Tom Sonday

But first, for those of you who wondered how our Christmas was — it was fine.  We didn’t really celebrate formally — Jessica had to work so remained in Atlanta; Ben & Becca made it home … but I was knocked out with a substantial cold.  There was much sleeping, and much eating of terrible-for-you chocolate baked goods — things we love to do, but no exchange of presents.

We did however exchange germs, and we’re currently passing my cold amongst ourselves, along with a bit of the flu.

Or perhaps the upset tummies are because of too many terrrible-for-you chocolate baked goods!

Anyway, one of the cool things that came about because of Tom’s cancer was learning of and appreciating our vast network of friends, old and new.  When daughter Becca had the idea of getting “bee-shirts” to show our support of Tom, it was great to see them on people all over the place — from Italy to Obama’s inauguration to being modeled by dogs and babies.

There are two photos I hadn’t posted yet.  The first is of Haley, daughter Jessica’s boyfriend’s daughter.  Haley is a charmer, and was proud to be on the Tommy Support Team.

There’s a bit of a story to go with the next picture, of Jodi, who Tom met during his first month stay at Bronson Hospital in ’08.  It represents the kind of guy Tommy was.

Jodi is a transport person, meaning when a patient needs to be moved elsewhere for a procedure, she moves them to the mobile bed, along with their medical devices and records, and wheels them wherever they need to go.

Even when Tom felt his worst, he was outgoing and friendly.  I wasn’t there when Jodi fetched him for a CT scan, and didn’t know anything about it.

A day or two later Jodi popped in to Tom’s room to say hello and to talk with him about bees, because they’d discussed them at length during their initial time together.  I wasn’t there at the time; I’d dashed home to shower and pay bills.

When I burst back in to the room, I was less than cordial.  Tommy was fighting for his life but unaccepting of the severity of the situation.  In fact — he was demanding he get out of the hospital asap because he needed to get home to take care of his bees.

I was wrung out from worry and coordination of everything else going on beyond his hospital room.  I was trying to be supportive of a person who (when he was coherent and not delirious from infection) said I wasn’t being very supportive because I wasn’t insisting that the docs release him, all while I was trying to digest what the docs were telling us about how critical things were and that he would might never get home … especially if things didn’t turn around soon.  I was carrying the world on my shoulders, only to find my husband having a nice chat with Jodi about bees and how she’d have to come by and visit his when he gets home.  He glared at me like I’d just majorly disrupted him — at a time when I felt he didn’t recognize how much his illness had disrupted all of our lives.

And I’d had it with him worrying about his stupid bees!!!  Why wasn’t he worrying about himself or the rest of us???!!!

(And now I worry about the bees.)

Anyway, Tom explained who Jodi was, and then probably drifted off into sleep … as she quietly exited the room.

That wasn’t the last we saw of her though.  Jodi genuinely cared, and continued to stop by during that hospital stay (and others that followed) to cheer Tommy.  It would’ve been easy enough to dismiss the frail, ill man in the bed she was pushing down the halls and do it without bothering to recognize him as anything else, but she instead saw Tommy as a person with unique qualities and gifts to offer, and took advantage of the opportunity to touch a life.  During one of our latter visits to Bronson we made sure she got a shirt, and she was very appreciative — which was odd.  We felt that Jodi was a special angel to us, but she instead insists it is she who came out ahead — she was moving a patient and in the process gained a friend.

Thanks Jodi, and all the rest of the friends we gained, for your support.

Pardon the puns in the title, but it seemed an appropriate way to express our gratitude for all the funds raised through Tom’s Bee-Loved honey bears, and all the fun I had harvesting, bottling and dressing them.  Many of you folks were more than generous with your suggested $5 donation per bear, and when all funds have arrived, it’ll be about $1000 more for Loaves & Fishes or Meals on Wheels.

Pictured above is the final batch, including Joanne’s bear far left wearing Purdue colors and 4th from the left sporting a football and Indy Colts color scarf, and John’s U of M bears (3rd and 5th from left.)  This isn’t the most colorful group to leave the hive, but it demonstrates how the bears can be customized to best fit your lucky Christmas gift recipients.  Special thanks to Annie B, Jay M and John W, who must’ve done much of their Christmas shopping at “Tom’s Happy Bees.”  It was fun to dress the bears according to particular interests, and stuff 20+ in one-rate postal boxes, which I’m sure the Post Office now regrets offering!

The bad news?  The honey is all gone for this year.

The good news?  Again, over $1000 raised for charity.  And — I’ll do it again next year, so let me know if you’re interested and we’ll make a list.

Thanks for remembering Tom is this special way.

Charlotte

Hello all.

I LOVE Christmas music, and even though hearing it this year has often been sad, I listen anyway.  (My grief therapist says crying is healing.)  The one that always gets me is “Have yourself a merry little Christmas” — with the line “have to muddle through some how.”  That’s exactly what I’m doing.

I’ve done nothing to decorate for the holidays, unless you count cleaning all the insurance estimates / death paperwork off the kitchen counter.  Not that it is done mind you, but … forward progress is being made.

Last weekend was Christmas with Tom’s family.  After being married to him for 28+ years, I think I can now call it my family as well!  In many ways it was heartwarming — there are bits of Tom’s personality and mannerisms throughout his relatives, so it felt good to be surrounded by such solid reminders of him.  It was hard also:  I looked at his father and wondered if Tom would’ve looked like him had he grown older; I watched poor Uncle Jon get repeatedly pummeled.  Jon got double the climbing and pouncing without Uncle Tom to share human-jungle-gym duty for the nieces.

Tom was always an exceptional present-giver, and he kept it up this year as well.  As I cleaned out his closet I found some gifts — I think I got them to the people for whom he probably meant them for.  I also wrapped up many of the items that were “so Tommy” to share with the people who would use, or at least be amused — by them.  His sister got about three dozen of his pads of paper (like Tom, she loves to make lists.)  Giving her those leaves me with about 200 more.

I do need to vent about Christmas cards.  Coal in your stocking to those of you who know of his death, yet failed to update your database and thus sent a card to both of us.   I realize I’m a bit sensitive these days, but those three cards were a painful reminder and I didn’t need any more reminders.

My “favorite” (rolls eyes) was the one with the pre-printed message something like “hope your 2009 was fantastic…”  I had to check the return address label to see what planet these people (who were at Tom’s service) were from.

One thing that is absolutely fantastic is how many of you have ordered honey bears and made donations to Tom’s charities because of it.  Last week about 30 more golden bears with cute scarves marched out of here to spread their sweetness and good will.  (Well, actually the bears were smothered in airtight plastic bags and then packed into boxes, but let’s run with the fantasy that they’re actually kind of alive … and actually need scarves.)

I don’t know how a person stops keeping bees, but last week I committed to keeping them again in 2010.  In anticipation of next year’s honey harvest, I ordered plastic bears that are three times the size of the current bears.  These “bears on steroids” actually look somewhat menacing compared to their smaller plastic brethern, so I’m going to have to figure out a way to soften their image a bit.  My sister-in-law suggested knitting them little hats as well.

Speaking of bees, people have asked what they do over the winter.  Rumor has it they cluster in a tight ball in their hive with the queen in the middle, keeping it a toasty 92 degrees, and slowly move as a cluster, eating their stores.  On days when it is not horrifically cold, they’ll take a short flight out to relieve themselves.  If there are long spells of cold weather, they stay in and hold it in because they’re too clean and proper to go in the hive.

I daily remove snow from their one-inch entrance, ensuring some air flow to keep humidity down.  The bees shiver to keep warm, and if the resultant moisture from this activity condenses and drips on them, it kills them.  I’m pretty sure that’s what did them in last year, when I naively sealed up the hives extra-tight.  Of course, in my mind I’m picturing them watching “The Bee Movie” over and over, and crocheting tiny pot holders.

Kidwise, Ben is in Atlanta as I write this, celebrating with Jessica who unfortunately has to work on the holidays.  Weather permitting, he’ll be here late tomorrow, as will Becca.  It will be good to have more people in the house for a bit.  Even though I’m down to one dog and one cat, being head of the pack is a bit wearing at times so I welcome the additional laps to share in petting-the-800-pound-cat responsibilities.

We have beautiful white fluffy snow, and a warm house, and many things for which to be thankful, so while I’m muddling at times, at other times I’m overwhelmed by the beauty and joy of the season.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas — Charlotte

Tom and I have been blessed by having several great neighbors who are also great friends.  Among them is neighbor Wayne, previously mentioned in this blob, who has helped out often as my house seemingly falls down around me.

Wayne was over most of Sunday, working on the house’s latest issue (cracks in the garage leaking water into the basement ceiling.)  As he exited, he reminded me if I needed anything to just dial 1-800-Wayne.

My sister-in-law called minutes later to see what the latest calamities in my life were.  I shared that other than the garage floor cracks (now only an issue because of snowmelt from my car), everything around here was relatively calm.

I should’ve knocked on wood.  Right after I hung up, the dog scratched at the deck door, extremely anxious to go out.

I slid open the door; she shot out.  In the dim light, I could see her playing aggressively with one of her stuffed animals.

Except I didn’t recall her having a stuffed animal that was, well, animal-colored.  Most of hers are pink or blue.

I also didn’t recall any of her stuffed animals having ears or tails any longer.  This one definitely had a tail …  and it was moving.

Shiloh had dropped the “stuffed animal” on the corner of the desk and was staring at it.  I opened the door and slowly slid out to take a closer look.

The animal did not stare back.  Pale eyelids covered its bulging eyeballs; its sharp pointy teeth were all bared in a sneer; it lay motionless.

I crept closer, my brave watchdog followed a safe distance behind me.  (I guess she had my back.)

Upon closer examination, I realized it was an opossum.  I couldn’t figure out how she’d killed it so quickly — there were no signs of blood on the fresh snow.

And then I recalled the expression “playing possum”.  What a silly expression:  can you “play” possum when you are one?

And more importantly, how many seconds between “playing possum” to “vicious wild animal biting off my nose?”

1-800-Wayne.  He was over within minutes.

We went out on the deck together (followed by the cowering dog.)

The opossum was bigger than I remembered it being.  Wayne was smaller than I remembered him being.

Wayne confirmed it was an opossom, and it was just playing possum.  We discussed various options for dealing with it, and since I didn’t want to make a fur cap or soup, we decided send it on its way.  Wayne asked for a shovel, which I fetched from the garage.

I was all impressed with Wayne’s bravery … until he saw the shovel I offered and asked if I had one with a longer handle.  I wanted to call him a chicken, but I was so far away from the wild critter with eight million teeth that I’m pretty sure he wouldn’tve heard me.

His plan was to toss it off the deck.  A decent plan, but pointless as the deck is surrounded by a fence.  I wasn’t sure how good opossums are at scaling fences, (and I really didn’t want to know the answer to that.)  I told Wayne he’d have to sling it not only off the deck, but over the fence.

Yes, that would put it in the next-door neighbor’s yard.  Hey — they always said if there was anything they could do to help!

Wayne steeled himself, scooped up the opossum, and slung it next door, where it landed with a thud that made me cringe.  In my tender-animal-loving heart, I momentarily wondered if it broke a leg and I should take it to the vet or something.  Wayne saw the expression on my face, and gallantly said “don’t feel bad.  Opossums like that; it is really fun for them.”

With the dog in the lead, we returned to the safety of the house.  I closed the drapes.  I didn’t want to look out and find that the opossum really did like being launched into the air from a shovel and had come back for another flight.

The next morning I cautiously peered over the deck and fence.  No opossum, whew.

Not that I was that worried however, because I have proof that 1-800-Wayne works.

Thanks friends and neighbors, for helping me understand I’m not in this alone.

While “snow day” doesn’t bring me the same joy that it has brought all the neighborhood kids, I will admit to a certain giddiness at all the blowing white stuff that drapes the area. I’ve got Christmas carols on, and am (as usual) sorting through the stuff that my husband had squirreled away in our way-too-large-now home. What will I do with a dozen 3000-watt lightbulbs?

Yes, they say 3000-watt. I didn’t know they made them that powerful. Maybe I’ll put them up to guide people through this blizzard.

Oldest daughter Jessica had asked for a picture of her and Tommy when she was little. My father-in-law is the family photographer. As I figured he could put his hands on such photos faster than I can (my lower level is still majorly disrupted from the flood), I asked him if he could locate a few.

These are some of the photos, bless him. Wasn’t she an amazingly cute baby? (She grew up beautiful inside and out as well.)

These photos have been such a blessing for 55% of the time, which is good. It is good to have blessings, and 55% means I have made some progress in moving toward being generally more appreciative for what we had together and less grief-stricken because it is gone. 55% may be a bit high as the holidays hang over my head, but today, with new snow and fun drifts to wallow through, I’m at 55%.

Yes, most of the time (and I’ve looked at them 200+ times), the pictures make me smile. The rest of the time they make me miss him too much and that’s still awfully painful.

As there’s no one here to say “hey, isn’t she adorable?” and “remember this picture from when we were at your Grandpa’s?” and “didn’t she uurrrp on you just after that picture was taken?”, well … I’ll share them with all of you!

Drive safe. There are babies out there …

Howdy all.

Things haven’t gotten much easier around here — when I’m not falling apart emotionally, I seem to be having to repair something that has fallen apart physically. Last week it was (just) a flat tire (two days after I had to put our beloved but annoying kitty Snorty down. That cat drove Tommy crazy; he had a standing offer of $50 to anyone who would take the cat away. I’ve been smiling — picturing Tommy trying to hide from Snorty in heaven as she stalks him awaiting her opportunity to hop in his lap.)

By midweek though, the tire was repaired, I’d gotten a handle on a couple other things … the sun was starting to break through the dark clouds of my life. And then, I ran into an acquaintance / friend. When I honestly answered how I was doing, their reply was: “you mean you’re still struggling? You’re such a strong woman — it has been three months — I thought you’d be over it by now.”

Yes, they really said that.

And no, I’m not yet over the death of the man I was married to for the majority of my life.

But, focusing on the blessings — a couple more good things have come from Tom’s passing.

Recently, my Dad (a fruit farmer) donated his leftover apples to Loaves & Fishes in Tom’s name. (Loaves & Fishes, a food bank, was one of Tom’s favorite charities.) In what felt amazingly good, my sister and I unloaded 50ish bags of leftover apples that were totally appreciated by them. That was cool.

Another one of Tom’s favorite things was this national movement / program called www.freecycle.org. Tommy was always freecycling things for which he had no use. (I’m surprised Snorty never made the list!)

A few weeks ago I learned how to post things on freecycle (super easy) and have since then given away several items for which Tommy (not I) had big plans. Cleaning out the garage and storage areas has often put me in an uncharitable mood, as I get angry that Tommy left all this stuff for me to handle (and that Tommy left, not that he had a choice.)

I posted about 200 plastic pots on freecycle; several people said they wanted them.

But, even though they were offered to numerous parties, circumstances must have changed. None of the interested parties ever showed up to collect them.

And then, after moving 200+ plastic pots in and out of the garage, and coming home early to meet with people who wanted them who never showed up, I was ready to put them in the trash recycle bin. That evening though, a woman emailed me again, asking if they were still available. I offered them to her and she came right over.

I asked her what she would do with them, not that I cared much at this point. (I just wanted them out of my garage. I was uncharitably tired of dealing with piles of dirty, spider-filled stuff that Tommy had left behind.)

Her answer? Her church raises vegetables for Loaves & Fishes and other area food banks, and these pots would enable them to start plants early.

It brought me to tears. Tommy would be so happy that his pots were going to a group that would use them to help one of his favorite charities.

Our loss is others’ gain ….

If I had a dollar for everyone who has said to me “these holidays will be the worst ever” — I could purchase alot of Christmas presents.

(Not that I would mind you. I’m not really in the mood for shopping. These are going to be the worst holidays ever.)

I know the people who tell me that shocking revelation mean well, but I had already thought of it, and call me ungrateful, but I don’t really need the reminder that parts of these holidays will likely suck big-time. I’m already falling apart every time I think of hanging the stockings by the chimney with care, because my “Mom” stocking will be lonely without the matching “Dad” one. While the matching “Dad” one I guess will stay in the box, that doesn’t seem right either.

I will probably leave all Christmas stockings closed up in the holiday box.

I’m thinking of closing myself in the box as well.

The bazillions of people who reminded me these would be the worst holidays ever — yep, you were right. Thanksgiving, although we are SO blessed, was hard. Tommy was in every other thought; he loved family gatherings and football games and fixing food and getting things ready for when the kids come home. Doing those preparatory things alone took more time than I realized … perhaps because I so often paused to reflect and-or get angry / sad / melancholy regarding the situation. In part because the grocery store is still a foreign land to me, and although I had to make three different trips to obtain everything (and yes I even had a list, my mind is still scattered these days), I still couldn’t find canned pumpkin until I broke down and asked that remedial question. (Turns out that canned pumpkin is in the BAKING aisle, although it is a vegetable which in my mind puts it in the fruit / veggie aisle. It isn’t like the canned green beans are in the baking aisle, although they’re frequently baked into the well-known (and loved) green bean casserole.)

But, all the preparatory angst was SO worth it. The kids were home, and while sadness and reflection were always around, flowing from a trickle at times to a raging river at others, we got through it. Stronger and more united as the new family unit that we are.

Yep, we got through the first of the predicted “worst holidays ever,” and we fared better than the turkey did anyway. Is it better to be occasionally consumed in grief, or entirely consumed with gravy? I’m going with the former.

Thanks friends and family and other unknown readers for being part of our many blessings.