Monthly Archives: April 2014

Mommy, are you happy?

30 Wednesday Apr 2014

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Mommy, are you happy? This is a question my younger daughter asked me today.

When I think of happy time, I think of 2010 (at least most of that year). David and I had figured out how to balance parenthood with our lifestyle. We were overjoyed with the pleasure of parenthood and ready to have our second child. We were happy with each other, Life was GREAT, just like we wanted. There were lots of laughter, lots of fun, less arguments. I also started exploring and expanding on some old and new passion including photography and sewing.

Her question reminded me of conversation with my older daughter in December when she was laughing hysterically about something her younger Sister did that was funny. After she was done laughing, the following conversation ensued:

“DD: Mommy does not laugh

Me: You don’t think Mommy laughs

DD: No, I only hear you cry

Me: Wow

DD: If you have laughed, it had been a long time and I cannot remember.”

This conversation took place within days of opening up to her about David illness and the fact that he was not getting better.  It was a painful conversation with lots of tears, it was the first time she ever saw me cry as far I knew. Until then we tried to protect the girls from most of the facts about David’s illness. Until then, even David and I had chosen to remain optimistic.

What was striking about the conversation is that I could never have imagined she felt that way, we did everything to ensure the happiness of the girls and always tried to put on a happy face.  It affirmed how perceptive children are, even when we thought we were shielding them, she knew more about me than I even knew as I tried to reflect on the last time I had a genuine laugh.

I know what happiness should feel like and I know I can be happy. I have lots of reasons to be happy, especially thanks to my daughters who bring so much joy to me and remind me of the best attributes of David.

Where is my Daddy?

29 Tuesday Apr 2014

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“Where is my Daddy”? is a question that my younger daughter is asking more and more lately.

Due to her younger age, I know that she is more likely to forget things about David and this is certainly something I would like to prevent. In fact, I have a strange sense of relief when she cries for him since it reinforces the fact that she is remembering him and missing him.

Considering her age, she also does not understand the finality of death and she keeps expecting David to come back home.  On our vacation, she wanted to come home to Daddy, when we are home, she continues to ask, where is Daddy? I remember one day when she said “Daddy is at the door”, I took her to the door and she said, “Daddy, where are you?”, then she looked through the peephole and concluded that “Daddy has gone for a walk”. Her older Sister came by and said “Silly you, Daddy is not there, he is way way up in the sky”. She said that knowing that this is the usual way her Sister perceives their Dad’s absence.

Lately, she seems even more keen about wanting her Daddy and trying to understand where he is and my latest response that Daddy is in her heart seemed to have left her puzzled. I think I need to stick with her general perception that Daddy is in the sky.

I do not know at what age she will understand that Daddy is not coming back home but I need to ensure that like her older Sister, she continues to remember David and hold on to his memories.

So thankful I kept the jacket

27 Sunday Apr 2014

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img_123a My older daughter was the first one out of bed this morning and she went downstairs waiting for me to come and join her.  Soon after, she ran upstairs with the biggest smile on her face, she was wearing David’s Military jacket.

Since David had expressed the desire to be buried in his military outfit, it was the jacket I planned to have him buried in. I had such a hard time letting go of the jacket, it reminded me so much of part of who David was. I cried nonstop the morning the funeral home director said she was coming over to get it since I had ignored all her requests to bring in his outfit. I previously posted here about my struggle to let go of the jacket thinking I was going to let it go.

As I cried my Sister and Mother were there to console me. And I recall my Sister saying that if David knows it means this much to you, he will not expect you to part with the jacket.  That was so true, immediately, I felt relieved and I went to pick another top for him.  For a moment I did not want to part with that one too but I realized that i needed to let go.

The fresh pressed jacket had been in the basement and I took it the family room yesterday as I tried to determine how best to preserve it. Clearly, it was the first thing my daughter saw this morning and she put it on. It was the joy I needed to start my day. I asked her how she felt wearing it and she said “I feel happy wearing it. I want to put it in my room. I want to wear it to school tomorrow because it is my Daddy’s outfit”.

Soon after she ran off and went back downstairs. I went to her room and found the jacket on the floor, a perfect storage location by her standard. I gladly picked it up and put it away safely. I am so happy with the decision to hold on to the jacket.

Your father was an American hero

24 Thursday Apr 2014

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“Your father was an American hero” were the closing remarks to my daughters by the Military Chaplin that officiated the interment service for David, my beloved husband, an amazing father and son.

The word “hero” was something David did not use lightly, he was normally baffled when the media paraded someone as a hero for doing what he considered their job, civic duty, or social responsibility. He will never have considered himself a hero. David loved his country and as an Air Force Veteran, he proudly served his nation at all expense.

In death, he was honored as a true servant to the nation, he now rests with other comrades, many that fell in service to the nation. The military gave him a very befitting funeral – one that he earned as a result of his service to the nation. No doubt it was a day filled with emotions, it was also a day that reinforced my pride in David and certainly one that I hope his children will forever remember and be proud to know how selfless their Dad was.

I had the event photographed and videographed. I have no idea if or when I will ever be brave enough to watch the video but at least it is available if the girls ever want to watch it and perhaps it will help them find comfort and a sense of pride seeing that their Daddy was laid to rest with prestigious honors.

Days following the funeral as my daughter remembered the closing remarks from the Military Chaplin, she said to her younger Sister that since Daddy was an American hero, that makes us American princesses.

Below are some very dear and intimate pictures from David’s burial.

 

The Goodness of people

24 Thursday Apr 2014

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The pictures above reflect some of the random acts of kindness and thoughtfulness we have received recently from people simply based on reading the blog and recognizing my children’s interest in rainbows, painting, and art.

Each time I received a surprise care package in the mail, I am again overwhelmed with gratitude. I am reminded that David always believed in the goodness of people and I can truly attest to this more now than ever. Your love and support has been unprecedented. I really appreciate that people have not stopped thinking about us and the extreme difficulty of trying to cope with the loss of David.  Almost three months later, while life continues as business as usual for most in the world, the kindness and support continues – people are still calling, coming over to visit, and providing support in many ways as mention in a previous post.

These care packages have really brighten the home, the rainbow cookie was gone within seconds. The girls now have a rainbow that lights up the ceiling in their room at bedtime, and a rainbow decal on the wall over the bed. The Easter baskets came in so handy this weekend. It allowed the girls to have lots of fun decorating eggs and also to have an egg hunt. This was the first time we did an egg hunt at home, I was not planning to but my older daughter was really interested in either going somewhere in search of Easter eggs or as she suggested doing one at home. Luckily, the Easter care basket included everything we needed to have our very own egg hunt outside. The excitement on their faces as they found the eggs was priceless. I am ever grateful for everyone and everything that has been done by so many people that have helped in making my children happy. Thank you!

 

David the runner

22 Tuesday Apr 2014

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Now that the weather is getting nicer, I have started seeing a number of people running. I cannot help feeling the pain of David’s loss as I look at them running and appearing so carefree and energized. I am reminder of my dear David, who was an avid runner. He craved running, it was stress relief, it was liberating, and it energized him.

David enjoyed running, swimming, biking, and weight lifting. While it is hard to say which one he liked the most, I believe running gave him the greatest satisfaction. He enjoyed the runner’s high. He had running gear for all seasons, – come rain, come snow, he ran. He always said he had his best run in the rain.

At his peak, he used to average between 10 to 12 miles a day and ran about five days a week. He competed against himself, always trying to break his previous record. He planned on running in the NYC marathon. I asked him once why he was so committed to exercising and he said he was inspired by the birth of our first child to stay in top shape.

Sadly, the microscopic blood noted in David’s urine, a symptom of bladder cancer was simply attributed to the fact that he was an avid runner – a non-serious condition also known as runner’s hematuria. I recall that as the disease progressed, David was upset that despite all his efforts to stay healthy and in top form, he had cancer and the Doctors failed to diagnose it early. However, due to his overall physical and mental wellbeing, I always believed that if anyone could overcome the disease, it was certainly David.

Below is an image of an email David sent me with the details of one of his best run time and a lesson he learned the following day:

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Home is where our hearts belong

20 Sunday Apr 2014

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This was the first time we were away from home as I took the girls on vacation. I am thankful to say they had fun and that brightened my time away.  I looked at them laughing and having a good time, and this made me smile.  It reminded me of the way David would look at me and smile when I was giggly with excitement of a child as he introduced me to new things or took me to new places.

It was rough being away without David, two words “David died” kept pounding my mind. I walked around almost in shock that David died. So many things reminded me of David, our travels and adventures before having kids and our life after kids. I kept thinking what will David do. While watching a show with the girls, I was reminded of how magical the experience was for me when I watched it with David several years ago. As I watched with the girls, tears flowed from my eyes as I felt the void in our life without David, who should have been sitting with us.

Even in the midst of fun, the girls also missed their Dad terribly. Once we got on the plane to depart, my younger daughter immediately started crying that she wanted to go home. She insisted that she wanted her Daddy. I want my Daddy, I want my Daddy was all she said as she cried. Others on the plane may have assumed that I snatched her off her Dad’s arm and was fleeing the country. What became shocking and almost paranormal was that once she sat in her chair, she looked outside the window and immediately stopped crying, her face lit up, happily she smiled and said “I see Daddy, Daddy is right here”. She was pointing outside the window. She remained content for the rest of the flight and insisted that the window stayed open so she could keep looking at her Daddy.

At some point during the vacation, my older daughter said to me “each time I see someone’s Daddy, I feel sad that I do not have my Daddy anymore”. Later that day, she said “Mommy, you know what, throughout the trip, I believed Daddy was at home and that is why I was not sad”. What a great coping mechanism.

When my younger daughter was playing with another girl, the girl asked where her Daddy is. Confidently, my daughter replied that “My Daddy in the sky”. The girl was baffled as she said “he is” and then almost sounding disappointed she said her Dad was on the chair.

Despite the challenges, the girls had a blast. They had fun from the moment they woke up and remained energetic into the late hours of the evening. They even got a surprise visit from their cousins and this added to the nonstop fun.  My Mom and I needed some extra days to recover from the vacation.

At the end we were all ready to go home as my younger daughter said, I want to go home to Daddy. Although David is not home, home is where I find the most comfort, it is a place of solace and where I feel closest to David.

Breaking the silence – the waiting

17 Thursday Apr 2014

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This disease impacted our lives so much over the last 3.5 years. We were in a constant waiting mode. Waiting to schedule appointments, waiting to see Doctors, waiting in the ERs, waiting for procedures, tests results, new medication, CT scans results, MRI results. Waiting to see if the treatments were working.

Well, F you bladder cancer we are liberated from waiting. We no longer have to anxiously wait for a call from Sloan Kettering, have our hearts skip a beat when we see that dreaded number. We no longer have to wait indefinitely for the results of a CT scan, we no longer have to wait for a doctor to return a call on how to manage any symptom or pain that David was experiencing, we no longer have to wait only to hear a doctor say in the most nonchalant manner “sorry I cannot help you”. We are free from waiting for senseless information.

Whenever David had a CT scan, he preferred that they do not call until Monday so that he could enjoy his weekend.  I learned to adopt this approach also. However, at the start of the new week, in most cases, I still had to call the office for the results. At the beginning, we used to go into the office for the results but as time progressed they told us over the phone. The wait in the office was even more painful and could take up to two hours.

The waiting was so destructive and it was torture. Our experience showed me that many doctors and their staff are completely disconnected from the mental anguish families go through. They seems to refuse to understand the level of anxiety patients went through, perhaps it is because we sit patiently in their waiting rooms with a calm disposition. I recall one day as we waited on pins and needles, eventually, we got called to the back and we were asked to complete a survey for “research” purposes.  I was completed irritated as I told the youthful researcher that while I appreciate the need to support research and science, my priority at that instance was the result of David’s CT scan. She was apologetic and I told her that I can complete the survey after we received the results – also depending on the result.

We learned a lesson about patience in a way that is completely unnecessary. It was pretending to be patient while our minds ran wild and our ability to eat or drink halted. Why bring patients in just to wait for hours? Why sit on results for so long while patients are glued to their phone anxiously awaiting the call? Why does it seems that the doctors calls after-hours just as we stepped away from the phone and became unreachable until the next business day and leaving us in anticipation for at least another day?

There is some relief knowing that we are no longer at the mercy of the disease progression, the inadequate treatments or the unavailable doctors. However, it does not take away from the pain of losing you. We will have waited patiently until we found a cure.

This is one of several posts that details our experience with bladder cancer. A concise summary of the overall experience can be found in the blog post titled “breaking the silence”.

 

Taking your love for granted

12 Saturday Apr 2014

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Our story is based on David’s love. Love of a man who was passionate about everything he did. A man that I love dearly. A man who showed me love that seemed reserved for fairly tales. Love that I could not fathom at the beginning and I became dependent on. Love that I took for granted.

I took for granted that David will always be around to show me and his children this love. I took for granted that he will make egg pizzas for breakfast while singing and dancing or Korean meals for dinner with details like a personal chef. I took for granted that he will always fix my car, do the groceries, take care of the running of house, pay the bills, pick the girls up from school, fixed everything we broke callously, play passionately with the girls, and continue to teach me “useless information” as he called it.

David, I took for granted that you will always call just to say “I love you”. That you will always open the doors for me, send me flowers for no reason, leave me a love note, sing to me on my voicemail, get me multiple cards for my birthday, or other occasions that did not seem to warrant celebrations. No matter how beautiful the cards were you always included a personal note. I took for granted that I will run out of space to store these cards.

I took for granted that you will always hold my hands, something I used to be so shy about in public…to be young and naïve. How I wish we could take a stroll together now. I took for granted that you will always see beauty in me, even when I could not see it. I took for granted that you will always be my bodyguard as you took calculated decisions on everything you did involving your family.

I took for granted that you will be around to argue with me. No doubt we could both be stubborn but you were the peacemaker. David you could not bear to be angry with me for too long and if I stayed angry, argued relentless, or walked away stubbornly, you apologized even if you did not know what you did wrong. I remember how it used to drive me crazy when we argued and it always seemed like you purposefully lowered your voice below your usual decibel just to make mine seem louder and in turn make me seem unreasonable. I smile at those memories.

I took for granted that you will always love me and you never stopped. Your love was endless. The last words I remember you saying to me were “I love you” and that day you said it nonstop into the wee hours of the night.

Our story is a story of love. It will never be redefined by cancer. This is not a cancer blog, It is a blog about our journey and your legacy. A legacy based on love, the love you shared with me and your children. The love you left in your daughters’ who are as affectionate as you.

I love you so much and will never take your memories or legacy for granted.

Why is your name on a tombstone?

08 Tuesday Apr 2014

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Yesterday was the first time I saw a picture of David’s name on his tombstone. It was in the ground above his final resting place. And yesterday was the first time I really lost it crying, an uncontrollable and violent cry, a screaming and wailing cry.  I cried until it hurt and I still could not stop, even when I finally stopped, the tears were still streaming down my face.

I was MAD. Mad because the world seems so unfair, mad at the disease, mad that we did not get a MIRACLE, mad at the  lack of progress in cancer research in making better progress at preventing or curing cancer, a disease that has devasted so many lives.

The picture with David’s name on a tombstone struck a cord so deep. The grass had not fully covered the area, making it clear that it was dug out, David’s body was laid there and the dirty was placed back over. It made the death of David real, it is real, David is gone, his full name is on a tombstone with an end date.

I was MAD, I am MAD. How can you David be lying below ground buried? How can your name be on a tombstone?  This should not have been our destiny yet. It was cut too short, it is OVER, you are never walking through the doors again. Why was our story cut so short? You had the zeal and energy for life, you wanted to live, you needed to live, I needed you to live. We all did.

This is the hardest I have cried because it is confirmation that even though I want to feel that you are home, you are not, you are gone. The picture of the tombstone confirms it.  As my Sister helped console me, I finally remembered that it was Monday and Mondays always seem to be my worse days and through my tears I was able to joke about the fact.

My evening ended putting the girls in bed, they were so full of energy and so happy to see me. They reminded me of the joy of life and where my happiness resides as they hugged and kissed me until the fell asleep.