Tomorrow and Other Thoughts

Tomorrow marks one year. It marks one year from our world imploding. It marks one year from feeling the world being spun on its axis and finding it impossible to find your footing. Tomorrow marks one year.

February 16. It is a day that most people won't bat an eyelash at. It is just a day, mid-February. Just a day in the shortest month of the year that always feels like the longest. But for us? For the Green family, it marks one year from the date that we got the worst news. It marks the date that we found out our beloved dad, husband, friend, brother, and son had terminal cancer. A disease that had no end in his body and that had no treatment and certainly no cure.

Tomorrow, a year ago, started like any other day. I went to work and I made plans with my love and a friend of ours. We had plans to double date that night, it was a Tuesday and we had planned to go to Wine Guyz for date night. Even as I sat at home, anxiously awaiting Erek's arrival so that we could meet our friends for dinner, I didn't realize anything was amiss. I didn't feel the slight shift in my universe that would soon come crashing down.

It wasn't until my eldest sister sent me a text asking if I could go out to my parents with her that night that anything seemed wrong. You see, this wasn't something that we did. We didn't just drop by my parents house because it was 30 minutes away, in the middle of the country. People didn't just drop by their house.  You always called or texted or facebook messaged to make sure they would be there after driving the distance. When I explained I had plans and she insisted I come with, I knew immediately that it was going to be bad. Denial set in and I couldn't bring myself to face the facts. Denial set in as I refused to listen to the bubbling terror that started in my toes as it shoved the word 'cancer' to the forefront of my mind no matter how many shields my hear threw in its way. I lived in that state of denial until Erek walked in.

Once he walked in, I crumbled. I crumbled to the floor and felt all semblance of hope going with it. With him by my side I could face the truth no matter how much I didn't want to. I sobbed. And I cried. And I wailed. I'm sure I looked like a crazy person as I explained the few facts that I knew and asked him to drive me to my sister's house so that we could go out and deliver the bad news. He was so supportive in that moment and the far too few weeks to come.

525,600 minutes. That is the amount of time that will have passed since our world exploded. While I can't believe it has been that long even though it feels infinitely longer ... I think to myself about the changes that have occurred in that time ...

Kindness has been spread. He preached the importance of kindness and helping others. His vision has spread and people he didn't even meet are committing acts of kindness in his honor.

Life has continued despite our best attempts to freeze time. I got engaged, my brother remodeled his house, we bought and completely remodeled my moms house, puppies were adopted, children grew and we all became a year older. Tears have been shed, laughter has emerged, and memories have been cherished. Loved ones have married and babies were conceived. The youngest grandchildren happily look at his picture and exclaim, "Bumpa!"

While I know he would have given anything to be here for all the happiness, he would have lost some faith in humanity due to our recent election and with that the state of the Union. The very fact that our government is working to break down the protections we have for our natural world would have hurt him deeply. The very fact that we have to have an "Alternative National Parks" page would have caused great dismay. The very fact that our nation is discussing building a wall to keep those who need our help out, would have depressed him. I am glad that he does not know of this heartbreak.

A lot has happened ... and as we head into tomorrow and and the memories that will most certainly flood our memories and knock us all on our assess in the coming weeks .... I ask that you continue to spread seeds of kindness in his honor. Remember the happy times and work to support those around you who need our help. 

A Birthday Request

On the eve of what would be my dad's 62nd birthday, I find myself sitting on the couch watching a home video from December 1986. I would've been 3 months old at the time and my twin and I are being passed around the table from person to person. My sisters and cousin are playing with the game SIMON trying to remember the increasingly complicated patterns. My mom is in and out of the kitchen in her baggy shirt and large 80s glasses. My dad sits at the table with a big, bushy mustache and a full mop of hair atop his head. Grandma (Aunt) Marge is proudly showing off her "Grandma Marge" sweatshirt happily explain that all of the grandkids names are on it with "Andy's being somewhere up here." All of this being filmed with a video camera the size of a 10 pound baby.

It is the picture of happiness. The family is all there and everyone is happy and together. Political strife hasn't driven its wedge between opposing parties within the family and all the people I love are there. These were the good old days (even if I only remember them from videos).

I completely realize that I am a glutton for punishment by watching these videos, especially today. Today when I miss my daddy dearly and yearn for what should have been. I also realize that I am *really* lucky to have these videos so that I can still hear his voice, however painful that is.

Fast forward a few minutes in this sadly blurry video and I hear my dad behind the camera calling. "Carolyn! Caro-lynne-poo! Kevie! Kev Kev Kev Kevie! Carolyn! Caro-lynee-poo!" As he tries to get us to look at the camera.  Something he will never do with my children.

Fast forward a bit more to a scene when mom is feeding me with her right hand while shaking a container of wipes with the other to keep my attention. She is speaking to Grandma Marge and lamenting the fact that if she told Caitlin and Kristen to nap they wouldn't, but if Gary did they would go right up and go to sleep. All of this in the midst of a conversation about Dynasty and the magazine "National Star".

My dad was a good great man . He was a man that was taken too God-damned soon from all of us, but he was a great man. He was a man who was focused on helping others even if it meant massive frustration on his part. He wanted to change things for the better and help everyone he possibly could. He was involved in organizations whose sole focus was to help bring those into nature would couldn't go on their own. He wanted to help others and spread kindness until the very end. He led a life filled with acts of kindness.

Ultimately, I don't know who reads this blog ... but my mom has put out a request and I am requesting the same ... tomorrow, in honor of his birthday let's spread those seeds of kindness far and wide. Do something nice for someone else. Give someone a hug who needs it. Do a random act of kindness for which you receive nothing except the satisfaction of knowing you did good. It is the little things that often have the largest impact. Not sure what to do? Look here for some ideas. So if you are reading, spread those seeds and be kind to one another.

Imagination and Reality

It has been almost 5 months since my dad was taken from us by the hands of the super bitch, Cancer. I don't think anyone would argue with us that his death was awful and unnecessary (though people still say stupid shit like, it is so much easier for you that he died after only 5 weeks - add that to the list of things you should never say to someone who is grieving). Despite that, and time having continued to pass, we are still grieving.

This week I am house and dog sitting for my mom so she can take a much needed trip to Connecticut to see her best friend. However, this isn't my usual stint in house and dog sitting because I am in her new house. A house that she moved into a month or so ago. A house that is filled with all of her belongings. A house that feels a little bit like her home. A house that her dogs run and bark around.

And yet, something is off. I don't feel him here.

I look around this home and I see his caribou, an ever present fixture. I look around this home and I see our family pictures. I look around this home and see his chair where he often was found on a cold winter's evening. I look around this house and I see his collection of native american artifacts that he acquired on his trips to the southwest.

But I don't feel him.

I think that is the benefit and downfall of moving after a death. My mom needed to move. It was too hard for her, and really all of us, to be at the old house. We could see him everywhere and his belongings were still scattered around the house. It was his space and his house and his dream. This is a two edged sword though. It is too painful to see him everywhere we looked at the old house, but it is too painful to not see him everywhere we look at the new house.

It almost feels like we are all just playing pretend. We are living an imaginary scenario and pretending that everything is okay and pretending that he will be home soon. The reality is, obviously, the extreme opposite of that. I don't think that any of us are still in denial over his death ... but we pretend to be. It is easier that way.