Remembering Kim's Memorial

 

I can't sleep, so I might as well blog.  Probably a common occurrence for some of us.

 

Sometimes we just can't help but think about our grief and pain more.  Like, when someone's birthday is coming up.  Kim's birthday would've been this Saturday.  She would've been 45 years old.

 

I was thinking (when I couldn't sleep) about our sister Kim's memorial service, almost three years ago.  Our sister Juli planned everything.  It was as beautiful as something like that could possibly be.  The food looked very nice (my husband Dean and I were too sad and nervous to eat), the music was nice, and the photos were great.  The problem was, if I looked at the photos that were being shown on the screen, I would burst into tears, so I only saw about 7 of them.

 

I was very nervous and sweating like crazy (probably not nice for some of the people I hugged that day).  I'm very nervous around people, so I didn't know what to say or do.  I know I probably said some stupid things.

 

People were asking me how my mom was doing, and I know that at least a couple of times, I said, "Well, her favorite daughter is gone, so she's a mess," or something like that.  The one time I said it, Juli was there, and said to me, "Oh, you're going to hell for saying that."  I didn't know what she meant by that, but I guess she thought I was trying to make a joke at an inappropriate time, so therefore earned myself eternal damnation?

 

Actually, I wasn't making a joke at all.  Mom just always was very obvious, to everyone, that Kim was her favorite daughter.  We all knew it.  I wasn't trying to be funny.  I was just trying to think of something to say when people asked me questions.  Of course, the people's laughter wasn't the raucous "aren't we having a ton of fun" kind anyway.  It was more the nervous kind that people get when situations are awkward or painful.

 

The woman who babysat me when I was very little, who is also named Chris, came to the memorial.  It was nice to see her, and relatives I never see, too, like my Uncle Dick and his wife Marianne.

 

Strangers, patients, and friends of Kim's were talking to me, saying how great she was.  Yes, I agreed, and tried not to cry in their face.  I actually did burst into tears a few times when patients who recognized me from photos asked if I was Kim's sister and told me how wonderful she was as a doctor, or when people I actually knew just came up to me and said they were sorry.  I probably should've just been watching it all from a video drone or something, thereby reducing my social anxiety to zero and eliminating the embarrassment of sobbing when people talked to me. 

 

Anyway, I don't really care about how stupid I seemed to anyone or how sweaty I may have been.  All that matters is that Kim is gone, and no one is happy about that, since everyone loved her.

 

I so appreciate the lovely memorial that Juli set up.  I don't know how she does it - she is younger than I am, yet so much stronger, more sane, and capable.  She's also prettier, more fun, and a lot of other good things, but let's not start any sibling rivalry!  Ha ha.

 

Seriously, though, Juli did such an excellent job, at a time when Mom wasn't up to handling things, and neither was I.  I know some people couldn't make it to the memorial, since Kim knew people from all over the country, but the people who were there (and there were pretty many), were all there trying to come together and honor her, which is what it was all about.

 

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.

Happy Birthday Kim

Yesterday would've been my sister Kim's 43rd birthday.  Here is just one example of the kind of person she was.  At her memorial, her friend Joanne told me about this time when she went to the dentist.  Joanne came out after seeing the dentist and her young son was playing a game on a Nintendo DS.  Joanne asked him where he got the DS, and her son said that a lady had loaned it to him because he was bored.  That lady ended up being Kim.  She just loaned her device to a complete stranger, not knowing if she would ever get it back.

Like I said previously, many people at Kim's memorial talked about what a wonderful person she was.  It's the way that we'd all like to be remembered and thought of.  It was difficult but also helpful to hear how much she was loved and liked.

Kim Saxe was an Incredible Mother, Daughter, Sister, Doctor, and Friend to so Many

This is my first blog and my first post.  I named
it 'Christina Bambina says...' because my sister
Kim liked that name when it used to be my
email address.

I still can't believe she's gone.  Kim (Wetzler)
Saxe, N.D.  She was only 42.  She died
November 14, 2012, after a short battle with
an aggressive cancer.  She left behind a
wonderful 5-year-old son.  He's really hurting
right now, as you would imagine.

So many bad people (who hurt other people)
are still here on this planet, but a good person
(Kim) who helped other people, is not.  I know
that's true in the case of many people who pass
on too soon (including children).  It's just not
right.

My sister Juli planned the whole memorial, and
she did a really amazing job.  It was as beautiful
as any memorial could be.  There was a photo
slideshow of Kim, music, and food that looked
really nice.  Juli spent many days putting together that
slideshow, which I know was really hard to do.

I don't like being around people very much, so
the memorial was doubly difficult for me.  It
was heartwarming, though, to hear from all of
Kim's friends and patients just how much she
meant to them.  She really was an incredible
woman.

Many of us (including our mom) have been
brokenhearted since Kim has been gone.  I feel
like some part of me will never truly believe that
she is gone.  It just doesn't feel right, and it
never will.

We are all trying hard to be there for Kim's son
Ethan whenever we can, and make him feel
loved and cared for.  Kim and Ethan were
really close and he loved her so, so much.  He
misses her a lot.

I keep telling myself that I need to honor Kim's
memory by getting myself healthy,
accomplishing the things I want to accomplish,
and enjoying every day that I have, but it's been
hard to do that.  I just keep trying every day. 
That's the best that I can do.