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A Million Artichokes
By Margot | April 1, 2010
Maureen and Neil were in the car last night with the boys while I ran into Vons for something and they were talking with the boys about pizza. Maureen said she like artichokes and pepperoni on her pizza and then she said Sam really like artichokes and Andy answered “I don’t like artichokes but I would eat a million artichokes if it would bring Sam back to life.” Andy is doing all right he’s mostly happy and busy but has moments looking at Sam’s pictures or talking about him when he cries and gets very sad. He said a couple of days ago in the car after we’d been talking about Sam, “God I miss that kid.” It was funny and sweet and sad at the same time.  We’ve signed him up for Camp Erin (which is a camp for kids who have lost someone) for a weekend in June and he is very excited about it. He’s not old enough to do the overnight American Cancer Society Camp and he is excited to go overnight.
I’ve been reading a lot grief books and frankly they are sucking the life out of me.  Perhaps it happens to be the particular grief books that I’ve gotten a hold of but they all just make me feel worse. The most helpful advice that I received and can relate to came from our friend Mallory who lost her wonderful, funny husband Ed to cancer and she said, (sorry if I’m paraphrasing Mallory) that it comes in waves and sometimes the waves just rock you a little and sometimes they make you lose your balance and then sometimes they come crashing in on top of you. For some reason that imagery resonates with me. It seems like I get a million little waves all day, taking Charlie to the Wild Animal Park yesterday, cooking, braving the grocery stores (actually that is more of an unbalancing wave). Last night Charlie brought the waves crashing in. We were watching American Idol (Sam loved to watch it and we hadn’t watched it yet together) and Charlie said suddenly, “But when is Sam coming back?” Explaining to him that he wasn’t coming back was like cutting my heart out because I was also explaining it to the part of my brain that hasn’t really accepted that fact. Charlie cried. Later he said, “Mom, how do you go to bed in heaven?” I said, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never been there” and he said, “Oh, well Sam knows now.”  Days have been good and busy and nights the waves come crashing in. The best part of the wave imagery for me is that I try think of Sam surfing and boogie boarding and how he would be grinnning and encouranging me to try riding those waves. It was really theraputic to get out to Palm Springs and to work on the slide show of Sam pictures for Saturday because I had been reliving the last couple of weeks and the last day and his cremation and the pictures helped bring back all of the good memories and fun that he had. I kept thinking of him in Palm Springs golfing and running up and going down the slide with his brothers.  Andy was a little hesitant to even get in at first because he wasn’t “used to swimming without Sam” but in typical Andy fashion he made a friend within about five minutes and spent the entire three days with him.   Charlie swam like a fish.
Neil braved working on Sam and Andy’s room a little today where we’ve piled up pictures and videos and keepsakes that we need to go through. I braved putting together the Easter Egg treasure hunt for the boys for Easter morning. Sam’s favorite.   Driving in the car alone is torture. I haven’t done it much thankfully but that is where I miss talking and laughing with Sam.    Oh how I wish we could all eat a million artichokes and bring him back. Working on focusing on the happy memories and realizing in looking at all the pictures that, as Father Steven said at his mass,  he packed a lot of living in those nine years.
More soon after the All Star Party and Thanks a million to our village working tirelessly to put it all together.
Margot
Topics: Progress Reports | 17 Comments »
April 2nd, 2010 at 1:08 am
Margot, losing parents is unfortunately a “normal” part of getting older–but still extremely traumatic. 15 years now since my father is gone, the “waves” still come–and I think that metaphor is very apt.
However, they do get a bit smaller and less frequent.
FWIW, my massage therapist lost her 5 year old daughter to a brain tumor last July. She started going to the various grief group meetings and then told me that they seemed to be making things worse. Now, nine months later, she finds they help. I think you might need to just back off the reading for a bit and try to just get through minute by minute. I think you might find the books helpful–but later, now now.
All my love and good wishes to you all.
–Sherry
April 2nd, 2010 at 2:42 pm
Margs,
I know words can’t express what you are going through and feeling but you are doing a wonderful job of it anyway. Thank you for writing, even though it must be so hard. Your friends, close and far, read your thoughts and are with you in everything.
April 2nd, 2010 at 3:38 pm
Bring on the artichokes!
April 2nd, 2010 at 4:13 pm
Please know we think of you guys constantly and will be with you tomorrow in spirit.
All our love and prayers,
Silvia & Steven
April 2nd, 2010 at 4:17 pm
Margot,
Also you can try to think about grief as getting new furniture that you absolutely can’t stand. It is too big for the room, and you keep bumping into it. You move it around until it fits in better, but still not completely. Now at least it is in a spot where you will not constantly bump into it…. You will always hit walls of grief, but there will come a time when that is not necessarily a negative experience, but a happy reminder.
I agree that at least for now yo should let the cookie crumble in terms of grief groups etc… but down the line, “Making Toast” is a recently published book by Roger Rosenblat, and I think is a wonderful account of grief, one that allows, even encourages someone who has experienced a loss to remain somewhat pissed off. It is not forceful in nature, rather witty and thoughtful.
Best wishes-
April 2nd, 2010 at 4:36 pm
Margot my heart is breaking along side yours, but I know in a different way! Your writing is so beautiful and honest-its amazing. Thinking of you guys a lot. Christene Gage
April 2nd, 2010 at 6:20 pm
THIS DAY’S GREATEST GIFTS
Even though we miss Sam so much….
We can’t change the past
But we can gather up
It’s lessons and move on,
Stronger and wiser.
Even though we know we will see Sam again….
We can’t control the future…
But we can send our dreams
Ahead of us
To help prepare the way.
Because of Sam….
We can live each moment…
Heart and soul,
And cherish this day’s
Greatest gift…
The gift of now.
May peace with the past
And faith in the future,
Gently guide you through each
Precious moment of Today.
With Sam in our hearts.
I pray you have a Blessed Easter
April 2nd, 2010 at 10:47 pm
I will never look at artichokes again without thinking of this entry. Thank you for sharing the part of this journey we all dread…. how brave of you
much love
Caryn Franca
April 3rd, 2010 at 2:41 am
My friend how is a therapist and lost her son said that grief groups did not work for her b/c everyone was just so sad (I think she used some other words to describe it too). But EMDR therapy did help with some of the thoughts she could not get out of her head. I will see you tommorrow. THe girls are looking forward to it. Again I am so sorry and so deeply sad for all of you. Angela (Madison’s Mom)
April 3rd, 2010 at 4:00 am
Margot and Neil,
The Kuhn’s are thinking of you and wishing we were there tomorrow to play and get in the games! Know that our hearts
are in Pacific Beach tomorrow morning…
xo, Colleen, Nick and kids
April 3rd, 2010 at 4:30 am
Lathan always remembers your family every night in his prayers! We are praying for God to continue to wrap his arms around you and comfort you all daily! Thanks for taking the time to write.
April 3rd, 2010 at 8:24 am
In Kathleen’s Heaven~there is a red button to come back. I wish we could all go to Kathleen’s Heaven. So hard to explain that there is no button, but that I think there should be one too. Then we decided that we didn’t need the button, because Papa lives in our “Love Hearts” all the time. He can always be with us. He died when the kids were 18mo. old. They tell me when he is “with” us all the time. We still wish we had a red button, even though we know he is here with us! One moment at a time for now. Bit By Bit, just get through the days with the kids. Everything else can wait! God Bless you, and your angel boy! love, Ellen
http://www.caringbridge.org/ma/seanhanson
April 3rd, 2010 at 3:07 pm
Neil and Margot,
I burst into tears when I read Andy’s comment about eating a million artichokes…My heart aches every time I think of Sam. I am saddened that I did not get to know him better over the years of his illness. It is clear from all the love he has produced and all the hearts he has touched he was an absolutely incredible child that was made wiser than his years should have permitted.
The courage and vulnerability he displayed as I read through the archives is humbling to me. The courage and vulnerability that you and Margo displayed in how you lived through this process was incredibly inspiring to me and my family. It has made me want to be a better person.
All my love to your family at this unimaginable time, you are all in my thoughts and I hope this Easter brings some small bit of strength of light and joy to you all.
Eric Hensley
April 3rd, 2010 at 4:47 pm
Margot I’m crying with you. Not for Sam, b/c he’s in the best place but for your pain. So sad to hear that Charlie cried. Was hoping the little one would be immune to this and only feel the happy stuff.
April 3rd, 2010 at 10:38 pm
Great party! The girls loved it. Sam would have loved it too! Angela (Madison’s Mom)
April 3rd, 2010 at 11:58 pm
Meghan O’Rourke has articles about grieving the lost of her mother both at Slate.Com and in The New Yorker. She too talks about the waves, the cyclical nature, and how tiny little every day things touch upon memory and bring so much longing and love to the surface– her words have helped me come to turns with my grieving process; maybe you will find some comfort in her journey too. Here is the link to the Slate.Com post http://www.slate.com/id/2211257/entry/2211256/
April 4th, 2010 at 8:14 pm
So when you’re alone in the car, talk to Sam. He’s there, he’s listening. He’s everywhere now.
Skip the books (how ironic for an author to say to her agent) – each one may have a tidbit to offer, but the process of finding them? Exhausting. The answers are all around, from helpful boys named Sam at the pool to driving past a field of boys playing soccer to words in a song that you happen to notice on the TV or radio. Listen and talk and just ride those waves, Margot.
Much love,
L.