You are fading, but not forgotten

Laura, you felt so close and real to me again today.  I cried over you again today, which I haven't done in a long time.

As a therapist I sometimes work with people suffering with their grief, and I have recently been working with a woman who lost her son a few years ago when he was in his late 20s or early 30s from complications of a health problem.  Losing you has made it so easy to relate to her experience, which has made me a good fit for her as a therapist--even though I can never understand the depth of the grief of a parent losing their child.

As Autumn gets older she reminds me of you more and more, and sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were to lose her.  Luckily, she doesn't seem prone to depression like you had.  But I wonder what I would do if she were to die in a car wreck or something.  It makes me think of so many memories from her infancy up through her now-15-year-old-self, all of that history, all of that love I have for her.  I hate seeing her suffer, even through normal teenage things like uncertainty over how much she should open up to other people.  Seeing her suffer even over little things hurts so much that I can't hardly talk about it with Emily without feeling stressed because of my impotence to make things better.  The older I get, the older my kids get, the thought of losing them is so painful that it causes me panic and I immediately have to put thoughts like that out of my mind.  This only gives me the slightest inkling of what it must be like for this woman to have lost her adult son unexpectedly, and an even tinier inkling of what it must have been like for Mom and Dad to watch you suffer, and then eventually die.  If that happened to me with one of my kids, I would unravel.  I would be lost forever.  I don't know how Mom and Dad have managed not to. 

Maybe I am especially sensitive to my own feelings today, because I have been thinking a lot this last week about my own mortality, because I am turning 40 on Sunday, and because my blood sugar has been harder to control this last week (I might have to break down and actually make a habit of exercise soon).  Maybe it's because Emily has been working on the quilt for Mom and Dad made of your clothes.  I'm not sure why.

This woman I work with is so afraid to let go of her grief because she is afraid that when she does, her son will fade and then eventually be gone forever.  Today in session I felt grief over your death so acutely, at least in part because I realize that you are fading in my memory.  Part of it is probably because of my aging mind.  But a bigger part of that is a self-defense factor, because if you weren't fading it would be so hard even now to deal with your death, even though this year will mark 10 years since your death.  I just kind of assumed that after 10 years of grieving over you it would be a lot easier.  I guess it is, but I was really surprised today how intense the feelings still can be.

This woman is also worried about others not remembering her son once she is dead and gone.  We talked today in therapy about how to let the memories live on.  I pointed out that at Iowa State there are a few statues or busts of people who are gone but not forgotten because they have an image to remember them by, and usually a plaque with some story, fact, or anecdote about them.  I asked this woman today what sculpture she would make of her son, and what she would want written on the plaque by the sculpture, in order to help others remember the essence of who he was.

I found myself thinking about what picture I would use for your sculpture, and what I would have you doing in the sculpture.  I realized that I would probably use the picture at the upper left of this blog title, and I would have you in front of a piano.  Or maybe I would use a different picture, of something other than you smiling, because of how intense your face could look as you played the piano sometimes, or at other times how transported and peaceful your face would look as you played.

I think I would have your sculpture sitting at the piano because my fondest memory of you for years has been the time I went to visit you at your apartment and you took me into the common room in the recreation area, where there was a piano, and you not only played "Samson" by Regina Spektor for me, but sang it too.  Usually you didn't sing to me, but that day you did.  I had never heard the song before, and it was beautiful how you played and sang it.  I wish I had a video of you playing and singing that day, but I plan to watch and re-watch that scene when I eventually get to the other side and get to watch the highlights of my life.

I opened up your blog today to show the woman a way that we can immortalize loved ones who are gone through writing about memories, and I was really dismayed to see that I haven't posted on your blog for almost 6 years.  When I can remember specific things it usually hurts too much to think about them long enough to write them up and post them, but sometimes I don't post because I can't remember specific stories much any more.  It seems like Emily, with her amazing memory, remembers more about you than I can, and that saddens me greatly.

I am devastated that my three youngest children have no memories of you.  Zephyr was only about 6 months old when you died.  Like this woman I work with, I fear you fading in my mind.  I don't know what anecdote I would put on the plaque next to your sculpture, because my memories are fading, and that makes me very sad.  I still miss you.  I still wish I could call you and tell you funny jokes, and hear you laugh uproariously.  I don't want you to fade, but if I'm being really honest, I don't know if I am strong enough to have you still be that sharp in my memory, and for me to continue to feel the intensity of your loss.  Like Regina Spektor sings in the song you played and sang for me, "You are my sweetest downfall."

Mentioning you always gets the girls to pay attention

I miss you Wohwita.  It's a shame that no one has posted here in so long, and that I have posted hardly anything (or nothing?), so I thought I would post a little bit today.  Sometimes when I see Autumn I am reminded of you.  I occasionally call Autumn "Laura" and Prairie "Lindsey", and it's funny when I catch myself doing it. 

Autumn has your same big, beautiful eyes, and I often find her in quiet reflection, which you did a lot.  Though Prairie isn't as good as you were, she still does some pretty good accents at times (but who could be as good as you at accents?).  I still remember how hard you laughed when Katie, your roommate at college, did her Russian impression of the "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?", and how you made her do it for us after you did your own accent.  And Zephyr is really ticklish under his chin, and I think of you when I tickle him, and of the funny sound you used to make (like you were choking) when we would do it. 

But I also remember how you would wait for someone to yawn and then karate chop them between the lips when their mouth was open widest.  Man, we hated that!

Last night the girls were talking about a theoretical future kid (we hope to have at least one more eventually), and they said how sad it was that you wouldn't get to know them.  We reminded them that you are probably playing with that kid in Heaven right now, and that made them smile. 

Emily has learned to play "The Luckiest" on the piano, but she laments that she has to use sheet music, and talks about how talented you were at playing songs from memory because of how much you practiced. 

We all miss you.  Prairie still gets sad whenever someone mentions your name, but the therapy she had helped a lot, so she doesn't get really sad like she used to.

The other night Prairie got really upset over something and was really mad at me, and I offered her Froggy Butts as an olive branch.  She at first rejected it (she always rejects everything when she is mad), but within a couple of minutes she had calmed down and asked for the blanket.  I knew that something connected to you would help her calm down a lot faster than usual.

Whenver I mention you I can get the girls to calm down or pay attention, especially when I tell them a way in which they remind me of you.  They love that.

We still pray for you and hope you are OK and learning all that you need to learn, and that you feel peace.
Love you,
Ben

SNOTFACE!

Hey punk. I've been thinking about you a lot. Just missing you!

Love,
Snotface

(you know people still call me that because of you? GOSH!)

The Cheeseburger Song

We got netflix a while ago and we've been trying to interest Silas is shows other than "Spongebob" because frankly I can't stand that show! So I looked up kids movies and saw a veggietales show today. Silas is watching it right now and it reminded me of Laura singing "The Cheeseburger Song" in her Scottish voice. :) No one could belt it like Laura. And she could always remember all the words to the veggietales songs, too! Just a funny memory that I thought of today.

Giggling Girls

Last weekend we had Audi, Zephyr and Hanna stay with us while Ben and Em were out of town. Watching Hanna and Audi play together and stay up late giggling reminded me of when Laura and I were younger and we would sneak into each other rooms/beds and stay up late paughing about whatever silly thing little girls laugh about. Dad would get frustrated because we weren't as quiet or sneaky as we liked to think we were and we'd keep him up when he had to go to work in the morning. He'd stomp down the hallway and open the door and say, "If you girls can't be quiet and go to sleep I'm going to make you sleep in different rooms!"

Of course we didn't want to get in trouble so when we heard Dad moving around one of us would say, "Quick! Pretend you're asleep!" And hurriedly "fall asleep," adding in a soft snore to ensure fooling Dad.

Or, because I was never any good at stifling a laugh, Laura would whisper, "Laugh into the pillow!" and shove a pillow over my face. Later I always swore Laura was just trying to get rid of me with the pillow bit, but at the time it only made me laugh harder. :)

I also thought about how Laura and I would drag our mattresses into the living room and stay up late (well, she would stay up late, and get mad because I always fell asleep halfway through the first movie) watching movies.

I miss those nights, but I'm so greatful for all of those great memories! I Love you, Laura!

Music

I'm not an accomplished singer, by any means. I do miss singing Ben Fold's "The Luckiest" while having Laura accompanying me. And I miss listening Mom sing a song about the temple (I don't recall the title) while having Laura accompany her. Laura, you were an accomplished pianist. I could never get an accurate read on just how much natural talent you had (a great deal, I suspect) because what I did observe was how hard you worked and how diligent you were about practicing. It was always a little magical when you would start learning a new piece of music for me to listen to the transformation as you mastered the intricacies of something that at the beginning was just a little beyond your current skill level. It never took very long, of course, before your skills expanded. I remember how nervous you would get at piano recitals, even though you always played spectacularly and rarely made any miscues. I never could figure out a way to get you to relax, not worry about any wrong notes, and enjoy performing. Being a perfectionist sucks so much joy out of life, even though it can produce great results. I'm sorry I don't have recordings of your music to listen to now. I really miss hearing you play. Thank goodness I have the memories of your playing with all your heart and soul. I'm sorry I could never prevail upon you to sing with me in church. But I'm glad for the times we sat next to one another in meetings and harmonized as we sang hymns. Music remains my favorite part of worship and I feel you close when I sing. But I miss hearing your part and how good you could make me sound. Thanks for the magic. Love, Dad

April Fools

Lindsey reminded me recently of a time that Laura surprised me on April 1 by putting clear plastic wrap over the toilet. When I woke up and went to the bathroom, I was met with a very unexpected surprise that woke me right up! Apparently Laura was waiting in the living room waiting to hear noises emerging from the bathroom. When I charged into the living room to catch the culprit, it was obvious who was to blame because Laura was doubled over with laughter to the point she couldn't breathe. Lindsey tells me I pulled Laura by her feet into the bathroom and demanded that she do the cleaning up. Lindsey, my memory of this isn't as clear as yours. So I'm counting on you to weigh in with additional details or to correct any mistakes. Laura was not the only April Fools culprit. Every single year Lindsey would put a rubber band around the sprayer on the kitchen sink. When I went in for a glass of water during the night or in the morning, I would turn on the tap only to be shocked awake by an unwelcome shower. Lindsey's other little trick was to fill the sugar bowl with salt. As if breakfast cereal didn't already have enough sodium, Lindsey made sure we had an awful surprise to start the day.

February 11

Happy Birthday, Laura.

Remember how mad at me you would get when I repeatedly confused the date of your birthday (11th) with the date of my anniversary (12th)? I don't know why I couldn't keep your birthday straight, especially when my anniversary wasn't until July.

You would have been 25 years old today ... just getting started in life.

I wish I could celebrate this quarter-century milestone with you. Instead, I'll be having a piece of dark chocolate in your honor.

All my love,
Dad

I've been thinking about you a lot lately, Laur. I miss you. It's funny how sometimes I still have this urge to call you about something out of the blue. Or I can't remember which movie this one line was from and I want to get on facebook to ask you. I don't know if I'll ever get over that.

We went to the temple for you while Mom and Dad were here. Of course Dustin and I got lost and there was tons of drama and we ended up making everyone have to stay for a later session. When everyone was trying so hard to make sure everyone else was calm I imagined you rolling your eyes and yelling, "Shut it, all of ye!" You always knew how to handle the Oviatt family functions. :)

I love you.

I miss you, Laur. Sometimes I get so mad when I think of you and what happened that I can hardly stand it, but then I remind myself that you must have thought there was no other way. It doesn't stop hurting, but then I'll remember something great, like calling you the night Dustin first told me he loved me and we screamed together on the phone. I wish I could talk to you about how scared I am to have another baby. We really drifted those last few months, didn't we? I missed you but I was angry, too. I think you must have felt the same way.

You really did a number on us, leaving the way you did. Sometimes it still doesn't seem real. I just miss you a lot. I want to tell you how much I love you, I hope you already know. I hope you're able to look in on us every once in a while. You're probably busy, but I think you'd get a kick out of Silas. He's a brat and you'd love him. Sometimes he gets this mischeivious grin on his face that completely reminds me of you.

I really love you, Tohrkey.

~Snotface