"Say what you have to say, and not what you ought."
~ Henry David Thoreau



Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Gillian Goes to High School

Today was Gillian's first day of high school. That's right. My baby. My one and only child, is now a high school sophomore. It's the oldest cliche' in the the world, but I'm still going to say it. Where on earth did the time go? The other day after shopping for school supplies, she wondered aloud about being able to fit her new puppy in her book bag to take to school with her. I said it would be like the book she loved that I used to read to her, "If You Take a Mouse to School" except her puppy would be much harder to smuggle in. How many years has it been since I read her a bedtime story? Back then, it seemed like a part of life that would last indefinitely. 
I remember when she started Kindergarten, high school seemed forever away. Back then I couldn't even conjure a picture in my mind of what my cute little girl with glasses and hair barely long enough for pig tails then would look like in high school. That was probably a self-preservation thing on my mind's part. Can you imagine if I knew then what she would look like now at 15? Just to be clear. She's going to school now with 18-year old men! I'm trying to remain calm and not think too much about what I did in high school.

I've been telling Gills for the last year that I thought she'd finally really find her place in high school. She's old for her class, and has always been pretty mature for her age. I think the last year of Jr. High was especially boring for her in many ways. She was so ready for bigger and better things. Last night I could tell she was nervous. She even admitted to being a little apprehensive about things. The school she's going to is huge. I get lost every time I'm there. When I finally fell asleep around 11:30 last night she was still up primping and prepping. This morning she was up early getting ready. I warned her last night that I would be taking her picture so she could either pose and smile for me at home, or I would follow her to school and make her pose in the main rotunda. Either way, I was going to get my first day of school shot. She opted for the picture at home before leaving this morning option. 
1st Day of High School
Other than a little glitch over lunchtime planning, things went great today. So I paid for lunch three times before noon. Who's counting? She now has cash (or did, it seems to have been lost in the excitement this morning), money in her school lunch account, and money in her checking account for lunch. She better not come home in the next few weeks complaining of being hungry! Her first day report was glowing. It seems she already has high school totally under control. She loves the people. No more childish junior high kids in her midst! And, there's a gorgeous foreign exchange student from Finland in her Health class. We had an actual discussion about his long, flowing blond hair and amazing accent. Yep. My 15-year old daughter and I talked about a hot foreign exchange student together. I never saw that one coming. 

Last night I felt a little weepy at the thought of how quickly time was passing and Gillian was growing up and moving on. Tonight I'm no longer weepy. Hearing her happy and excited voice as she told me about her day made me happy. I really do think she's going to thrive in high school. She has a fairly challenging schedule full of honors and AP classes, but I know she's going to do well. She's going to experience so many new things over the next year. It's a great time of life. I still think back to my Sophomore year and remember it as my favorite year of high school. I hope it's the same for her. 

A friend of mine I've known since the 6th grade commented today on Facebook about our kids growing up and going off to school, saying we could get together and cry. She's sending her oldest off to college this week. Both of us worked very hard at having children. There were points when we both despaired that we may never have kids. We went through rounds of IVF around the same time, and back then shared our stories of the pain, heartache, hope and expense. I still remember a visit from her while I lay flat on my back for three days after an embryo transfer, fearful of moving or hardly breathing. Today, 16 1/2 years later, I watched my baby, the baby that I laid flat on my back for days for, immobile so I could give her a chance at life--nurtured, protected and loved from the very instant her life was inside mine--walk purposefully away from me and down the street to this new, exciting chapter in her life. It was a happy moment. No tears, only smiles. 

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Suicide, Celebrity and Stigma

I've debated adding my voice to the thousands who have already written about the tragic suicide of Robin Williams. What more can I say that hasn't been said? Plus, sometimes I feel like a broken record when it comes to the subject of suicide. I imagine people rolling their eyes when they see another blog post about it. But then I reminded myself that I write this blog for me. My readers and the friendships that have come from it are a bonus. Writing helps me process. It's my own private therapy, even if I do make it public for the world to read and judge. I've also learned that I should never silence or edit myself when it comes to the subject of suicide. It's too important and I never know who is listening, or in this case reading, and may be helped by hearing about my personal experiences.

Hearing the news of ANY suicide devastates me. They all feel personal. Every. Single. One. Yesterday was no different. I heard the news shortly before I left work and called my sister as soon as I got in the car. She was weepy and sad. We didn't need to explain to each other why. There was no talk of how silly it was to mourn the death of a stranger. We know. We know the horror of that moment when the bottom drops out of your world. We know the  mind-numbing grief, the shock, the despair, the anger, the sadness, the questions, the guilt, the confusion, and the horrible, long journey the survivors left behind are just now beginning. As my mom said today in a Facebook post, "It all hits just too heartbreakingly close to home." 

Here is what else I know. There is still enormous stigma, judgement and misinformation surrounding suicide and mental illness. Although most of the comments, stories, blogs and news reports I've seen have been good and filled with positive messages, education and expressions of deep love, sympathy and compassion, I've also read some very awful, judgmental comments. I've tried to avoid those as much as possible. A clip posted today caught my attention. It was about a Fox News reporter who called Robin Williams a coward for committing suicide. I didn't watch the link because I choose not fill my mind with hateful comments from uninformed people. However, I did post this comment about it. 

"A perfect example of the kind of remarks that continue to stigmatize suicide and contribute to the many myths surrounding it. The only way to counter such uninformed comments is to shout the truth from the roof tops and drown out the voices of those who judge and spread misinformation. 

Robin Williams and so many others fought valiantly for years to stay alive. My sister fought a battle for her life for almost twenty years--a very fierce battle. She was exhausted, right down to her very soul, and in a weak moment with an unclear mind clouded by mental illness took her own life. Nobody, not a single living person, knows the personal battles and the toll they take on those who die by suicide. Judgement of them for losing the fight is absolutely wrong and shows a lack of compassion, not to mention a lack of facts about suicide."

I guess this post is my way of shouting from the roof tops. There will always be those who judge, are misinformed, uneducated, or just plain lacking compassion, empathy and understanding. I want the voices of those of us who know better to be louder than those who continue to contribute to the stigma surrounding suicide and mental illness. We must speak up. It really is a matter of life and death. 

I'm no expert on suicide. I only have my personal experience of living through the aftermath of the suicide of someone I dearly loved and the knowledge I've gained since then. But there are experts, people who have devoted their lives to studying the causes of suicide, mental illness, and the many contributing factors that can lead a person to choose to take their own life. Please help me share their knowledge. 

Here is a link to some very common myths vs. facts about suicide from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). Suicide: Myths vs. Facts. The media can also play an important role in educating the public about suicide. Unfortunately, in cases such as Robin Williams' and other celebrity deaths by suicide, the story is often reported in very irresponsible, destructive ways. Words matter, and often the words the media choose to use in reporting on suicide are dangerous triggers to individuals who may already be having suicidal ideations. If you want to learn more about this, here is a link to a statement released today by AFSP's Executive Director, Robert Gebbia. Unsafe Reporting on Suicide Can Cost Lives. If you see instances of irresponsible reporting about suicide by your local or even national media, I encourage you to contact the source of the story, and ask them to please be part of the solution to preventing suicides and use safe reporting practices. 

My sister's death changed my life forever. I miss her every day. I mourn the loss of her life, and I mourn the loss of all the hundreds of thousands of other lives lost to suicide. I grieve for her, for me, and for every other person coping with either their own struggle to stay alive, and those who are now learning to survive after losing someone to suicide. My sister is gone from my life forever. Sometimes I wonder how she would feel about me talking about her so much. Should I be using her death to help deliver a message I feel is so important? I don't know how she would feel about that. But it's what I have, so I share it. Her story is now my story. I'm going to use it in whatever way I can to hopefully save lives. 

Friday, July 25, 2014

Class of '94

The Pueblo East High School Class of 1994 is reuniting this weekend for their 20-year high school reunion. They’ll laugh, reminisce, cry, celebrate and marvel at the fact that 20 years has flown by so quickly. They’ll tell stories of youthful adventures and indiscretions, parties, class pranks, young love and heartbreak, and wonder how they ever survived some of the stupid things they did. They’ll try to reconcile their still young-at-heart mental state with their 38-year bodies and the big 4-0 looming in their futures. They’ll share pictures of their children, talk about their careers and families, and take stock of where their lives are now compared to where they thought they would be back in 1994 as they looked forward to the future. They’ll also remember the classmates who aren’t there with them that left this life far too young. My sister Julie is among those who will be remembered. On Saturday morning at 8:08 a.m. many of her classmates will gather for the Pueblo East Class of ’94 808 run, a 5k run organized by some of Julie’s friends in her honor.

I’ve thought so much about Julie this week. Partly because her friends, as loyal to her in death as they were in life, have so generously included our family in their plans and shared their memories and thoughts of her with us. I know this is a hard time for them too. Julie was part of a tight-knit group of friends who have remained closely connected over the last 20 years. Her loss is felt very deeply by all of them. This milestone in their lives is a vivid reminder to all of us of how much life Julie had left to live. I’ve long since resolved my anger toward Julie for taking her life. I no longer feel mad and resentful about what she took from all of us. I do, however, still feel incredibly cheated sometimes—cheated out of a future with my sister in my life and the opportunity to celebrate her life’s milestones and achievements with her. When she took her life she also took the promise of her future with her. As I watch her friends raise families, have careers and enjoy their lives I’m reminded of so much that will never be.

For Julie’s fellow Eagles: Tomorrow morning when you run along the familiar streets of your youth I want every one of you to know how special you were in her life. During one of our last times together the two of us went for a run through Pueblo. We talked about her move there, her time in high school and her friends. I was struck then by how meaningful those relationships were to her. I didn’t understand how truly lucky she was to have such special friends in her life until after her death when so many of your showed such love and concern for my entire family. Now I understand why she felt so lucky to have all of you in her life.


I imagine that at some point this weekend Footloose will be played for Julie. I hope everyone dances with abandon just as Julie would have done if she were there. My hope is that more than anything this weekend is a celebration of life and friendship. Tomorrow when you run for Julie, run with a smile and the knowledge that she cherished her friendship and connections to each of you. Tragically, when it mattered most her illness didn’t allow her mind to remember how dearly she was loved by so many. All that love wasn’t enough to save her. But as true friends do, you have all remained loyal. That you continue to show your love for her in so many ways means so much to me. Her death left me the gift of your friendship, and that’s a gift I will always treasure.



Monday, July 21, 2014

Leaving the Nest

Spending time with my girl - July 2014
Last week I had a preview of what it must feel like to be an empty nester and I'm not sure I like it. Gillian left earlier this month for a 10-day vacation. Her dad and stepmom, brave souls that they are, took her and three of her friends on a road trip to California. Gillian wanted to spend some time on the beach near the ocean this summer. Living in a land-locked state, that's kind of a tall order. Being the determined, focused planner that she is (hmmm...I wonder where she gets that from?) she decided many months ago that her and her friends were going to California and hitting the beach this summer. The fact that they're all 15, unemployed and don't have driver's licenses didn't even give her pause. 

It didn't take much twisting of the finger her dad is wrapped around before the trip was a go. Itineraries were planned, reservations made and money saved. Each girl had to contribute $200 towards the cost of renting a house for the week. Gillian, a girl after my own heart, carefully planned and saved and came up with the $200 plus spending money for the trip. I was impressed with her single-minded determination and discipline over the next several months as she saved the money needed for her trip. 

The long-awaited departure day finally arrived. I said goodbye with a sigh of relief. Ten days of freedom! My workdays would be free from numerous text messages with urgent requests demanding immediate attention.  No more interruptions asking about rides to the mall, permission to have a sleepover, or go to a party or a friend's house. I was looking forward to a break from the demands of parenting a teenager during the summer while working full-time. Anyone who has done it before knows what I'm talking about. 

I'm used to being away from my daughter for extended periods of time. I've had a 50/50 joint custody arrangement with her dad since she was 4 years old. She lives away from me every other week. I've long since gotten over any anxiety and sadness about not having her with me every day. I've learned to go with the rhythm of one week on, one week off of parenting. Still, I always sleep better and feel much more settled and content on the nights she's asleep in the room next to mine. 

It was a long ten days. I missed our frequent interactions. Even when she isn't with me, we have a lot of back and forth communication and frequent contact. During her vacation I tried not to bug her and barrage her with constant messages. We texted back and forth every day or two while she was gone. She was sweet and sent me pictures and videos. This one especially touched my heart.
Her message was simple, "Look who it is." I love Olivia Newton-John and the two of us have spent many happy times dancing and singing our hearts out in the kitchen to songs from Grease. 

When she finally made it home I couldn't believe how much she had changed! She was tan and happy and beautiful. She seemed more mature. I loved hearing her tell me about her trip. As we sat at the dinner table, just the two of us, I realized how precious that moment was and how fleeting our time together over the next few years is going to be. My mind flashed to the future and I realized this was probably how I'll feel when she comes home from college for visits in the not so distant future. I saw myself waiting, hungrily, for her next visit, basking in the unique glow of her youthful energy, beauty, excitement and stories of discovery. I saw her as the adult person she is rapidly becoming, a person with a life that is becoming more separate from mine. It struck me that my nest would be empty much sooner than I realized. 

Sometimes as our babies grow, demanding and squawking for their needs to be met NOW, the nest can feel so crowded and suffocating. The day they spread their wings and fly away seems as if it will never come. And then, it does, and the void they leave is huge, much bigger than the actual physical space they took up. I realized I'm not quite ready for that empty nest. I'm good with some brief, experimental flights away and then back, but I'm not ready for that final flight away, not for a while. 
The girls on the beach.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Summer So Far

How does so much time get away from me? I've had great intentions of chronicling my summer activities but haven't done a good job of that, obviously. To catch things up, here's a recap of this summer so far. 

May was busy as always with end of school year activities, getting my  new raised garden bed that Mike built me planted, potting flowers, a visit from my mom and a visit to Colorado over Memorial Day. 
Gillian won 2nd place in the District Festival of the Arts
She also had her first broken bone--a broken wrist from falling off a long board
Mom said she would help me with my gardening. This is how she helped. 
She did  at least dig out some vinca vine and made sure I captured it on camera.
Upper right - my garden just after planting in May.
Lower left - my garden today. Our tortoise loves having garden fresh lettuce.
My dogs ignore my posted warning. Luckily, I haven't had a similar problem with sailors.
Lunch at a former Colorado Springs school building now called the Principal's Office
with my cousin Michelle and my mom.
Another one from the Principal's Office. 
May was over before I knew it and June has turned out to be as full as May. In mid-June Mike, Gillian and I traveled to Boulder, Utah for the weekend to attend my older brother's wedding. It deserves an entire blog post, but for now I'll say it was the best wedding I've ever been to. It was the perfect mix of sophisticated, casual, country and lots of fun! Here are a some pictures.
In between work, traveling, yard work and the many activities that happen all summer long I have managed to set aside some time for relaxing on my back patio sipping Mojitos with friends. I have a handy supply of mint growing in the planter boxes that Mike made for me. I do love summer evenings on my patio! 
Lucy enjoying the summer sunshine.


























Thursday, June 26, 2014

Saying Goodbye to Grandma

I've been absent from the blogosphere for so long that I may have lost all of my followers. If not, I'm finally able to spend some time catching up on every one's lives and put down some words about what has been going on in my world. Summer has been busy so far with both work and play. I'll recap the last month and a half in a separate post.

Me with grandma & grandpa - 2008
The past few weeks have been a time of mourning and saying goodbye to my grandma, or Grandma Chris as most of us grand kids have always called her. Grandma Chris is my dad's mother, Gloria Marie Christiansen. The family said goodbye to grandma on Tuesday at her funeral following her death a week ago.

Grandma's death wasn't unexpected. She became ill several weeks ago and was put on home hospice care. When I first found this out I felt a little panicked. I knew I'd have to face her death sooner rather than later, but when I was actually confronted with it I didn't feel at all prepared. My dad, aunts, grandpa and uncles were all taking turns being with her 24/7. None of us expected her to last more than a week. Emotions were high on my first visit  after she was put on hospice. I walked into the house not knowing what to expect. I was scared. What would I say? How would she look? How on earth was I supposed to say goodbye? I sat next to her bed, holding her hand while tears streamed down my face, barely able to talk. Seeing my grandpa so sad made it even harder. When I left I was thankful for the chance to see and talk to my sweet grandma, but I was also completely grief-stricken at the thought of her no longer being a part of my life. 

For the next several days and nights I waited, expecting a call at anytime telling me that she was gone. The call never came. I sent my dad frequent texts asking for updates. I probably drove him crazy with my constant need for information. I was going to be going out of town for a few days, so I visited again before leaving town. Things were much better on that visit. Grandma was frail, but she was talking. We visited about everyday things--talking about my grandpa's garden, the weather, what I was up to in my life, just regular stuff. Not a single tear was shed. It felt like so many other past visits to grandma and grandpa's. My dad, grandpa, aunts and uncles were just down the hall, gathered in the living room laughing and sharing stories, teasing each other like they always have. I stayed for over an hour just soaking it all in, enjoying every moment. I left town feeling very at peace. Things were just as they should be. Grandma was home, in her own bed with her husband and children there with her. She was being cared for in the most tender, loving, gracious, way possible. 

Heading into her third week of hospice care when I returned from my trip, amazingly, not much had changed. I was lucky enough to get one more visit with grandma, spending a couple of hours with her and grandpa so my dad and aunt could have a break. Did my dad  know how much I needed more time with her? What a gift that time was. Those are treasured hours for me, very precious memories. Grandma and I talked about so many things. She was happy and smiling, even kind of silly. Grandpa and I watched Gunsmoke in between checking on grandma. I smile just thinking of that night. I'll be forever thankful for that time with her. 

Grandma died the next night. I was able to say one last goodbye during her last hour. I said my goodbye with absolutely no regrets. She knew how much she meant to me--how deeply I loved her--and I know how much she loved me. I was lucky enough to have her in my life for 44 years. I am so grateful for the beautiful, dignified death she had. My sadness and grief is softened by knowing how well she was loved at the end. I'm in awe of the way my dad and his siblings took care of grandma non-stop for over three weeks. I witnessed absolute devotion as my grandpa took tender, loving care of his wife of 70 years. Her death proved to me you really do get back what you put out into the world. Grandma died as she deserved to, with all the love she had spent her life giving others being returned to her ten-fold. 
Gillian with her great-grandma 
Keicha Marie, Gloria Marie and Gillian Marie
Valentine's Day 2013

Sunday, May 4, 2014

C-SPAN Cities Tour Featuring Ogden

Ogden was abuzz with excitement last month after being selected to be featured on the C-SPAN cities tour. Ogden tends to get a bad rap in Utah. It's long been known as a rough town, blue collar and full of Gentiles. It's not unusual to hear it referred to as Dogden, a reference to the awful smell that sometimes permeates the city when the local dog food factory is in production mode. Only the locals speak the shorthand of saying "It's a dog food day" while wrinkling up our noses and then continuing on with our lives. It's a small price to pay for living in such a beautiful town. 

Anyway, I digress. Ogden IS a unique city and people who live here love to talk about our town. Personally, I don't mind others thinking it's an undesirable place to visit or live. I like the small town personality, low cost of living and beautiful surroundings and definitely don't want Ogden to turn into another trendy, resort-like town. We had a chance to brag about our city and show off its many unique features during the week C-SPAN was here. They even paid a visit to our Junior League of Ogden Oasis Community Garden where we had the chance to share our vision and progress on our inner-city oasis. 


Mike, Gillian and I at the 25th St. Harvest Moon Fest 
The footage from the tour is airing this weekend and can be found online here. http://series.c-span.org/LocalContent/Ogden/http://series.c-span.org/LocalContent/Ogden. It's full of interesting stories about many local landmarks and unique history. I'm one of Ogden's biggest cheerleaders and am more than proud of how our little city and its many charms shine in the videos. If you take the time to watch some, or all, of the videos, I suggest starting with the one titled "25th Street Confidential: Drama, Decadence, and Dissipation along Ogden's Rowdiest Road.


Me and Gillian behind Union Station
Photo by Cat Palmer, used with permission
It will give you a glimpse into a street that plays a large part in my life, one that I visit several times a week. I never tire of its charms. The view looking west down the street to Union Station is one of my favorites, not only because of its beauty but also because I have sentimental and fond memories of Union Station. I come from a family of railroaders and love everything about train travel and railroad history. In fact, my great-great grandfather helped paint Union Station (I think it was the second station which was re-built after the first one burned). When I was very young we used to catch the train there to go visit my grandparents in Grand Junction, CO. I remember sitting on the long wooden benches, holding a sack lunch, bursting with excitement about our journey. My brother and I once even rode unaccompanied from Ogden to Grand Junction when we were around 7 and 9 years old. I asked my mom how on earth she dared put two young children alone on a train for a 7-hour journey. She reminded me that everyone working on the train knew who we were and looked out for us. My grandpa was the station master in Grand Junction and they would have had to answer to him if anything happened to us! The picture below was taken a few years ago on some tracks behind Union Station and perfectly captures the happiness I feel every time I hear a train speed by. Sometimes from my house five miles to the east I can hear the train whistles blow. They always remind me of my grandpa and make me feel a little wistful and nostalgic. 
May 2012
Notice the picture at the top of the page in the link above. The shot is looking east to the mountains that are ever-present in my life. I live in the foothills just a few blocks below them. Every day as I drive up the hill towards home I look at those mountains. It's a sight that symbolizes home to me.


The storefront of what is now the Lighthouse Lounge. 
And then there's 25th Street. It's where we go to eat and drink and socialize. I never miss the street festivals there. Twice, I've crossed the finish line at the end of the Ogden 1/2 marathon at the intersection of 25th Street and Grant Avenue. The building right next to the alley leading to the notorious Electric Alley is where my hairdresser's building is. I can't count the times I've walked through that alley, but it has to be in the hundreds. Mike's bar, the Lighthouse Lounge, is on the far west end of 25th Street, very close to Union Station. The upstairs rooms used to house high-end working girls. The rooms they used even had bathrooms! Supposedly one was murdered there during the 40's. The main level has been a bar for several decades and there are plenty of good stories about the place, which old-timers love to stop in and tell. The last bar there before the Lighthouse moved in was a motorcycle bar where the local Sundowners often gathered. Just last night we learned that in the 70's a drunken man once fell to his death from a balcony above the back door. In the basement there's a hidden panel with a small storage area that was used to hide liquor during Prohibition when there was an illegal speakeasy there. If only those walls could talk. 

I could go on and on about O-town's charms, but I'll let you watch the videos and discover them for yourself. Enjoy! 
The present day Lighthouse Lounge
The Lighthouse Lounge sign is a well-known Ogden icon and is designated as a historic sign.