But what we realized as a family was that we took a risk. We didn't let societal or family norms hold us back. We did the opposite of what many people wanted us to do and we did what was best for our family. We took a leap of faith and really risked everything. We wore the proverbial white pants and didn't worry about stains or cellulite.
Since that day back in 2007, life has been a daily journey of White Pants stories, stories that had the capacity to wreck lives, destroy faith and ruin dreams, but somehow here we are, moving forward, seizing life and taking the blemishes and stains and realizing each one simply adds new character and an important story to share.
We could have holed up and remained captive to this journey. We could have decided to live in a proverbial bubble, doing our best to insure no additional harm or tragedies to our lives. We could have said to hell with it and given up. We could have succumbed to the weight of this journey and let our hearts go dark and black.
So white pants also symbolize finding the bright spots of the journey. It's easy to let tragedy own you and collapse you. It's easy to succumb to depression, sadness and fear of what might happen next. But, and this is hard to explain to people who haven't experienced death or a tragedy head on, the beauty is when you find joy amidst the grief, when you realize that tragedy doesn't own you, but it actually helps make you.
A part of my heart died when I found Mark blue and lifeless. How could it not? How could I experience such a thing and *not* have a part of me die as well? That's natural. But in the nearly two years since his death, I've learned how restorative God's healing power is and have seen my heart regenerate. But it's regenerated and morphed into something that it wasn't before.
People say that a person changes after a heart transplant, that their soul takes on a piece of the donor. I feel that way. I feel that God was my donor, in a sense. I feel compassion and empathy and God's gift of allowing me to connect with others' journeys that I hadn't before. God took that broken and dead heart and transplanted in it a desire and a passion to serve others and to help others.
Therein lies the gift of tragedy, and the gift of seizing dreams and callings that come out of a tragedy. Acting on those Godly nudges and believing that something great can come when you decide to keep moving forward, not being held back by norms or opinions, knowing that you may get covered in stains and blemishes, but those stains and blemishes help color the journey and provide character that will propel you forward and help you to relate to others facing the same spots, THAT is what white pants are all about.
And, yes, there really is a pair of white pants that started this whole journey. They're amazingly white after their coffee stains, grass stains, sake stains, soy sauce stains, red wine stains, tear stains and snot stains. And, yes, I do wear them, even if a stain shows, because that stain tells a story and I know I'll have another to add to the story list soon. And I love that you all wear them, too, and that you send me your stories!
So we march forward, living life, being happy even in the saddest tsunami moments that will sprinkle up from time to time, and that will probably sprinkle up from time to time for the rest of our lives. We've endured so much, the kids have endured so much, but here we are, making progress, flourishing, growing and learning when times are good and when they just flat out suck. There are still plenty those sucky, angry moments and days, but these days exist in every one's life. You just pick up the pieces and keep on going and realizing there are lives to impact each day. It's your choice how you impact them. It's your choice what story will be told from that stain...will it be good and uplifting or sad? Make it good.
~~~~
The early diaries below began as Facebook updates following Mark's death. During a recent Facebook style conversion all entries were lost. Luckily a former colleague of mine is now on staff at Facebook and was able to work with their engineering group to recover the lost entries. The entries and really the birth of White Pants follows...
March 22, 2010 --
Eight months.
Imagine that…only
a few weeks between updates this time instead of the requisite three or four
months. The last few weeks have been pretty eventful and I caught myself
looking back, realizing how far we'd sailed off from the dock where we were
once tightly tethered.
In short, these
last weeks have been filled with healing and growth and happiness, not just for
me but also for the kids. It's almost as if, true to the seasons, spring
started peaking around the corner; its sun began casting rays into our garden
and the heavy storms of fall and winter have begun to produce a beautiful,
colorful crop! There are still plenty of rough moments, but the difference is
that we now see what can be and what is instead of only what was.
One of the most
profound moments for me was seeing this clock on the cover of Real Simple
magazine. Imagine a clock with a second hand touching the two o'clock hour.
Written along the left side of the secondhand was "past" and along
the right side of the secondhand was "future. It was a picturesque
reminder that we only have but the very second we're in, nothing more and
nothing less. Of course, you've got to plan and prepare for the future, but the
real prize is when you can do just that, but in such a way as to not lose sight
of what's in front of you, in the here and now.
There's a song by
"Script" (also sung by Kris Allen from American Idol) called
"Live Like We're Dying" (lyrics follow) and, like the secondhand
analogy, it really captures how we've learned to live in the here and now,
embracing the happiness (or the struggles, frustrations and sadness) that we
experience. When tomorrow's worries don't cripple you, because you can grasp
just today and harness it's blessings and embrace what is right in front of
you, that is a blessing. To realize you may be standing alongside something
breathtaking -- life -- and to not be afraid to grab it out of fear of what
might happen tomorrow? In that sentence is freedom and pure serenity. Corny?
Maybe. But it is liberating to let go of what you've got zero control over and
just breathe and enjoy what is with you now, in the present, not in the past or
somewhere in the distant may-or-may-not-be future.
So in this spirit
of letting go of tomorrow and just living today, we've started to do some really
fun things! Mark would always laugh at me as I would drum in the air or with my
eyeliner pencil against the steering wheel (Lord only knows how many pencils
and pens I've broken). I remember back in high school my friend Suzanne and I
would drum and guitar like crazy to the 80's hair bands and have the music
blasting so loud I'm truly surprised we're not deaf. So I have a friend who's
teaching me the drums. Yeah, it's crazy-talk that a gal of my ripe young age
(shush people) would take up drums, but, in the spirit of living in the moment,
I am and it has got to be one of the most exhilarating things I've done!
I've also met
some crazy-awesome ladies. There are six of us and our sharing and chatting has
become a godsend. The beauty in us is that we've learned to cut through the
fluffy crap, get down to the visceral layer of life and lay it all on the line
in a "vault" what-is-said-here-stays-here sort of way. These gals
have been God's little gift…sort of the dessert that cleanses the palate after
a really bitter meal. It's like from the inner-most layers we each get it in a
way that many just can't. Many of you know that my car was broken into, while
parked in my driveway. A County Sheriff rang my doorbell at 5am on a Sunday
morning, scaring the living daylights out of me (doing laundry was nearly a
requirement afterwards). Well, the Sheriff was hot. Granted I don't think he'd
reached puberty, but he sure was cute and sharing this with my gals made me
realize I'm not betraying the love I have and have had for Mark by thinking a
man is good-looking. I can see Mark sitting up in Heaven thinking, "That's
my girl. See, honey, your heart still works. I didn't take your heart to Heaven
when I died, even though you thought I did. I just bruised it a bit, but see
you'll be just fine. You can feel and you will feel and when the time is right,
that's okay!" I'm sure he'd prefer that I wasn't goggling over a
pre-pubescent police officer, but even my 94 year-old grandmother would think
he was adorable so I don't feel too bad.
On an interesting side-note, the Sheriff that came to my door that morning was the same Sheriff that was the first responder the night Mark died. For seven months I'd wanted to thank the officer that was the first on scene and helped me to stay calm during the worst event of my entire life. I never knew who he was or how to find him, but that he was the officer who found my scattered personal documents along Windermere Parkway was such a God thing as I was finally able to tell him, not just from myself but also from my neighbors and family, thank you. Doing so made me realize how little those in public service get thanked for their efforts and it was really an altering experience to realize that in my most crappiest of days at work I don't ever have to deal with the load these guys face every day, day-in and day-out.
I'm sure many, if not most, of you have seen The Blindside. Well, the real-life family, the Touhley Family, came to talk at a local church this past Friday night. Jessica nearly caused me to crash my SUV when she saw the marquee advertising it. So Friday night we were en route when my car died, and I mean caput…as in no power, nothing. After a few lucky moments we made it to the church parking lot (where the Touhley's were speaking) but as soon as I parked in the stall, my car completely died. I'll spare you the boring details other than to say this all began happening around 6:45pm or 7:00pm and a tow truck was not on scene helping me until 10:30pm. But, again in the spirit of living in the moment, I ended up having the most enjoyable experience talking with this man and another couple who stayed with me the entire time (okay, admittedly after such a good cry that my eyes were swollen shut and I'm sure my cheeks resembled a linebacker with black mascara stained tears streaks jutting across them) .
This couple (aged 77 and 74) and the man (a deacon of the church in his 70s) were the most amazing, inspiring people. In the span of 2 ½ to 3 hours I learned more about the kind-hearted nature of people and what being a "good" Christian and a good steward for God really meant. These new friends emanated beauty and grace. We talked for hours about being a widow (the deacon was a recent widower), about the miracles we've encountered along this journey and how amazingly incredible it was to see happiness and beauty come out of the grips of tragedy.
Today marks eight months since Mark left us and, friends, I am happy. I am truly, truly happy. I told a good friend of mine that I'm not moving on, I'm moving forward. I'm not ever, ever going to leave Mark behind as would be the case if we moved on. Mark will always be with us in this journey, and his spirit and his memory give me warmth and happiness along the way. I feel his blessings and his peace and know that whatever the future holds…whether that be here in Atlanta or back in California with our family… that he's just smiling because, for the first time since his death, I'm living…we're living and it feels so, so good.
The housing market is horrible. We have had just a handful of people come look at our home. The job market is horrible. I'm not sure who my employer will be a year from now. The economy has been disastrous and Lord only knows where that will wind up a year or even ten from now. But, friends, it doesn't even matter! If we were to get so restless and caught up in the what-if's and the oh-no-thoughts of what may or may not happen tomorrow or a month or even a year from now, we lose sight of what's right here in front of us; hugging us and causing us to embrace this day; this day. How awesome is that? We are truly loving and embracing this day and enjoying the journey of where God may lead us next, knowing, fully, that His plan will never lead us astray.
And, perhaps, the most exciting news to share, thanks to the encouragement of every single one of you, the book has officially begun. The title? Moving Forward.
Until next time,
love you all and we could not ever walk this journey without every single one
of you.
The Script
Live Like We're
Dying lyrics
Sometimes we fall
down and can't get back up
We're hiding
behind skin that's too toughHow come we don't say I love you enough
Till it's to late, it's not too late
Our hearts are hungry for a food that won't come
We could make a feast from these crumbs
And we're all
staring down the barrel of a gun
So if your life
flashed before youWhat would you wish you would've done
Yeah... gotta start
Lookin at the hand of the time we've been given here
This is all we got and we gotta start pickin it
Every second counts on a clock that's tickin'
Gotta live like we're dying
We only got
86 400 seconds in
a day toTurn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we're dying
And if your plane fell out of the skies
Who would you call with your last goodbyes
Should be so careful who we live out our lives
So when we long for absolution
There'll no one on the line
Yeah... gotta
start
Lookin at the
hand of the time we've been given hereThis is all we got and we gotta start pickin it
Every second counts on a clock that's tickin'
Gotta live like we're dying
We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we're dying
Like we're dying oh-- like we're dying [x2]
We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live -- like we're dying
We never know a good thing till it's gone
You never see a crash until it's head on
All those people right when we're dead wrong
You never know a good thing till it's gone
Yeah... gotta start
Lookin at the hand of the time we've been given here
This is all we got and we gotta start livin it
Every second counts on a clock that's tickin'
Gotta live like we're dying
We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em
While we got the
chance to say
Gotta live like
we're dyingLike we're dying oh -- like we're dying [x2]
We only got
86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em
While we got the chance to say
Gotta live like we're dying
Live like we're dying
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
March 2, 2010
Each month that
goes I realize that little by little life improves. To a great extent, it's two
steps forward and one step back, and I'll find myself in the absolute pits, but
then the next day be embracing life and feeling hopeful about tomorrow.
I've met some fabulous women along this journey, both fellow widows (young like me) and divorcees.Our issues are so different, yet so much the same and we can each find the other's situations so comforting in weird ways. This journey is so unpredictable, so unplanned, and sometimes it is quite difficult to get used to the changes every day. One day the plan for tomorrow is to do "x" and the next day, without warning it becomes "y". This used to drive me absolutely insane, but is something we're learning how to content with now. And talking about this with people who have been through this journey in one way or another sure helps us feel a little less crazy sometimes.
We are in our 8th month since Mark's death. It's hard to believe that much time has gone by. I think my psyche is allowing me to deal with more of the realities of that horrible night. I'm experiencing many more flashbacks and vivid emotions from those early days. Or memories of Mark being here will strike me out of the blue and nearly bring me to my knees. Strange as it seems, this is a sign of healing; that I'm able to feel these things, deal with it, express about it and move on. I'm also learning there is a lot from that night that has been blocked out. The physical actions you remember, but the emotions and what was going through your mind when the officers and emergency responders arrived...yeah, that gets hidden. And those are the details that are emerging now, but it is good to experience as it helps to put all the pieces together and helps to reassure all of us that Mark went silently, peacefully and instantly. Still, the reality that Mark was here, at home, snuggling with me one minute and the next minute, gone, still gets me at my core. And I'd imagine the suddenness and tragic nature of this is what will cause this, more than anything, to be with me, vividly, forever.
But, there is beauty in that, really. And until you go through this experience, it is impossible to grasp the beauty. Mark had the gift of a great marriage that lasted his entire life and was filled with all those things that great marriages should be filled with. That's BEAUTIFUL. I think of his love for life, his kids, me and you all and how that is his legacy. THAT is beautiful. I realize that thru tragedy I am able to love people MORE as I feel like I get it just a tiny bit more than before and that I don't want to waste my time on things that don't matter. Beauty. That I can now realize that just because we aren't perfect, we're still glorious to our God, and He loves us anyways? And that because of all of this, I know we have the capacity to and will be happy again is just awesome.
There are many times every day that Mark "visits". He is never far away...Christopher now can look at the photos on the wall and say "daddy"; I can clap my hands together and say "chop chop" and think of Mark sitting on the sofa, jokingly demanding me to hurry and get something for him. I can hear him telling me to chill out or to tell me, "Okay dumb ass, you really shouldn't have said that." I am comforted by his pictures and his memories, by his family and friends. All of this makes us whole and okay now.
So our house is for sale. I'd like to say that I'm 100% confident in what this means, but I'm not. I'm scared to pieces to leave our home. I'm so afraid to leave Mark Dust behind and move to somewhere where I'm "just" the single widowed mom with three young kids. This home IS Mark. Atlanta became us and we embraced this community after some difficult adjustments early on. I want to go "home" but I know that the lagging real estate market is probably a really good thing as it gives us time to really pray, analyze and let God do with our lives what is best. Tomorrow isn't certain, but if there's one thing I've learned, tomorrow is NEVER certain. This moment is, and only this moment.
OC gang, the thought of being with you all is the most embracing feeling I can possibly imagine!! Mark would love for us to be with you!! Atlanta gang, ditto. It's a spot to be in that I don't wish on anyone, so anxious to get back to home, yet so anxious to stay and make our lives here, in the home and community Mark found.
In the meantime,
it's really great to wake up each day and just be thankful for what
"is"... even when that includes screaming, yelling toddler, youth and
pre-teen temper tantrums.
Love you all!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
December 30, 2009
It seems like
each update starts with, “It’s been a while since I’ve updated…”, but yes it
has been a while, this time way too long. I guess sometimes I feel that posting
about what we’re doing, how we’re surviving and what life has been bringing us
is boring or that I post in small quips on my Facebook page, so I just don’t
here. I’ve been getting inboxed a lot lately to hurry up and update regardless,
though, so “hi”! I’m back!
Since September, when I last updated, we are finding our way around and adapting. It’s odd, really. Some days and weeks we find ourselves going about life as we always would, but with a big hole – a sink hole – that is forever present and unfixable. But tears are further away and laughter is present often and it seems that we’re able to live and breathe and find joy in the daily musings and goings on. The kids will be kids and we’re either pulling Bradley off the ceiling fixtures, adapting to Jessica’s pre-teen conundrums or laughing at Christopher’s Chrisizms. The kids will be off at school and I’ll be settled in at work doing what we do, and all seems calm, clear-headed and manageable.
And then a doozy will hit, completely out of nowhere. The doozy could be caused by anything – a thought, a phone call, a found email, photo or memory. I can be sitting in my car or at the office just daydreaming, and look up to see a car like his or someone walking by with his stature and physique and for a very split second, the splitest of seconds, I’m right back there with him, hugging him, smelling him, embracing him, not remembering where we’re now at or why. These are my Prozac moments, I swear, because for that brief infinitesimally small moment, I had an ahhhh moment of happiness and peace and love. I remember having a partner there with us, in the house, to share the load, to help raise our kids, to pray with, to play Nintendo with Bradley, to teach Jessica computer games, to giggle with Christopher, to embrace me at the end of each day, to snuggle with us, to have family movie night in the basement theater room, to watch MLB, NFL, NHL (even though I’d get annoyed constantly), to fold the laundry (forever incorrectly), to cook fish tacos, to have a glass of wine with and to draw me the hottest bath known to man, along with candles, wine and completely alone time where he’d lock the door behind him on the way out so I’d have my Calgon-recharge moment. The doozy hits when reality snaps back around and whips me upside the head reminding me that that ended five months ago, abruptly, suddenly, without cause, reason or explanation. Our lives went from fast-paced – at 100mph constantly – to sudden brick-wall stoppage. Nothing would ever be the same.
That’s the bad part...those damned doozy tsunami moments. I hate them and they suck. Simply put, no sugar-coating it. What I’ve learned, though, is that as a widow and as a single-mom, you have these moments, but they become part of your fabric and you just keep going. At first they always caused tears and sadness. Now, the tsunami moments, the overwhelming torrent and flood of tears, has lessened and now when the doozy moments strike it’s becoming easier to take a deep breath in and a deep breath out, maybe tear up or maybe not, but to keep on going. Every person I’ve spoken with who’s faced tragedy says the pain never goes away, but it changes over time. I can’t even say it lessens, and most I’ve spoken with agree on this, you often times don’t want the sadness to lessen, lest you forget. And you never, ever want to forget, because to forget seems to mean he never existed. I don’t know if this makes sense, but the pain becomes “not pain” but that longing memory where you enjoy remembering what was, even though you still long for it. And the longing for it moments, while the doozies they are, aren’t always sad, but reminiscent. But even when they are sad, you still embrace them because feeling the emotions means he still lives within you.
And yet another angle to tragedies are the enormous blessings that can emerge from its grasp. I heard a gal on the radio talk about her son’s cancer diagnosis when he was two, and that he is now nine and in remission. She said the days of his sickness were long, dark and unclear. They weren’t sure if he’d survive or die and they weren’t sure how to look forward, so they didn’t. They embraced that moment, every single one of them from the moment of diagnosis until today. She said, in retrospect, that the greatest blessings came during the darkest days, and I have to say I see that now with Mark’s death. I would never have wished for this tragedy, ever. But as a result of it I have seen so many lives changed and touched. I have met some of the most amazing people, heard some of the most amazing stories and truly have seen warmth, generosity and graciousness unlike anything I have ever seen before. I’ve seen my kids develop the most sincere empathy for others’ pain and suffering and a desire to help in all ways.
A few weeks ago my pastor asked if I’d jot some thoughts down about what this experience has taught us, what its life lessons are. I’m including them below. The list is long, but really true and honest to the experience. Sometimes it’s through tough times that we learn and grow the most. I’m thankful for that as I know five years from now our family will be so uniquely strong and equipped to handle all of what life has to bring.
The Lessons:
1. Never, ever,
ever go to bed angry at someone. If the person you are angry with or that is
angry with you dies before they wake, you will have a lifetime of regret. Anger
and grudges are not worth it, nor are they Godly. God gave Mark and I a
tremendous gift and that is that our last memory was full of love and the
beauty of marriage. No words were left unsaid or unspoken. He died knowing how
much he was loved and he died with me and the kids knowing how much we were
loved. This is so incredibly crucial.
2. On a similar
note, don't ever assume that when someone walks out the door that you will see
them again. Treat your encounters with people as if it was your very last
encounter with them. This goes for everyone...the gardener, postal worker, hair
stylist and Starbucks barista, as well as those near and dear to you. When you send
your children off to school, send them off with a hug and a kiss and a happy
thought. When you talk with your friends or family on the phone, let them know
how much they matter. Let nothing be unsaid, unfelt or unexpressed. Don't
assume you will have another chance because God does not promise another
chance. He promises you right NOW, not tomorrow.
3. Live in this moment. The past is gone, the future belongs to God. The present belongs to you. Make it count. You won't get the present back. Be in that moment. When you are at work, work. When you are at home, be home. When you are spending time with your kids, be there with them 100%, not wishing the time would go by quickly so you can watch TV, pay bills, do chores, whatever.
4. When you are with your spouse, enjoy every second. Be there for them in each moment. When you fall to sleep each night spend an extra moment cherishing them for their uniqueness’s. Don't worry about who they aren't or what they don't provide. God did not make anyone perfect, no not even you.
5. Choose your battles. Does it really matter if the cap isn't screwed back on the toothpaste tube? Does it really matter if the towels aren't folded right? Does it really matter if your spouse's hair isn't cut just so, or their clothes aren't just perfect? Don't spend your present moment worrying about things that truly don't matter in the end.
6. Focus on what does matter in the end. When you die, what will truly matter? Will you care how many shoes you had, how much money was in your bank account, how far up the corporate ladder you climbed, what school you children went to, what awards you or your children won? No. What will matter when you die is your relationships; your relationship with God, your spouse, your family, your friends and those "accidental acquaintances" you encounter every day. Your relationships and your contributions to these relationships will be your legacy, not all those frivolous, material, fading trophies we tend to spend our lives worrying about and trying to conquer and acquire.
7. Life can change in a single second. My life was altered forever in that very single second that I rolled Mark over in bed to see him blue and lifeless. One second I was happily married, planning tomorrow and the next second I became a widow and single, full-time working mother to two school-age kids and one baby. Every moment, think about how you would live your life differently if you knew that in one more second everything would change forever. And then make those changes, because your life can change that quickly. What you think can't happen to you, absolutely, categorically can.
8. Never underestimate your strength. When I used to think of people who have gone through what I have and our kids have, I'd shudder. I couldn't imagine such an unspeakable sadness than to find your spouse as I did and for such young children to lose their father. To face such a tragedy would be absolutely, purely, unbearable. I've learned that God will never give you more than you can handle, even when it feels as though you are at your sheer breaking point. You will find beauty in each day, eventually, even if you experience some sadness along the way. God will bring you through the tunnel and you will realize how resilient, brave, courageous and strong you and your children are.
9. When things seem at their darkest, find beauty somewhere, somehow in each and every day. I realized this when Christopher was in the hospital four weeks after Mark's death and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Even if it's simply the smile on your child's face, or the colors of the leaves on the trees, because, sadly, even when things seem their toughest, things sometimes do get worse. The way to bravely trudge forward is to find the beauty and grace in all circumstances. Embrace that second of peace and happiness and remember it. Remember that even in what seems a tsunami of emotions and sadness, there will be seconds, hours, days, weeks or even months of happiness before the next tsunami.
10. On a related note, don't spend the moments worrying about the next tragedy or tsunami, but live knowing that nothing in life is promised forever or guaranteed. Embrace each second, whether tsunami or sheer joy. Both have their purpose in life and should be embraced. Don't run or hide from the emotions. They are necessary, healthy and revitalizing. A good cry sets you free to enjoy the happiness in the coming seconds or days.
11. Most importantly, find strength and solace with God. Realize that through all things, all things, God is there. Live for God. Trust God. Realize that God's plan is the best plan. Mark and I followed God's plan for the last 5 years of our marriage before he died. Doing so brought some of the greatest blessings and also some of the greatest tests of having blind faith with God. We had to spend many, many moments trusting that God would provide and having faith that what He told us to do was, in fact, God's vision and not our own. Many times I questioned this. Why would God cause us to be across the country and so far away from our family and friends? Why would God bring such job instability and life insecurity to our family when we followed His desires to leave California to come to Georgia to focus on family and providing our children a better way of life? If we were following Him, why was it so hard? The answer was so beautifully simple. God was showing us His power. God was showing us that following Him is not easy all of the time and much of the time it requires huge doses of blind faith. In the moment we decided to follow God's nudging and move to Georgia, we sold our house in 18 hours for near top dollar in a declining market. Additionally, while instable, we both had work and God always provided us with steady employment. In order to change careers, Mark took an 80% pay cut, yet I was able to find Marketing Consultant work steadily and for a majority of the time I was able to do this from home so I could be there with the kids before and after school.
For months I was so sad, depressed and lonely because I hadn't been connecting with our new neighbors and being new in a big city I had few friends. I longed for those connections that I'd had back at home. Because Mark and I didn't have our big huge neighborhood full of friends and family, we spent time bonding with the kids, doing things as a family, something we said we'd do when we moved to Georgia and something we never had enough time for in California. Had we had the many connections I'd longed for, we wouldn't have spent time building our family unit and building our own traditions. God gave us this solo time as a gift. What was so hard to endure then I can now see was an enormous blessing. God gave us the first three years in Georgia to build our family and fill it with love as He knew the change our family would endure and how important this legacy of love would be.
12. God reveals things in his own timing. That neighborhood full of friends that I was so sad I wasn't a part of? Since Mark's death I've realized how present they always were and how embracing they are. We've been enveloped in a neighborhood of love and support. Not only did our family have this beautiful collection of southern neighbors and southern hospitality during the months following Mark's death, but we also still had our western neighborhood, friends and family. God increased the size of support for our family by having us move across the country. Now our Georgia neighborhood houses some of the best friends and people I’ve ever known. God revealed this when HE was ready, not when I was ready.
13. God provides
when it is His time, not yours. I was offered and I accepted a full-time
position (rather than my consultant work) with my company on July 6th. At that
very moment I had full benefits, and stable employment in a time of rapidly
increasing unemployment rates. I didn't look for the job, it was offered to me.
This position, as an assistant, was a 50% pay cut from my current career role,
but for some reason (after prayer and God’s nudging) I jumped at it. At that
time, Mark was ramping up in his sales career and we expected he'd be making a
healthy income fairly soon, which would allow me to ramp down in my career so
that I could stay home with the kids. I accepted this position because stepping
down from this salary would be easier than stepping down off my much higher
salary when it became time for me to stay at home. This required blind faith as
well because we didn't know how we'd make ends meet on our still puny salaries.
Little did I know. I started this position on July 6th and Mark passed away on
July 22nd. Had I not accepted this job I would have been job hunting because my
current consultant contract expired on July 27th. I would have had no benefits
or insurance or income, and since we had very little life insurance, that would
have been tragic. God knew. God provided this job. Additionally, for the first
time in my working life, I come home to be with the kids. I rarely bring work
home. When I leave my job, it's usually finished for the day. Had I landed a
permanent position in line with my career, I'd be traveling 20% of the time,
working long hours, and bringing work home. God provided what He knew we would
need. He didn't provide more than we'd need or less than we'd need. He provided
exactly what we'd need. If He takes care of the flowers and the trees he'll
take care of those in his flock. Live this.
***
We are blessed,
really. We have had the opportunity to see the beauty in people and their
desire to reach out and help. I could go on for hours about how we’ve been
embraced by our church (Stonecreek) and our community and our neighborhood.
I’ve learned that not everyone understands widowhood and grief, but nor did I
until July 22nd, and now that I understand it, it’s time to give back!
I’m not sure yet
what giving back will look like, but there’s a lot of ideas jelling around
inside. One is to start a foundation or society for young widows as our needs
are unique, especially when young kids are involved; another idea is to write a
book (have had quite of a few of you suggest that, actually). You can’t go
through something like this and have that be that. God places us along paths
for a purpose…harnessing and understanding that purpose will be our goal for
2010.
Love you all! And
for you non-Georgians, get out here and visit!
**********
It's been a while
since I've updated. So much has gone on in the last month and I've been so
emotionally drained that I haven't known where to begin, or the nights that I
do feel I know where to begin I'm zonked out by 8pm and I don't get to it.
First off -- dang
Wachovia. Everyone, I am so sorry. When the Memorial Fund account was set up,
Wachovia told us they would be able to tell us who made deposits so that we
could thank each and every one of you. Turns out Wachovia can not do this. They
can provide us the deposit slips information, but all that has is the check
number, not who deposited.
Now, what pains me greatly is not who donated to our fund, but that I can't thank you!!! For each and everyone of you who have contributed to this fund, please know two things. One is how grateful we are as your thoughtfulness and generosity will help the Patow Family for years to come and 2) your donations will be targeted towards the kids and their future. Their well-being is my top priority. We can't thank you enough for how you have reached out and helped us and I'm so frustrated at Wachovia that they can not deliver on what they promised to us during such a diffucult time. If any of you work for Wachovia and can tell me how these knuckleheads can do what they promised me, and get me names of who had contributed, please let me know.
So, life...
Gosh where to begin? I guess first thing is Mark's update and then our family.
So, we have finally received Mark's cause of death, as many of you know, and it's both comforting and startling at the same time.
It's comforting in that he didn't suffocate from having a seizure while laying on his stomach. This scared me to no end and caused me so much pain originally. I couldn't even imagine how horrifying a death to suffocate...and that I could have been there to help save him really devastated me. That I was on Facebook while he lay dying nearly did me in, really. I think that is one reason it has taken me so long to update this page. Until we knew what the cause was I just didn't feel I could focus enough to write.
It turns out the cause of death was cardiac arrhthymia brought on my "tunneling" of the left anterior descending coronary artery. What this means is actually very interesting. The left anterior descending coronary artery usually lies on top of the heart. In Mark's case, the artery "tunneled" or "went into" the wall of the heart causing a band of fibrous tissue to grow over it. During physical exertion, when the heart beats faster and more stongly and pressure is higher, the heart would press against this artery, essentially blocking its blood supply to the heart. Over time this caused disease and death to the tissue beneath it and this caused an electrical "error" (don't know the proper term), leading to cardiac arrest.
This is different
than a heart attack, which is caused by a clot or something that travels from
the veins to the heart (attack) or brain (stroke). Mark's death was sudden and
immediate. He knew nothing.
They can not rule
out that he either did or did not have a seizure and the intense whole-body
exertion during a seizure could have led up to his heart conking out. My hope
and prayer is that he did have a seizure because that would mean he was totally
unconscious the entire time. The last thing he would have remembered was making
love to his wife and then falling asleep and then seeing the bright white
lights and pearly gates of Heaven.
This I can accept and handle. Suffocating I could not, and I am so, so thankful that did not happen.
Now, Mark's
tunneling is a congenital abnormality, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's
genetic. The kids are going thru testing now and this should be completed by
Thanksgiving. If it does show to be genetic then we will all undergo genetic
testing to isolate the gene and see if we can pinpoint things further. For now
we are thinking Mark's case is an anomoly.
So while all of
this is happening, the next almost-worst thing happens and that is Baby Chris
being rushed via ambulance, twice, to the Emergency Room for febrile seizures
and being admitted, staying in the hospital for five days.
His fevers reached 105.7, they couldn't diagnose what was going on, they thought he was having an infection, first from his ears and then possibly in his blood.
He was admitted on Monday. On Tuesday the pediatrician told me they were testing him for Heliocytosis, which is fairly deadly at his age, and that he would undrgo testing for this disease that day and the next day.
So Tuesday and
Wednesday I had no idea what was happening. I didn't know if, in one week, I'd
be planning a second funeral or whether we'd hear Christopher's feet pitter
patter on our floor, or if I'd get his happy mommy hugs again. Those two days
were, hands down, the darkest, darkest, saddest days in my entire life. Not
only were we dealing with the loss of Mark, but I also now had to contend with
what I didn't know about Chris. For the first time in my life I really could
not pray.
I had the
hospital Chaplain come in and stay with me. I remember asking the nurses if
everything would be okay and whether he would survive. They told me, rather
point blank, that they needed the doctor to answer those questions for me.
These loving caring nurses couldn't tell me whether Christopher would be coming
home with us. I have never felt such utter despair and sadness. Ever.
I felt as though
with Mark I could accept his death. I could move on and live and embrace my
family. But the death of Christopher? No way. He was our God gift. He WAS our
Georgia. How could God take him, too? And so soon after Mark dying?
I've always felt
that in EVERY situation there is a silver lining. No matter how severe or
tragic there IS a silver lining. In this moment, watching Christopher, there
was NO silver lining. Anywhere.
So the baby had
an EEG that ended up showing that his febrile (fever) seizures were a result of
ONLY his fevers. His MRI, which was part one of the diagnostic tool for
Heliocytosis, came back normal, PRAISE, PRAISE GOD! And the immune system tests
and the immunoglobulin panels that tested the function of his immune system ALL
CAME BACK NORMAL. PRAISE GOD our Heavenly Father! But, at the same time, he was
still spiking fevers that were raging to nearly 107 and with no explanation.
But, on Thursday,
as suddenly as the fevers came on, they also suddenly stopped. And then 24
hours later a whole-body rash emerged. This was Friday night and the nurses and
doctors there were so puzzled. The next morning the Infectious Disease Doc came
in, took one look at Christopher and said, "Well, I'll be damned. It's
Roseola".
Are you *&^%
kidding me?!?!?!? This HELL has been caused by one of the most common childhood
viruses? for real?!? Really? Are you sure?? Can you keep us for two more days
just to make sure?
We were released
1 hour later!
Poor Christopher
had a horribly bad case of Roseola on top of an ear infection so both masked
the other and made diagnosis very difficult.
And the silver
lining DID appear after all. Had it not been for being admitted, the baby would
not have had an MRI, an EEG and all of his immune system tests. We wouldn't
have learned that he is healthy and fine and that his multitudes of ear
infections are because his damned tubes aren't positioned correctly. So next
week he goes back to his ENT for an eval. And that's it!!! Our little stinker
is now running around, making noise, playing with toys and causing tons of
pitter patter chaos all around our house. PRAISE GOD.
Probably the most
important thing this experience did for all of us was to bring us back. This
one incident taught us the here and now. Mark is gone. We are devastated. I
miss him SO much and grieve and mourn every single second of every day. But he
is gone and nothing will ever bring him
back.
I know his faith in our God and know for sure that Mark is playing golf on the Heavenly Course. I long for him, miss him, feel him and cherish him, but he is not here any longer. My kids are. They need me every second of every day. That can not be compromised. We have a life to live and just because Mark is not HERE doesn't mean he is not our husband or our dad or our playmate or our snuggler.
Christopher's
hospital stay was the first time, THE FIRST TIME, since Mark's death that I
didn't think about Mark every single solitary second. When I found out the baby
was okay, that elephant that had been sitting on my chest with all his dang
relatives finally left. Grief and mourning are still here, but at least I can
breathe. At least I can embrace my kids and life and all that is around us. I
can smile. I can miss Mark and cry. But I can smile and I can live.
I don't really know how to live life as the Georgia Patow Family without our Patriarch. I don't know how to do "this" without him. I can't imagine the holidays and I can't imagine the kids growing up without their dad.
I do know that I
love life though. I love "love" and I love our family and with that I
know that my capacity to love and to bring joy to our kids will stay intact
with God's grace and help.
So along the way
we've have seen and met so many amazing people and gestures and kindness. What
is a lonely dark road has been so brightened by our neighbors, our friends and
our family.
We are
approaching the two-month mark of this journey and aside from God, the most
special and imporant tangible thing that has gotten all of us through this is
YOU. The kindness and generosity you all have shown for us is absolutely
unforgetable.
Aside from this,
how are we? And I mean REALLY how are we? I would say that on a scale of 1-10
we are a 5. We are right where we probably should be right now. We feel God and
our friends and family carrying us. We are strong...sad but strong. We see joy
and are hopeful and know that while this has changed us we can still smile.
I heard a great
analogy recently.
When you are sick
with the flu or a cold you heal. When you are sick and lose a limb you also
heal. But you heal without your limb and you always have a scar and a permanent
reminder of what you lost. You may go on to accomplish great things in life and
experience tremendous accomplishment, joy and happiness, but your life is
forever changed without your limb.
You never forget. You heal, the pain lessens, you go on and you thank God. But you never forget.
That's us. Losing
Mark was losing my limb. Right now I'm still recovering from
"surgery" and it will be a long time before I can hobble along on
crutches, but I'm happy to be hear and am smiling at the joys that life
brings....and cherishing every single smile my kids, family and friends
deliver!
My request of you?
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE your family. Have strife? Fix it if at all possible. Realize
that when "they" (whoever they are) turn their back, go to sleep,
drive off, walk out that door, for whatever reason, whether to go to school, to
work, to sleep, to exercise, that may be it.
Don't leave
anything unsaid or unexpressed. EVER. If you love someone, tell them. If you
miss somone, reconnect. If you are angry, express it, and if you are sorry,
apologize. Don't leave anything undone, unsaid or unfixed. You may never get
that second chance.
Mark died
peacefully. He knew. He knew God, he knew our love. He knew I fell so deeply in
love with him this year. He knew he rocked, that he was good at his work, that
the kids adored him. He knew I thought he was sexy. He knew God. He knew his
mom and dad and brothers and sisters adored him. There was no angst, no anger
no regret from one single thing anywhere on the day he died.
THAT was God's
gift, not only to him, but to us.
Love you.
*******************************All, it's Christina. I can not believe we are approaching one month since Mark has moved on to Heaven. It seems unreal, surreal, and very sad and painful.
It is so hard for me to reply to everyone's emails and phone messages, but I want you to know that we get, listen and read every single card, phone message and email that comes through...it's just that the energy is gone by the time the evening is upon us and I have not been able to reply to almost any of you. Please keep your notes and contact coming, though. It lifts us, supports us and encourages us every day.
What are we
feeling? Wow. Still numb to a large extent. We cry and grieve, of course, but
we also do have good moments each day, so this is good. It's odd, though. What
you focus on and truly, physically feel during this period is unreal. Mark
doesn't leave my mind for a single second. I can be lauging at a joke or
smiling at the baby or Jess and Brad and Mark is still right there in our
minds. We look at people at the store, or on the freeway just going about their
lives, not realizing that this girl, in the car next to them, has just had a
doozy thrown her way. It's odd to see the world go on normally when, to us,
everything is so unnormal.
I will say that I feel strong. I'm amazed at the human will and strength...really it's all God's strength carrying me through...but we function.
I remember a few years back when the Coble family in Ladera lost their precious children. I was so amazed to see them at memorials and events. I remember thinking that she looked so pretty and he was so composed. I get it now. You do what you need to do. You're not "without" this tragedy at any single second, but you must live and go on and support your family and keep on with life. Life goes on. It doesn't stop even though our lives have changed forever.
I'm cryiing a bit every day, but I want you all to know there are "good" parts each day. We / I can think of Mark and not completely break down. I'm starting to be comfortable in our house and feel is warm embrace here. He was such a phenominal man. So loved, so genuine, so real and so unconditionally caring. I feel that here and it's comforting. I am so sad and I have a physical ache in my gut that literally takes my breath away but there is so much I am at peace with.
He was a child of
God, through and through. His faith was so innocent and child-like. Bradley
asked me yesterday when we could get a dog and I replied that it wouldn't be
for a while. He said, "Well, Daddy has a dog". He was referring to
Woody, who passed away in October and that Daddy was playing with him in
Heaven. Mark was so like this. So literal, so real, so "him".
The kids are doing okay. I've learned so much from watching them. They sure miss Mark, but kids grieve very differently than we adults. They can compartmentalize (spelling?) and are distracted by playing, by school, but life. I've learned it is just as okay for them NOT to cry as it is for me TO cry. This has been comforting as I watch them go about life, playing with their friends, playing their Nintendo DS or watching movies. We've started talking about Daddy and our good memories, but some of this is still a tad too raw for me. But every night we all share good-Daddy memories so they can be always fully aware of their Daddy, who he was, who he is in them and what his values and beliefs were.
We all start our grief groups next week and I am really looking forward to this. The kids will be in groups of kids their own ages (8-10 and 10-12) with kids who've also lost a parent. I, at the same time, will meet with the parents. Then we'll have a family appointment each week and I'll meet one:one with a grief counselor as well. I really expect this to help us.
The kids have started back to school and me to work. Life goes on and, really, the routine and the schedule can only help.
I hate that life goes on without Mark here and it hits me at the strangest times...like seeing his frozen shrimp in the freezer and realizing that I never ate it because I thought it tasted like chicken...and it will likely stay in the freezer until I throw it out because he won't be here to eat it. It's so strange that one month ago he was here and I had a husband....and now I'm a widow and single mother to three (precious) kids.
We'll get through this, I know, and I do have that faith and hope. Today, right now, my feelings are so visceral and raw and I don't know that the full magnitude of this loss has really sunk in...I'm sure it hasn't.
I / we plan to
use this site to continually update you all on our status, our feelings, our
plans and our progress. It won't always be pretty, but it will be real...and I
want each of you to know how much I truly love and cherish every ounce of your
support. Your love carries us, it really does.
We have a firm
faith and foundation with God and know He is carrying us, so while we hurt so
much, we know we are covered and protected. While this doesn't take away our
pain right now, it does give hope that God will help to restore us to a place
of peace and completeness.
I don't know how we'll get there, but know we will.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mark Patow - You
are truely missed by all that you touched in your short life. We are heartbroken that you are gone, but
know that you are an angel for your family; watching and protecting at every
turn.
TO ALL FRIENDS
Please use this
as a place to show your support, type a note to Mark or the family, learn how
we can help out Christina, or post great pics of Mark and the family.
Thanks for
joining.
MEMORIAL FUND
Account Name: Mark Patow Memorial Fund
Wachovia
1515 Peachtree Parkway, GA9797
Cumming, GA 30041
Phone: 678-341-6310, Andrew Taulbee for questions
You can mail
checks directly to this bank or go into any Wachovia and make a deposit.
In Ladera Ranch
there is a branch right next to Corky's.
HELP WITH MEALSA care page has been set up to supply the family with meals, help, etc.
Please go to
www.carecalendar.org to sign up.
Calendar ID:
19755Security Code: 2901
ALL SERVICES WERE
A BEAUTIFUL TRIBUTE TO MARK, THE AMAZING MAN HE WAS AND THE LEGACY HE LEFT IN
HIS PLACE. WE WERE ALL BLESSED TO HAVE
BEEN A PART OF IT.
OC SERVICE -
July 29th -
Viewing on Wednesday from 6-9pm at Memory Gardens, 455 W Central Ave, Brea, CA
92821-3086 (562) 694-6571
July 30th -
Thursday 11am Official Service - Emmanuel Lutheran Church, 150 N. Palm Street,
La Habra, CA 90631 (562) 691-0656
Graveside Service
following Service back at Memory Gardens
Reception to
follow at sister Bonnie's house (do not have the details on that one)
GA SERVICES-
July 25 - McDonald and Son Funeral Home
150 Sawnee Drive
Cumming, GA 30040
770-886-9899
The schedule is
as follows:
-Visitation:
12-2pm-Celebration of Life in Chapel: 2pm
-A small gathering will take place at the Patow house for close family & friends.
