I Hate Columbus Day

October 10, 2011 By 2 Comments

I either love Columbus Day or I hate it. I hate it because it was the last day that Mark was home. The Tuesday after Columbus Day he went into the second hospital and never came back. I was off of work for Columbus Day and together with Mark’s parents we decided that it would be the test day for Mark to see if he could take care of Nicholas by himself. Until then, Mark’s parents stayed at our apartment with Nicholas while I went to the office. They were exhausted and wanted to be home as much as we were exhausted and wanted to be back to normal.

So we spent the weekend together. Mark figured out how to get around the apartment without running into anything or dropping the baby. We moved the furniture around, we got the playpen and crib set up so Mark could manuever. And Mark snuggled with Nicholas. That’s why I love the memory of that weekend, that Columbus Day. Mark got a full day of snuggle time with Nicholas. No pressure on him because I was home too. Except for one moment when he really wanted to go for a drive (and drive himself) where he got out at a store and fell, it was a very good weekend.

He felt confident that he would be able to take care of Nicholas starting on the Tuesday after Columbus Day. He said it would be slow going, but Nicholas wasn’t really rambunctious or anything, so he thought he could handle it. He was excited to be getting back to normal. We were searching for doctors, figuring out his new diet, learning what “normal” was going to be for our little family.

It only lasted that weekend. On Tuesday he would be back in a hospital and would never sleep in our bed again. Just over a week after that happy weekend he would be in a coma. One month after that he would be in hospice taking his last breath. His parents and sister were on one side, my mother, Nicholas and I on the other. His mother held his right hand while Nicholas and I held his left. When it was clear that he was at the end, I turned off the last loud machine associated with his death. The room got quiet, you could only hear breathing. Labored breathing, gasping breaths, N’s faster baby breath, and our breathing…trying to stay calm for Mark. Letting him know it was okay. Nobody really talking except to tell Mark we loved him and were with him. And then he was gone.

It didn’t all really start on Columbus Day, of course; but, I’ve always associated today with Mark’s final fight. It wasn’t until just now, as I was writing this, that I thought that maybe I should be happy when Columbus Day rolls around as it was the last weekend we had together. Just me, Mark and his precious boy.

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Conversations with Nicholas ~ Dog Heaven Edition

August 26, 2011 By 8 Comments

On the way to school early this week…

Nicholas: Mom?
Me: Yes?
N: Do you think that Brittany [our dog who died about 1.5 years ago] has found Daddy Mark? In Heaven, I mean?
M: Of course. I think that Daddy Mark was waiting for Brittany the second she got to Heaven. What do you think?
N: I think so too. And I think they’re playing fatch.
M: “Fatch”? Do you mean “fetch”?
N: No. Fatch. Fatch is catch and fetch together [editor's note: the "duh" was implied here]

So there you have it. Brittany is in Heaven with Daddy Mark and they are having a blast playing Fatch.

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What’s In A Name?

August 22, 2011 By 8 Comments

He wanted to know when he would be a “Smith.” That’s how the conversation started, with Nicholas asking when he was going to be a “Smith” like the rest of us. William and I started having conversations about him adopting Nicholas before we even got married. We went back and forth mostly because we were under the false impression that N would lose his survivor’s benefits from Social Security if William adopted him. And then I got pregnant with Tobin and the conversations became more frequent and serious.

When we started talking with each other and Nicholas about what Tobin’s name would be, N was slightly confused about T’s last name. When it clicked for him that T’s last name would be the same as William’s and the same as part of mine, he asked, “When will I get to be a Smith?” We didn’t really have an answer for him.

We also hesitated to start the adoption process because of Mark’s father. No matter the logical reasons for the adoption, I worried that Grandpa would think we were trying to erase Mark’s status as N’s biological father.

Once we cleared up that N would not, in fact, lose his SS benefits, we started the process of adoption. It took a lot of resources (time, effort and financial) on our part. In fact, I was quite surprised by how much we had to do to get the adoption done (thank goodness we had a good lawyer!) It seems like William shouldn’t have to have another background check for the rest of his life since he’s now had both state and federal.

The most intimidating part of the process (besides the paperwork I’m now doing to get N’s name legally changed) was the home visit from the Social Worker. Before she did her home study, she sent us reference forms. We had to get references from both family and non-family members. Everyone had to fill out a four page form talking about what kind of parent William would be (the answer, of course, is that he would be a good one). We’re so grateful for the time our friends and family took to fill those out and get them back to the Social Worker. We prepped N for the Social Worker’s visit because we didn’t want him freaked out that a stranger came to our home and started asking a bunch of questions. It was an incredibly surreal couple of hours, having someone come in to your home for the sole purpose of judging you. I had to stop myself from saying, “Stop judging us!” because I thought it would be funny. But you shouldn’t use your time with the Social Worker as funny time. Except for N who had the Social Worker completely cracking up. Any time I feel bad about my parenting, I will read the Social Worker’s report. When someone who sees bad parenting and kids who have had bad parents everyday says that you are a good one? That’s good. Plus, it’s nice to have evidence for when the boys are teens and say that we’re bad parents.

The last major hurdle we had was telling Mark’s father. We left the task until the adoption was almost complete. There was no reason for keeping it so long except that I worried that he would be worried/sad/upset. And he was. And probably still is, but I’m hoping to work on that some more.

So, after months of work and conversation and worry and anticipation we went in front of a judge for 3 minutes and that was it. And then we took a picture and now he’s got “Smith” in his name.

Please allow me to introduce the Smith/Carr-Smith/Deer-Smith family (and our Judge).

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My Charmed Life

June 28, 2011 By 10 Comments

Like many women in Texas, I love me some  James Avery. When I was 11 I got my first piece of James Avery jewelry, a silver “dangle” ring with a hot-air balloon charm. I also got a dangle ring with a dinosaur (I think it was a Kentosaurus) because I thought it was cool, not because I had any real fascination with dinosaurs. The rings were gifts from my father, two of the three gifts that I can remember getting from him before he left. Unfortunately, those rings were later stolen from my Athletics locker in high school.

And then I got my charm bracelet. My late husband, Mark, got me the bracelet knowing that he was set for gift buying for several years as he would just have to get me a charm and I’d be happy. Collecting charms for my bracelet has been slow. I didn’t want charms just for the sake of their cuteness (I’m talking to you, Kentosaurus), I wanted charms that were meaningful. You can track my adult life with my bracelet.

The Flower pot & Garden Seeds were from my cousin, Heather, when I was in a phase where I was planting tons of containers with flowers in front of our apartment. Also, I just really like flowers.

Two peas in a pod and the two little girls with the flower are for Heather and me. We’re technically cousins, but closer than a lot of sisters.

The dog dish was for our sweet dog, Brittany. She died just before Tobin was born, and I’d had her since way before Nicholas was born. I love having a reminder of my first “baby”.

The lady bug is from Mark and came from my insistence that lady bugs are lucky.

The teapot is from my Aunt Karen because I was, briefly, collecting tea pots. Even though that collection lasted for, like three seconds, I love the fat little tea pot on my bracelet.

The two little boys with the dog cracks me up. Mark got me that charm because he thought it was a boy, a girl and a dog (which is what our family was before we had Nicholas). He got it and had it put on the bracelet and didn’t know it was two boys until I asked him why he chose it. I decided to keep it on the bracelet in solidarity with my gay friends whose families really were two boys and a dog.

The popcorn is from my friend, Christie, who was my first awesome boss. She had some challenging pregnancies and births and was out of work for a while. She gave me the charm as a thanks for helping with the work load while she was out of the office. And it’s popcorn because I’m a huge movie person.

The Dragonflyis from Heather as a thank-you for helping put on her baby shower for Bronwyn’s arrival.

The heart with the dove I got for myself. Just because I liked the symbolism.

The Rocking Horse is for my Nicholas and went on the bracelet just after he was born.

The heart with the “M” I got just after Mark died.

The Owl was given to me by my friend, Lauren, who is under the impression that I’m wise. I also love it because my school mascot was the Scrappin’ Owls.

The Deep In the Heart of Texas charm is for William and me. We both love Texas, and we were married in the Texas Hill Country which is just about where the heart is positioned. This charm was part of my Mother’s Day gift from William.

The Onsie is for my Tobin and was the other part of my Mother’s Day gift from William.

I have another charm, the Love charm, that isn’t on the bracelet. William got it for me for our anniversary this year, but I kept it to wear on a necklace. By my heart.

So, that’s my life according to my charm bracelet. Do you have any super sentimental jewelry? A piece that tells a story about you?

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Widow Wednesday: The Hands

June 15, 2011 By Leave a Comment

There was a spot of dirt under the middle fingernail of Mark’s right hand when he was in the hospital the second time. Every day we put lotion on his hands and Carmex on his lips and aftershave on his cheeks as he lay unresponsive. But I couldn’t get that speck of dirt out from under his fingernail, and I didn’t want to try too hard. His body was becoming so fragile I was afraid I’d cut him or hurt him in some other way if I used any force. The speck bugged me. The ICU nurses kept him very clean and by then he was on a feeding tube and a vent so it’s not like he was doing much to get dirty. But that fucking speck was there. And then a new nurse came to the unit an the speck was gone. I commented on how clean his fingernails were and the nurse said she had noticed the speck of dirt so she wrapped his hand in warm washcloths, put a plastic sack around them and let them steam a little. She said it’s like a little steam bath and it loosens all of the dirt. I was so appreciative of that speck’s disappearance.

Later, Mark’s Mom and I were sitting with him, one on each side holding his hands. That seemed to be the way we ended up when we were in the room at the same time. She’s the one who pointed out that his fingernails seemed to have stopped growing. I don’t know if that is technically true, or if they were just growing so slowly that we couldn’t tell. It seemed like a bad sign to us, like his body was already putting its energy toward more important things. I think about it almost every time I cut N’s fingernails. I think that I’m glad he’s healthy enough that his fingernails have to be cut every few weeks.

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Widow Wednesday: I Don’t Know How

April 27, 2011 By 9 Comments

When people ask, I don’t know what to say. Because I don’t really know what happened to cause Mark’s death. The physicians had theories but could never say for sure. It would be easier to be able to say “cancer” or “heart attack” but I can’t. Well, I could, but that would be a lie. Instead, I sort of stumble around. I could say he starved to death because he literally did (I never say this because it makes me feel awful). I could say he had organ failure because he did (but I don’t because I just thought of it). I could say that if it had happened all at once it would have been that he choked to death (which is sometimes what I say).  But I don’t have a short answer so the person who asked and I both end up feeling awkward. Or maybe it’s just me who does. The thing I don’t say is that he died of cirhosis of the liver even though it’s what is on his death certificate. And I don’t say it because it’s what the first set of doctors said, but the second set of doctors contradicted it.

So, I say that Mark got a stomach bug, couldn’t stop throwing up, and every time he threw up he aspirated, and every time he aspirated it caused brain damage, until finally there was enough brain damage that he went into a coma that he wasn’t going to recover from, so I had his body taken off of life support, he breathed on his own but he slowly wasted away over 8 days until he finally stopped breathing. But that’s just what we *think* happened. Because except for the brain damage, Mark’s body was perfectly healthy when we took him off life support. Because we weren’t able to do an autopsy, even though his physician ordered it, because of a bureaucratic mix up. Simple, no?

I get mad every time I see Mark’s death certificate because he worked so hard to get sober, I hate that it has cirrhosis of the liver as his cause of death.

Not that you asked.

 

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