Showing posts with label Ethan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ethan. Show all posts

Saturday, October 9, 2021

Kim, It's Still Hard to be Missing You

 


Kim, I thought about you just now and I couldn't finish my sleep.  Tomorrow you would've been 51.

Your son can barely remember you and said that he doesn't think about you much, which upset Mum (his grandmother) terribly, but I do understand how that happened.  

Ethan, you were young when your mom was gone, and it's not your fault.  We've tried to talk about her, but it's hard for you to hear.  It was too painful to remember her, so you sort of stopped.  Someday maybe you will be able to listen, when you can handle it.

For some of us, Kim being gone will never be something that we can fully accept.

I have no words of wisdom for anyone suffering.  We try to just remember the good times, but it doesn't seem to work like that for us.  It just hurts.  

Saturday, November 14, 2020

Still Missing You, Kim

 


[I wish there were photos to accompany all of the things I'm going to talk about, but we've never taken enough photos (we didn't even take one on my recent birthday).  In the old days developing film cost too much, so we rarely took any.  Now, with digital photos, we just forget.  So dopey!]

Kim,

Today it is 8 years that you've been gone.  We had a lot of good times...

When you were little, there was skiing, blanket forts, snowball fights, ice skating, flying you like an airplane outside (me holding one arm and one leg of yours) or inside (you up on my feet), learning to play just one song on the piano (The Keane Brothers), jumping in puddles during or after the rain, you and Juli dressed up as Leia and Han from Star Wars, riding down the stairs on our hot pink stuffed gorilla named Cinnamon, roller skating in the basement, etc.

When you were a pre-teen there was us trying to play tennis (me hitting the ball repeatedly out of the court (over the high, high fence)), trying to cross country ski near the apartment (you stuck in the snow), me waking you up with the Sgt. Pepper Good Morning song and fixing you breakfast before you went to school.

In your early teens we didn't do too much because you were busy quite often with your friends, but when we went to Austria with Mum and Mark it was some of my happiest memories.  We got to roam around by ourselves in Innsbruck, sometimes speaking "British" (because no one would know how bad our fake accents were) or sometimes making up songs like "Pee-zah (pizza), pee-zah pee-zah-ree!" or getting lost and trying to find the hotel again.  

We had fun with the waiter who laughed at you picking up half of a pizza (because for some reason they didn't cut it into slices) and the same waiter trying to show us menus in different languages (took him a few tries to select the one in English, even though we were talking the whole time).  Also, there was us trying out a bit of German (from my phrase book) here and there and me getting laughed at when trying to buy a pack of gum, you asking anyone in the family to let you dip your roll in their egg yolks (because you didn't want to spend your money on breakfast), and also you singing me your main song from the musical you starred in (Cinderella or ? - "I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.  I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a dream.") in our hotel room.  It was such a great time!

For many years, you were away at college, and sometimes all the way across the country.  When you were back here (and a doctor) I should've used every opportunity I had to see you.  I still can't help feeling bad about the times we didn't visit with you and Ethan because of being tired, or because of family drama (not between us), or when I kept you away from a couple of Christmas Eve dinners with my in-laws to avoid hurting someone else's feelings.  It was wrong, and I will always regret it.  Any times I  missed with you were more time that we could've shared.

We had such fun times with you and Ethan, though, when we did manage to get together.  Playing video games and board games, eating dinner, and just laughing.  Those were some really good times.  We miss them so much, and we miss you.

Oh, how we all wish you were here.  I'm sorry that I can't express it better, but we just love you so much, and it's really terrible that you aren't here.

Love,
Chris



Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Time Spent with Loved Ones Is Never Long Enough


Dear Kim,

It's six years since you left this planet.  Today, November 14th.  It sounds selfish, but I'm grateful that it wasn't a week earlier, on my birthday.  It's still hard enough that it's so close.  I know many people lose loved ones on birthdays and holidays, or near them, which must make those days even more difficult than they already are.

Look at your smiling, happy face.  We all miss it so much.  We know you would want us to smile, laugh, live, and love, yet we are still struggling.  You touched so many lives - for the better, of course.  You had so many friends, who I am sure still love you and miss you terribly, like we in your family do, too.

I regret all the time we didn't spend together, because you were living far away, or because Dean and I were too tired to spend some Sundays when you lived here, etc.  I'm sorry for not letting you come out to dinner on Christmas Eve a couple of times with Dean's family because I was too worried about offending some who would be left out.  That was wrong of me.  No matter how much time we did have together, when someone is gone, you just wish for more.

I remember a lot of good times...

When you were around five years old, you and Juli dressed as Princess Leia and Han Solo, respectively.  I don't know if it was Halloween, or just for fun, but I wish I could find that photo right now.  Also around that time, you and I jumping in puddles during a rainstorm.  The three of us building forts in the living room, and going skiing (you and I taking turns going through each other's legs on a gentle hill at Alpine Valley).  The three of us girls and Mom all dressed in the same sundress (it was longer on you because you were small (they were stretchy on top and were one-size-fits-all)).  Me flying you like an airplane on my feet, and also flying you by one arm and one leg outside, too (you were always so fearless).

When you were around twelve years old, four of us in the family going to Austria.  You and I spending some time on our own, getting lost in Innsbruck, laughing with the waiter who laughed at you picking up half of a pizza to bite it, trying to get him to figure out which menu to give us (we only knew English well enough), singing songs (about pizza, arriving at the hotel, etc.) all around the town and laughing at Mum's funny jumping jacks/scissors walking/jumping move.  Then later, in our room, you singing your song from the musical you starred in.  I saw many of Juli's plays and musicals in later years, but I couldn't make it to that one of yours because I had no car.  You played Sleeping Beauty, but it was before cell phones and the preponderance of camcorders, so we have no record of it.

When you were around thirteen years old, all of us going to Jamaica, and you begging me to go to the beach, me being too lazy for sunscreen that day and getting burned, bright red, painful legs, and Mum putting aloe on them.

And then when you were an adult and moved back here again...

Laughing at your place on Sundays when your wonderful, silly Ethan was being so funny.  I worked hard cooking things for your special diet, so we could all eat together.  I cherish those Sundays.  There were too few of them.

Our time was all too brief, once you were back home.

I wish I could feel that carefree joy again.

Love,
Chris



Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Happy Birthday Kim, Though We Aren't Happy, of Course






Dear Kim,

Today would've been your 48th birthday.  Almost six years have gone by since you died, and many people still miss you every day.  It's still very, very hard for a lot of us.

Some people like to say that everything happens for a reason.  Well, they will never convince me, even if they had a million years, that there is any good reason for you to be gone.  It's not right, it's not okay, and I still can't accept it.

I know that you would want all of us to be happy and to be not just surviving, but thriving.  We want to be able to do this, but many of us are still having a lot of trouble doing so.  Some of us have experienced multiple important losses, and some of us were just very close to you.  It's hard for everyone in different ways.

The good news is that your son Ethan seems to be doing better.  We try our best to help him and make things as good as possible for him.  I believe that you can see for yourself that he is coping the best that he can.

I know this isn't eloquent.  I've had a hard time lately.  I just didn't want to forget your birthday.  

We all miss you and love you.  Crying here without you.

Chris

A few years ago I tried to click this YouTube video link, but the video wouldn't play (on our computer, anyway).  It's just a few seconds long, but now it works.  I just watched it for the first time yesterday.  Click on the title below if you want to see it.

Kim Saxe speaks at the WNPA hosted Midwest Regional Lyme Conference in Madison, WI




Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Still Wanting to Find More Joy Again


funny moments

My husband found this the other day when going through some papers.  This is just a photo that I took the other day of a photo printed on our printer with a note that I wrote years ago. 

Somewhere there is a better copy of that photo, of course, but the important thing is the note that I wrote on it.  For five years I've been mis-remembering what the moment was of that photo.  I kept saying that that photo where Ethan (our nephew) and I were laughing so hard that we cried was when we were playing a Mario game where we kept knocking each other off a vine.

Now I see this note and realize that we were probably watching Ninjago and Ethan made that joke.  Back when he was five, we joked a lot about farts and burping, and it was great, silly fun.  

wanting more joy

I know that all of us who are grieving do have moments somewhat like this, at times, even since Ethan's mom (our sister) passed away over five years ago, but it's still hard to create moments of pure silliness and joy these days.  I wonder what the secret is to getting it back.  Our hearts were more pure, joyful, and less broken back then.  Can they be healed?

I keep feeling like it's my fault that I can't find ways to be happier.  We've had multiple important losses in recent years, and they've affected us.  We do all feel grateful about the loved ones we still have, keep trying to be busy, find things that bring us joy, and do work that is important to us.  But still, it's not the same, you know?

My First Selfie


Okay, I took this a year or more ago, but I just came across it again and it cracked me up.  That was me trying to take a photo of me and my nephew Ethan.

Since I don't have a real smartphone, where you can see on a screen what you are taking a photo of, this is what I ended up with.  I think I was just using our digital camera anyway, which also would only show the view on the back.

Great shot, eh?  So silly.  It keeps making me laugh.


Tuesday, November 14, 2017

To My Sister Kim - Five Years Have Gone By


[I know that I shouldn't post pics of other people's children (my nephew), but this is five years old, so maybe it's okay, and Kim looks so great that I just had to use it.]

Kim,

Our wonderful sister, five years have passed and I still can't even believe that you are gone.  It feels like a bad dream, the time when you were sick and leaving us and the times since, and now, without you.  It can't be true.

My heart keeps breaking, over and over.  We all miss your laugh, your smile, your positivity, the enjoyment you got out of life.  We miss your knowledge, your expertise, your help with our health problems.  

Ethan misses you.  Of course he would miss his wonderful, loving mom.  He tries so hard to escape (with video games (me, too)) and he tries to be okay, but he will never have what he once did - the security of your love, your embrace, and all of the fun you and he had together.

Mum is the most brokenhearted of us all.  She is a strong woman, but this absolutely breaks her into pieces, forever.  You were her favorite, as we all knew.  It's very hard for her to go on, but she does it to help your son and others, and to honor your memory (because she knows you would want her to be okay, as much as possible).

Many people miss you.  You had a lot of friends.  So many people loved you, and still do.

I just don't know what to say other than it still hurts so, so much that you are gone.  Some of us are forever changed, forever grieving.  We know you wouldn't want that, but we can't help it.  We try to move on and be okay, but it doesn't ever completely happen.  I don't think it ever will.

Please send us some strength, so we can be okay.

Love,
Chris

Monday, April 24, 2017

The Pain Lingers On


Had to cut our stepdad Mark out of this photo because he was making a goofball face, and it wasn't pretty.  Photo from about 14 years ago, maybe.  

My youngest sister Kim has been gone for a few years (4 1/2?) and it's still just as hard.  We miss other loved ones we've lost in recent years, and cats, too, but this loss hits us the most because she was so young and vibrant and lovely until she got very sick, and because her son was left behind (and our mom, too).

Every time that we go to the health food store she used to go to, and pass the place where she lived, it's always hard.  I come close to crying, or actually do cry, just seeing organic vegetables and other things she would've bought.

Yesterday we were at that store, me almost crying, trying not to, and then this morning I am crying.  It's all too much to bear, sometimes.  I know that anyone who has lost someone very precious to them will understand what I am saying.

I wish I could tell you anything at all to heal the pain, but there really is no remedy.  It's just pain that will linger, I'm sorry to say.  We just try to "keep calm and carry on."  It's the life that we now know.




Monday, April 10, 2017

Sadly, Grief Has No Real Solution or Remedy

My late sister Kim, in December 2005, with her dog Fenny (Fenster).


I normally don't post photos of anyone's kids, but this has already been put on Facebook, so...

It's just a photo of a photo.  Kim and her son Ethan.  He's an amazing kid, and she should be here with him, but she can't be, except in spirit.


I think about my late sister Kim almost every day, and about other important people (and cats) that we've lost, too.  I don't seem to be getting any better at dealing with grief.  Seriously, I'm not trying to dwell on it.  I'm just sharing my struggles, hoping that other people who are having the same trouble will realize that they are not alone.

I do keep finding out, in these recent years, that grief doesn't go away.  It's just something that we live with.  

Life will never be the same, and we have no choice but to go on as best we can.  There is no solution or remedy for the pain.  It's just always there.

One thing I know is that we need to find ways to keep busy.  It's especially good if we can find things to do that are meaningful and have a good purpose, though I admit that many times I just want distractions, like playing video games.

Another thing to do is to turn to those you love, though if they've suffered the same loss, or other deep and profound losses of their own, they have their own pain to deal with.  Sometimes we are all in such pain from our grief or other problems that we don't seem to be able to do much to help each other.  

I always want to help my loved ones, both older and younger, with their emotional pain, but usually the only thing I can do is to be there for them.  I guess that has to be enough, when there is nothing else to do.



Monday, March 16, 2015

Sometimes Grief is Never-Ending


This is an appropriate picture of our late sister Kim, because that is how I think of her - happy, bubbly, enjoying life.  I wish I could be like that.  I hope to be able to be that way someday again.  I used to be more like that, at times, before we had to deal with so much of this grieving.

It's also fitting that there is an angel in this photo (on Juli and Kevin's Christmas tree), because I think of Kim as being an angel now.  Many people who loved her thought of her as an angel even when she was here and alive.  She had so many friends and was so outgoing and fun and friendly.

I've probably said this before, but don't ever let anyone tell you that you are grieving wrong.  Everyone is different.  Some people may distract themselves or seem to move on quickly, or possibly even wish that you were doing the same.  Other people might want to think or talk about the person, or talk about feelings.  Whatever way you grieve is whatever is best for you at the time.

I worry so much about Kim's son Ethan.  Some of us adults are not coping well with this loss, more than two years after her passing, so how can a child understand and cope with it?  We talk about his mom when he wants to, and bring her up when memories occur, and we look at the beautiful book that my sister Juli made with photos and memories of Kim.  Most of the time, Ethan is trying to distract himself with video games and things, probably trying to not feel most of his pain.  I do the same things, too.

In my younger days, I experienced some losses that didn't feel very difficult, like the loss of grandparents I wasn't very close to, or other people I didn't have a strong connection to.  In recent years, though, there have been important and serious losses, like my sister very quickly passing away from cancer.  Other big losses have been my in-laws, and my husband's aunt, all of whom felt like real parents to me.  Plus, we all lived in the same house.  I feel that the grief over these recent, big losses will never really go away.  It seems to stay and stay, and continue to cause a lot of pain for my husband and for me (as Kim's loss also does for Mom and Ethan and Juli and others).

Grief isn't limited to just people, either.  My husband and I still feel grief over some of the most special cats we've had, too.  As anyone who has truly loved a pet knows, they are like little, furry people.  We love them and care for them and miss them a lot when they are gone.

I guess this is what getting older is like - dealing with loss after loss, if you are lucky enough to be someone who remains alive yourself.  It's a very hard thing.  Like I said in my previous post, I keep calling this compound grief.  It's as if each loss opens the previous wounds again, or as if the crack in your broken heart gets bigger each time.  Then you try to heal a bit, and experience another loss and it rips back open.  Each loss seems to remind us more and more of all of the others who are gone, and we aren't coping too well with it, at times.

We keep trying.  We keep setting goals, making plans, trying to live our lives, but as any grieving person knows, there are constant reminders that make you think of the people over and over.  Sometimes we have funny or happy thoughts or memories, but other times it's just painful.

It's not like I'm enjoying this continued blogging about grief, but I have these thoughts and they need to get out.  Writing these things makes me cry and it feels very hard, but maybe someone can relate to something that I say, and it might make them feel less alone, less odd.

Please be kind and gentle with yourself if you are experiencing grief.  Take care of yourself and give yourself credit for just getting through each day and doing the best you can.  It's such a difficult thing, especially for extremely sensitive and caring people.  Loving and caring about people brings us much happiness, but also pain.

I wish you peace and comfort and joy in the future.