1pVXSlOBX-WZ9PQ2_Trjte1gMxgTJu5-F4_7RSMUWcb8/s640/blogger-image--1199597273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsE8YreK1R7qz_IFnUpjwe1Vkjj9MMJ6j0z9wXkr24PSZo8OJ7_JJgTIKIzIRiVnWTpgQTmmYHLYd1yqBCPzmH93D4bplLvUq1pVXSlOBX-WZ9PQ2_Trjte1gMxgTJu5-F4_7RSMUWcb8/s400/blogger-image--1199597273.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From yesterday at the cemetery. <br />
I listened to "Who Tells Your Story" from The Hamilton Mixtape<br />
performed by The Roots (feat. Common and Ingrid Michaelson)<br />
"Who lives....who dies....who holds on to all our lives....<br />
Time and time and time again....will they tell your story in the end?<br />
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?"</td></tr>
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Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774628403513421556.post-36155044056327737522016-11-30T17:03:00.000-05:002016-11-30T17:05:30.102-05:00If There Were No Love...<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are some things about this day that I remember as if they were happening right now in this moment. The sickening haze that settled in to that patient room as we listened to the unfamiliar doctor tell us that it was the end of the treatment road for Joe. The long drive home in our Kia Sorento - the last time I would drive anywhere with him. The phone calls and the family and the tears as we gathered.</div>
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It was a Wednesday. Just like today.</div>
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It's no wonder why the heaviness of this past week has felt that much heavier. Five years passes in a flash and like molasses all at the same time.</div>
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Today, I am simply thankful for the people who have supported me through it all and for these words from Zig Ziglar which have helped me through many difficult moments over the last five years...</div>
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"If there were no love, there'd be no grief."</div>
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Amen, Zig.</div>
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Heartbreaking News</a></h2>
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CaringBridge Journal entry by <span data-qa-id="51be49e36ca0045c64005987-journal-entry-author" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Anne Luck-Deak</span> — <span data-qa-id="51be49e36ca0045c64005987-journal-entry-date" style="box-sizing: border-box;">11/30/2011</span></div>
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It is late and we are all quite tired in the Deak household. After a long night last night which included a visit from the hospice nurse, we went to Joe's oncologist today. Joe had been scheduled for his next chemo treatment, but given his weakened state it was hard to believe they would do it.<br />
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That proved correct but on top of that we were told by the doctor covering for Joe's regular oncologist that no further treatments would be possible. A punch in the gut. And she wasn't particularly helpful or sympathetic. Another punch in the gut.<br />
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While we were there Joe was given oxygen and some fluids. He also had a nice nap while receiving the fluids. Thankfully, after returning home we got a visit from his hospice nurse and later a call from his regular oncologist. His oncologist's heartbreaking conclusion was still the same but it was helpful to have our questions answered and to hear the details about his reasoning. The honest truth is that it was very difficult for Joe to travel to Basking Ridge today. His weakened state makes even a walk from the living room to the bedroom a difficult task, let alone walking around to get ready and then out to the car. It would just be too much for him to continue going through the motions of treatments which aren't really having an impact on the cancer.<br />
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We will receive some additional services from hospice and are still considering any other possible options for Joe. Please pray for wisdom in how to proceed and for peace during this seemingly impossible time.<br />
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As difficult as today was, it was nice to come home to a freshly cleaned house and some yummy food in the fridge. We have the most amazing support network and I have a suspicion it will only get better. Love to you all!</div>
Anne Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677216862444900502noreply@blogger.com1