Friday, October 12, 2012

October 9, 1997

First of all, thank you very much for your kind words.  Anonymous #1, I seem to recall you having pneumonia in my house, and I'd like to remind you about how easy it was (cough, cough) for you to relax and get better.  It gets a little raucous around here.  Not necessarily the quiet, rehabilitative environment one would seek out when one is recovering from an illness.

A brief update:  I am feeling better, emotionally as well as physically.  The anti-biotics seem to be doing their job.  I'm still cough cough coughing, but not nearly as badly as before and not through the night anymore.  I have a curious wheeze still, which the inhaler I've been prescribed doesn't seem to touch.  Or maybe it's that I don't know how to use an inhaler.  I'll recover fully, this I know for sure.

As far as emotionally and interpersonally, we are on the mend around here too.  My low point last weekend was when I mentioned to Bob that I wondered if we even liked each other anymore (forget about love) and he responded, a bit honestly, a bit brutally, that he wondered the same thing.  The good thing is that we've always been good at communicating - when we make time for it - and we've made a commitment to continue to work toward our shared goals and not be so petty towards each other.  At least, that's what I need to do.  I hear myself being such a nag somedays.  Ugly.

Ugh.  Enough of that.

So, my sweet brother sent me an email reaching out to me and wondered how much of my emotional fragility (my words, not his) was tied to the anniversary I just passed.  I was, still am, so appreciative that he has not forgotten the significance for me that is October 9, 1997.

15 years ago, this past Tuesday, I had what I think of as a life changing moment.  I experienced my first "real" adult death that day (other than my dog dying a few years earlier, which I did take very hard actually, but she was elderly and it was her time).  (Oh, but Tabitha - I still miss you, little doggy!)

In 1992, I started working as a child protection social worker doing "intake" (which means, we were the people who took the abuse/neglect phone calls and then went out knocking on the doors to investigate).  This was my second professional job as a social worker.  I got hired into a unit full of young, vibrant, interesting people.  I made fast and deep friendships with people I am still very close to.  This is what happens, I think, when you work in this sort of crisis work environment -- police officers, ERs in hospitals, etc.  You become very close to your co-workers because you need to.

We worked and played hard together.  We went to work conferences out of town and spent more time in the bars than in the conferences.  We spent many a Friday night at a local bar, letting off steam.  There were about 7 or so in the group - men and women, older and younger - and I love every one of them.

One of them was my friend, Marty.  He was 7 years older than me and had a wicked sense of humor.  Marty and I spent a lot of time outside of work together - sometimes with Bob (whom I was/am married to), sometimes with Marty's girlfriend, and sometimes just the two of us.  Bob was never jealous, and our friendship was strictly platonic.  I am grateful that things never felt weird that I was so close to a male friend.

Bob, Marty and I went on vacations together.  We went on bike rides around Madison.  We spent many nights playing Balderdash or other board games, which often ended with Marty and me trying to outdo each other in ridiculousness while the rest of the group tired of our antics.  We went to rock concerts together.  I was with Marty at the Memorial Union the night of OJ Simpson's slow speed Bronco chase.  He was a HUGE part of my life.  I knew that we would be life long friends.  That we would grow old together and that our children would be friends.

You can guess where this is going, I bet.  Marty had a congenital heart defect which killed his mother at an early age.  He was monitored by a doctor, but he didn't seem to take it very seriously.  He was a vegetarian and worked out regularly, but I think that was more for vanity than for good health.  On October 9, 1997, Marty went to work out on the treadmill at a local health club.  His heart stopped, and he died.

I remember vividly the details of that night, the next day, the visitation, the funeral.  I recall going into work the next morning wearing my sweatshirt and leggings, hair not brushed, feeling like I was run over by a truck.  We had a meeting that morning to debrief, and I recall feeling numb.  Not crying, not knowing what to do/how to feel.  The feeling I recall the strongest was that I just wanted to call up Marty and say, "this is so weird," and then process it for hours with him.

I knew, the moment I heard the news, that my life would be forever different.

The anniversaries of his death have been how you would expect.  Very painful, deeply difficult in the beginning.  But now?  It's more of a dull ache.  I still think about him a lot - in fact, when I returned to the workplace (not for the same agency, but a cousin agency and in the same field), I had many dreams where he visited me.  I will hear a song on the radio, and I think of him.  I still have a hard time listening to Bob Dylan (his all time favorite artist), and Bruce Springstein and Van Morrison stop me in my tracks, give me pause to think of him.

Since then, I have experienced many more deaths.  Another one in our cozy group died from brain cancer (his anniversary is also in early October).  My grandparents have all died.  My husband's beloved aunt who also was our children's grandmother passed away a couple of years ago.  Friends' husbands and neighbors and other co-workers are gone, as well as parents/siblings/grandparents of friends.  Heck, even Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson's deaths have been hard to wrap my head around.

Death is hard; doesn't get any easier the more you do it.  When I think about the potential losses I have to face (my parents, my husband, my brothers, my children God forbid) I get paralyzed, can't go there, need to move on.  Also, as I approach another revolution around the sun, I have also been thinking about MY death a bit more lately.  And then I distract myself.  I can't go there, not yet, not now.

So, to end and for the sake of distraction, here's a current favorite photo of my football warrior, Two.  I posted this on facebook already, but I just love this so.  It captures his determination and drive.  Despite the teams losing record (currently they are 0 -5), he is having a hell of a season and is so much fun to watch on the field.


2 comments:

  1. Coming to terms with mortality is always a tough thing. I AM glad to read of the healing in your house, both physical and relational.

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  2. I loved reading about Marty...you described your friendship so well, I could picture it. I also loved that your brother remembered that this was the anniversary of his death. awwwwww.

    I am also so scared to really let myself think about my family or my self dying. eeek. can't even go there.

    glad you are on the mend in all sorts of ways. we don't always like each other here, either, and sometimes just saying it out loud makes it all of a sudden feel almost over.

    Loved this whole post,really. sorry for the disjointed thoughts. it's been a long ass day. xo

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