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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Kim - Missing You Still

This is our late sister Kim, filled with joy about the snow when she came home for a visit one time.  I wish I could feel like that.

I keep feeling shocked that she is gone.  People would be surprised that you can still feel shock about losing someone, even though next month it will be 5 years that she has been gone.  Mum isn't surprised that I feel this way, because she said she feels the same way.

I sometimes let my guard down, like when getting up in the middle of the night or just turning off all sound or devices during the afternoon, and I find myself in complete shock when I realize that she is gone.  I guess it will never stop shocking me, because she was so full of life and loving life.

I wanted to write more today, but I don't have time.  I just wanted to say - Happy Birthday, Kim - we love you!

Can We Find Joy Again?

I have no pictures of anyone up in our apartment.  I know that is strange, but it's only because I care too much.  If I see photos of loved ones we've lost (people or cats), I feel even sadder than I normally do.  If I see photos of loved ones who are still with us, I just worry about them and/or miss them.  I feel too much all the time, so I'm always trying to avoid feeling even more.  I avoid most dramas (TV or movies), too, for the same reason.  I'd rather watch something incredibly stupid than watch something that makes me feel more.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent.  Seeing my late sister Kim in the photos above just made me think about that whole topic.  

What I wanted to write about was a really good and joyful day that I had about a month ago.  I wish I could buy that joy in a bottle, and also I wish that it was not a harmful substance to ingest.  I'd pay whatever I could afford if I could feel that way again.

If a pill was not available, then I wish I could re-create whatever occurred in my body and mind that day in order for me to feel such joy.  I was out with my husband (which is always great) and we were picking up a few presents to give to Mum for a belated Mother's Day get-together.  I don't know what exactly it was about that day, but I truly haven't felt joy like that in quite a long time.  I felt silly, happy, and fun.  It was a really good few hours, while it lasted.

Joy has been fairly elusive for some of us since Kim passed away.  It's almost five years ago now.  It still hurts just as much.  We've also lost other important people and gone through other serious things.  All of these have put a damper on our ability to feel joy.  We talk about joy, long for it, and try to create it, but for the most part, it eludes us.

Maybe we are doing something wrong.  I don't know.  Maybe we just care too much about those we've lost.  We do try to enjoy life and do things we like to do, but life does feel flatter and more empty with them gone.

Don't get me wrong.  We have people we care about, and my husband and I are so grateful to have each other.  We love each other more and more as the years go by, and we do realize that we are lucky to have that.  Still, it doesn't erase our pain.

I guess I just wish that there was more of an answer to this whole grief thing, but like my husband said a few years ago, "I don't think there is an answer."  I think he is right.  It is just something you live with.  You try to work on doing things you feel passionate about, and enjoy the people who are here, but truly you are forever changed by the losses.

Maybe not everyone is like this.  We know some people who seem to have gone back to "normal" after losing Kim, but not me, my mum, my husband, and Kim's son.

I hope that talking about these things helps anyone who would read them someday.  Maybe if you feel the same types of things you can realize you are not alone.  When you have everyone telling you to "get on with your life," and you try, but the pain still lingers on, you will know there are others out here feeling the same way.

Survivor's Guilt

[My blog posts aren't perfect.  I know that.  But if I try to be perfect, I will never do anything at all.]

It's a strange thing, to feel guilty for being happy or enjoying things.  It happened again to me today.  I was playing a YouTube video of a full B-52's album (easier than popping in my CD, plus it shows lyrics, etc.).

I put this video on...

[click image to go to video]

...in order to get some energy to do some work around the house.  I was enjoying it until I thought about how my late sister Kim also liked the B-52's.  Then I felt guilty for being alive, for dancing around, for enjoying the music at all, when she so obviously couldn't do the same.

Kim wasn't the kind of person who would ever want anyone to feel bad about anything, or to not enjoy their life, yet I still feel this guilt about being happy.  I feel this guilt regarding everyone we've lost, but of course especially when it comes to Kim, because she was my youngest sister and I'll always believe that she should still be here.  I mean, I wish that the older people we've lost could be here, too, but Kim should be with her son.  

I have to keep telling myself that Kim wouldn't want me to feel this way.  Maybe one of these days that truth will get through to me, but for now it's still this way.

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.

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.

Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds - Two Great Women Gone in Just Two Days

 

I don't usually cry when celebrities die, but in these last few days I've cried a few times about people I don't know personally who are gone.  I think the last time I cried about a celebrity death before this was when Ginger Rogers died, many years ago.  I happened to be reading her autobiography at the time. 

 

My husband and I don't like many movies (find the comedies unfunny and many others just too boring), but the first Star Wars movie is one of our favorites.  We even had a very long discussion about various Star Wars movies and other sci-fi topics the night before Carrie Fisher died.

 

Carrie Fisher had a rough life.  I know it's hard enough just dealing with regular depression.  I certainly wouldn't want to live with bipolar disorder, as she did.  Having made the choice in recent years to get shock treatment to deal with her mental illness couldn't have been easy.  She mentioned on talk shows how it would take away her short-term memory.  She would lose about a month of recent memories, if I'm recalling correctly.  That sounds so frightening to me, but she did what she felt she had to do to feel better.

 

I admired Carrie Fisher for all that she had overcome in her life, while remaining so strong.  When I heard of her passing, I thought of both her daughter and her mother, Debbie Reynolds.  I thought of how hard it would be for them, similar to what my own mother and nephew have gone through because of losing my sister Kim, though Kim's son was much younger than Carrie's daughter.

 

 

Then one day after Carrie had passed, her mother Debbie Reynolds did, too.  Such a shock.  Again, my first thought was for Carrie's daughter (Debbie's granddaughter).  I hope that she has good, loving, and supportive people around her, because she is going to need that so very much.

 

Al Roker said today on The Today Show, "Debbie knew that her daughter needed her."  I disagree.  I know Todd Fisher said that his mother had expressed wanting to be with Carrie about 30 minutes before she died, but I think she would know that Carrie was fine, and that the people who really needed her are her son and her granddaughter. 

 

I just heard, in these last few days, that there is an upcoming HBO documentary about Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds called Bright Lights.  I will definitely want to buy it on DVD when it comes out.  I didn't know that they lived right next door to each other and were so very close, but I would really love to see that and hear all about their recent time together.  I know it will make me sad, as will seeing Carrie in any new or old Star Wars movies we watch.

 

I always, always loved Debbie Reynolds, too.  I saw most of her old movies, some of them multiple times, and she was great on Will and Grace, too, playing Grace's mother. 

 

I just hope that Debbie's son and Carrie's daughter and anyone else who loved them will all be able to comfort each other and find ways to make going forward an okay thing for all of them.  I know it will be difficult, but I wish them joy and peace.