A new normal

I spent Christmas in Southern California with Dad and Ginny. It has been nice being here, but the missing is much stronger this time of year. I can remember the last Christmas Tyler spent here. It was 2007 and I was living here at the time. I had just moved here in mid-November and I was still adjusting. I was soooooooooooooooooo happy to see him and we had such a great time.

After he passed, I saw a grief counselor for a minute. I didn't like her much, but she did say one thing to me that really stuck. She said, "you have to find your new normal. You are forever changed by this experience." She was so right about that. I suppose I have found my new normal, but it involves a void that will never be filled. When I sit in that void and feel it, well...there's no pain quite like it. Nothing I've experienced anyway.

I miss you, Tyler. We all do. I love my life and the people in it, but I miss sharing all the joys and sorrows with you. You were the one with whom I always wanted to share my greatest news, even before shouting it from the rooftops. The void is forever void. There will always that piece missing from my new normal.

The scar remembers

This is a picture of the site where we spread Tyler's ashes. My dad dubbed it "Ty's Monument," so I thought it was a good choice for this post. It has been a very long time since I put my thoughts down in this blog. That doesn't mean that I've stopped thinking about him. It doesn't mean that I've stopped missing him. He is always with me and that will never change. On October 20th, three years ago, Tyler had surgery to remove the tumor that was growing up into his brain and down his spine. We were all scared, but we were hopeful that he would come out of it just fine. We all know how the story ends and there's a place in my heart that is forever broken. The scar left behind is a living, breathing entity with a memory of its own.

I was completely blindsided a couple of days ago by grief over the loss of Tyler. Not that I haven't experienced moments of it here and there; I definitely have, but this experience was so powerful it took my breath. It took me back to the night I talked to him on the phone about a week before his surgery and he was reassuring me that he was going to be fine. He was positive and upbeat about it, and he was taking care of me. I still don't know to this day how scared he really was because he didn't say. He was being the strong one, as usual. I had cried so much that day, and so deeply, that I hardly recognized myself. The thought of losing him had touched me in a place that had never been touched. I spent a lot of time in that place three years ago, and I stumbled upon it again earlier this week. Although he's never far from my thoughts, I wasn't actively thinking about him at the time. I mentioned this blog to a friend when she was asking about reading some of my writing, and that was all it took. I found that deep place again. I didn't understand how I got there so quickly, so suddenly. I've been able to talk about him and this blog many times over the last three years without going there, so how was this time any different? I've come to realize that the scar left on my heart, on my soul, has its own memory. My conscious mind was unaware of the date and its significance, but the scar reminded me. I'm still amazed by that.

Now that I've been reminded, I'm riding out the wave, feeling the pain of loss again in that deep place. It's unpleasant to say the least, but I hope it's also healing in some way. I came back to this blog because writing it always helped me. It's like a therapy session only without the hefty bill. It's all part of the process that will be life-long, possibly longer...

I love you, Tyler, and I miss you so much.

An infinite well

I can't believe my last post to this blog was in January...and now it's June. It just goes to show that life continues, even after someone really close passes away. I know that's what he would want too. This picture was taken by my dad. He called it "Tyler's Monument." It's a rock that was near where we spread Tyler's ashes.

We were driving home from Michigan a couple of weeks ago and I was thinking while I was driving. I saw some over-the-top religious symbol on the side of the road. I think it was a gigantic cross. It made me think of the movie "Religulious" by Bill Maher. It's a satire on the hypocrisy of Christianity and it's hilarious!!! As I was thinking about it, I remembered that it was Tyler who told me to go see it. I had another one of those 'I can't believe he's gone' or 'I can't believe he'll never call me up again' or 'he was my baby brother and he wasn't supposed to leave before me' moments and the flood gates opened. It reminded me that grief is an infinite well. If I were to drop a coin in this well and listen for the clink when it hits the bottom, I would be listening forever...waiting for that final sound. When I'm not consciously visiting the well, it's still there and it's still bottomless. It's as deep as the hole left in my soul by his absence. I think about him every day in some way or another. Even as I write this, I have to fight back the rising tide of grief. The moments of complete breakdown may be fewer and farther between, but they are just as strong as the day he left us. There is no end to the infinite well of sadness, but I suppose I am in control of how often I visit it. Sometimes I'm taken to that place without warning and sometimes I go there to take a dip.

I guess it's all part of the journey. The journey that has no destination.

Oceans meet

Last week we were at the Southwestern most point of Australia, near the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse. It's the point where the Southern Ocean and the Indian Ocean meet. It was an amazingly beautiful spot and I felt blessed to be standing there. I brought some of Tyler's ashes with me when I came over here, but I hadn't really decided where I would leave them. I knew it wouldn't be in Sydney, as Tyler had been there once before. As we stood on this point where the two oceans meet, it suddenly dawned on me that I was standing on the very spot where he would have wanted to be. My dad happened to be with me this day and I asked him to help me spread the ashes. I saved half of them for him. My sweetheart took this picture of me scattering them into the wind. The moment felt the same as it did nearly one year ago when I spread his ashes in Arizona. It was as if a part of me was being ripped away and cast into the wind. I felt incredible trepidation as I walked to the edge of the rock. It was as if I was doing something wrong. Again, it felt like a betrayal in some way. I know he would have loved this beautiful corner of the world and knowing that made it easier to let the ashes go.

My dad said "Rest in peace, my son." I say "I hope you are in a better place and that there was some higher purpose for you in this vast universe. I have to believe that, otherwise your death will never make any sense or hold any meaning."

I love you, Tyler.

Another birthday

It's January 21st here in Western Australia. It's a beautiful day and we're enjoying the company of great mates and family, but there's a shadow looming. Tyler would have been 38 years old today. I imagine myself picking him up at the airport and taking him out for dinner in Freo. He would love it here.

I still can't believe he's gone.
I still get angry.
I still have moments of overwhelming grief.
I still miss him every day.
I don't expect any of that to change.
It's part of my new normal.

Happy Birthday, sweet brother. I can only hope you are somewhere celebrating a new kind of 'life' and watching over us as we toast the life we knew. You are sorely missed and always loved.

Ripped off

I'm reading a book right now called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. I picked it up before we left L.A. so I would have something to read on the plane to Sydney. I actually didn't start reading it until we arrived. It's an interesting story, but it took a turn I didn't expect and now it's dealing a little with the subject of loss. The following excerpt really struck me:

Fragmentary emotions possessed and released him, drawn like garments from a wardrobe and discarded, one after another.

This line, and other imagery I won't regurgitate here, took hold of me and the grief once again flowed freely. It was like a bandage being ripped off, but part of it was stuck to the wound and when it was pulled away, it took some flesh with it. It's amazing to me how quickly I can be taken back to that place...instantly transported back to that hospital room, standing over him, holding his hand, watching the life leave him. It's still as real and vivid as the day it happened, but yet...not...real...at all. It can't be, can it?

Visions of Tyler

Today was my first Christmas in Australia. Martine and I got up at 6am with the kids and have been going ever since. We had a beautiful picnic at the park with good food and good company. This picture is me with Ethan, Anthony and Vanessa's youngest child. He's a cutie! The day this picture was taken he had decided he wanted to play with me and we bonded. He smiles at me all the time now. I love it. I look forward to watching him grow up.

It was a great day, but I kept imagining Tyler there with us. I could see him clearly, playing with the little kids in the park, chatting with Gary and Spencer, giving mum a hug, and toasting Christmas with Anthony, Vanessa and Ali. I could see him helping Gary and Spence with the bbq at Ali's house tonight. There were a couple of moments when I actually forgot he wasn't really there. I know how much he would have loved my new extended family, how much he would have loved the woman I'm about to marry, how well he would have fit in with all of them. On the way home, I lost my emotional control and I cried. I'm still crying. This is our second Christmas without him and I still DON'T BELIEVE HE'S GONE. It makes me so angry and sad. I want him back every minute of every day.

Merry Christmas, little brother. I miss you and I love you, and this sucks...

Remembering

This is me reflected in a Christmas ball hanging on the tree outside my dad's house. I helped him finish the last of the outdoor decorating on Monday. As we worked I thought back to Christmas of 2007. Tyler was here with us and the three of us installed a basketball hoop on the garage. I stared at that hoop as I worked silently with Dad. The tears came...as usual, but I stifled them. The memory struck me hard. Dad and I had lunch later that day and talked a little about the grief. It's still so hard to believe Tyler was taken from us. I heard from my mom the same day. She was having a memory about Tyler and she was crying. She wanted to hear my voice. It's often still so hard to talk about the loss we're all feeling.

I'm going to take some of Ty's ashes to Australia with me and spread them somewhere on the West coast. I know he would have wanted to go there. I wish he was coming over to hang out with us while we're there. I wish...a lot of things. I know life isn't fair, but THIS IS SOOOOOO UNFAIR AND UNJUST. I don't wish death on anyone but the following statement may give that impression. Why couldn't the universe have taken someone less worthy of life?!? There are many options, I'm sure. Again, I don't wish death on anyone; I just miss my brother. If there's anyone who didn't deserve to die, it's him.

Tonight

I'm not really sure why I picked this photo, other than the fact that it is reflective of Ty's sense of humor. Those of you who knew him probably can see that.

Tonight is really, really, really, really (I could go on....) difficult. A year ago tonight we all gathered at Tyler's bedside to say goodbye. He actually passed away on November 6th, as it was after 1:00am when it happened. It has been a year and I still can't believe he's gone. I can still see him so clearly. I can still hear his deep voice. I can still hear his laughter and it makes me smile.

We're leaving for New Orleans tomorrow and we've been working on our new house all day. The distractions are huge and they are welcome, but they are fleeting. Tonight when I lay down my head and all is quiet, I will think of where I was one year ago tonight...and my heart will break all over again.

If you live in Indy, take a look at the November 6th Indy Star. There will be an ad in the 'In Memory/Obituary' section. If you don't get a paper, you can probably find it online. I miss him so much.

I love you, Tyler.

It's amazing...

The closer I get to the anniversary of his death, the faster the waves of grief are coming. It has been almost a year since I stood by his bedside and watched the life leave his body...and I still can't believe he's gone. I keep expecting to plan the next time we meet for lunch or schedule the next dinner with the folks and it's never going to happen. The finality of that reality is staggering. I had one of those moments last night when I forgot for just a second that I couldn't call him and chat. I had some exciting news to share and I wanted to tell him. It felt like a punch in the stomach when I realized, again...not going to happen.

I'm so angry again, angry about the senseless way he died. It wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be ok. We all believed that...especially Tyler.

Tomorrow is my birthday. It's my 40th. Last year Tyler gave me a birthday card the morning he went into the hospital for surgery. He was even able to mouth "happy birthday" to me on my birthday, four days after the surgery. It's amazing to me (in the worst sense of the word) that I won't get that card this year. Both of my parents expressed the same grief on their birthdays this year. Of course I understood it at the time, but I really get it now.

I miss you so very much, Ty...I can't even put it into words. There are no words. I love you.

Weighing heavily on my mind

It was a year ago yesterday that I got the call from my mother telling me that Tyler was in the hospital. She said he had collapsed at work and had some sort of seizure. The MRI taken after that episode showed that he had a brain tumor at the base of his brain. Anyone reading this blog knows the rest of the story. I still can't believe how it ended. I went out with a co-worker/friend after work that night and we drank...we toasted to Tyler. On my way home I broke down like I never had before in my entire life. It was a primal wailing I had never experienced. I remember calling Martine at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning (she was in Chicago at the time) and crying to her over a crackling cell phone connection. In some ways I think I knew that night that it was going to end badly. I don't know how I knew; it was just a feeling I had deep in my soul. I spoke with Tyler the next day and he tried to reassure me that it would all be ok. It helped a little at the time.

The chill in the air, the leaves changing color and falling to the ground, the signs of Fall, they all remind me of that time we spent here last year. We came into Indy the first time to spend a week with Tyler before his surgery. I am very grateful for that week. I only wish I had spent more of it with him. I'm glad he got to meet the woman I'm going to marry. I only wish he could be there to witness it...to stand up with me.

The photo on this post is from March of this year. We took a trip to Sedona, Arizona to spread Tyler's ashes. That's exactly what I'm doing in this picture. It took close to an hour for me to actually open the container and release him into the wind. For a long time I just stood there, holding the container close to me. I think we all expected to feel a sense of closure after that experience, but I didn't. It was another part of the elusive grieving process, but I'm not sure I will ever find closure in this loss.

Losing Tyler will be weighing heavily on my mind over the next couple of week, as the first anniversary of his death approaches. I still can't believe he's gone...

I miss you, baby brother.

I wish he were here...

He's always with me in my heart and never far from my thoughts. Martine and I were walking around the outside of a beautiful old house today. It's near downtown Indianapolis and it's priced right, but it needs a lot of work. Tyler would have been able to help us determine if it's too much work. He would have been able to help us do the work. He would have loved it!! He actually might have beat us to it if he were still...here.

We peered into the windows and immediately saw the potential of this 4,200 square foot gem, built in 1901. It has beautiful woodwork that is just begging for a little TLC. There's a fantastic screened-in porch off the back of the house and I could see us sitting out there with a group of friends on a warm summer evening. I could see us out there with our coffee and newspaper on a lazy Sunday morning. I could see us creating the home we both crave and building a life there. I could also see us making it beautiful and selling it for a massive profit. Either way, I can see it clearly. Unfortunately, part of my vision included Tyler working on it with us. He was there showing us how to do the things we don't know how to do, he was there leveling out the back deck and making it sturdy and beautiful again, he was there sharing the dream with us...laughing with us. I'm always going to miss that laugh, that smile, that warm voice, that hug. It's really hard to think about taking on a project like this without him, one that would have been so right up his alley. I can only hope that he will watch over us and guide our hands as we transform the run-down and neglected into the beauty we both envision. Listen to me; you'd think we'd already bought the place...

Anger, sadness, missing...

This is kind of a weird picture, I know. It was a picture of Tyler with some of his friends. I don't mean any offense to anyone by erasing, or cropping, them out in Photoshop; I just wanted to put up this picture of Tyler. He's been weighing heavily on my mind over the last couple of days and we had a long conversation today with a friend who is a nurse. We had never told her what happened after he went into the hospital for surgery. All she knew was that he went in and never left. It brought up a swirl of emotions that have been...resting...for a while. We told Sherry and Lisa the story about what happened and I got angry again. I'm angry in general for losing him far too soon, but when I talk about to possibility that it was a doctor's negligence that ultimately caused his death, I get REALLY angry.

Martine and I have been talking lately about possibly buying a fixer-upper house and spending some time working on it, making it pretty, making it a reflection of us...making it ours. This is something Tyler could have helped us do and he would have enjoyed doing it. It makes me really sad that we won't have the pleasure of his company, and the addition of his skills and ideas. It makes me sad that he won't be standing up with me when Martine and I get married.

We were riding a bike trail today near Lockport, Illinois and I saw passed a sign that had his name on it. Like I said, he's been very present the past couple of days and I felt the need to write about it.

My little brother, my friend, my confidant, my rock...he was taken from me too soon. I'm angry; I'm pissed; I shake my head in disbelief every time I think about it. It's not fair. I know life isn't fair, but this really takes the cake...

Peace on ya.

Written in stone

I can't believe it has been a month since I've written on this blog. Obviously I still think about him every day and I still see him everywhere I go. Today I walked down the hall to hang up some towels and I glanced into the last room he slept in before going into the hospital. The reaction was instantaneous...tears. I woke up this morning shaking from a dream I was having about him. I guess it was more of a flashback of me standing over him, sobbing, watching him die before my eyes and not being able to do anything to stop it.

I STILL have trouble uttering, or even thinking, the words "my brother died." We walked through Hope Cemetery when we were in Vermont. There were a lot of amazing statues and elaborately carved headstones...and then there was this one. It said "TYLER" across the middle of it. By that point I was already overwhelmed by the feeling of death all around me and it's even more poignant now that Tyler is gone. I'm over-sensitive to the subject of death. Actually, I'm overly sensitive in general...I think. There it was in front of me...TYLER...carved in stone. Gone from my world. It's still unbelievable to me.

He's everywhere

I have a matted, framed photo of Tyler that I wanted to put up in the van somewhere. There just wasn't an easy way to do that with it in the heavy frame, so I had to take it out. Doing that made me cry. Before we pulled out of the driveway on Saturday, I used velcro tabs to stick the photo to the ceiling of the van. I want to be able to look up and see him at any moment...to know he's there with us on the road. I know he's always in my heart, but I always stumble across little reminders too. This photo was taken at the world famous (ha ha...as if) Fort Cody Trading Post in North Butte, Nebraska. This was the highlight of the store for me. Well, maybe it was the miniature old west show...ummm, no.

I had a dream about him the other night too. I thought about posting the details here, but I've decided to keep them to myself. The jist was that he was injured and I was taking him to the hospital to get him fixed. In the dream, he seemed fine and there seemed to be no rush to get him there. When I woke up, I had a moment of panic and I thought 'if only I would have hurried and got him there faster...'

It was very strange.

I miss him...even though he's everywhere.

Fading in...

Time allows for distraction and distraction is good...I think. I haven't spent as much time dwelling on the loss of Tyler. I haven't really had the brain space lately. Sometimes I think that's a good thing, but the grief still creeps in when I least expect it. The other morning I awoke abruptly because I had an image of Tyler in the hospital the night he died. The image started as just white space and slowly sharpened into full color. I want to say it "faded" in, but the word fade usually implies leaving or dissipating, like that night in the hospital when Tyler faded away from us. I watched his face go from red to pink to blue to white. That's the image I saw on that recent morning as I was just barely on the edge of consciousness. It startled me awake and I sat up. The feeling was that of shock and disbelief. I still have many moments when I can't believe he's really gone. It can't be...it just can't be. I cried on and off all day. I just couldn't shake the cloak of grief that was draped over my shoulders. It's always there; sometimes it hangs in the closet, waiting for me to wear it again.

The video...

Here it is, as promised. This is a video of us spreading Tyler's ashes at Boynton Canyon in Sedona, Arizona. Martine spent a good chunk of time putting it together and I think it's just beautiful. Makes me cry every time I see it. I picked the Patty Griffin song "Up To The Mountain" because it seemed like it would be a good fit...and it is.

I love you, Tyler.

Grief and missing

This was the view out the car window as we were driving down to Indianapolis from Chicago last Thursday evening. The sunset was quite beautiful and it made me think of Tyler. The last time I had been in Indy was November of last year. I had some weird emotional things going on during this trip which I now attribute mostly to sideways grief. I was focused on the shows I would be playing with Martine in Fort Wayne and Indianapolis, so the events of my previous visit were only milling around in the back of my mind. Being back in the city where I had watched Tyler die was difficult. I suppose I should have expected that. It probably would have been smart to address the grief and process it a little while I was there. Now it's kind of coming out in spurts.

Today I removed Tyler from the beneficiary list on my IRA. He was the primary beneficiary and I had forgotten about it. As I pressed the backspace key, removing one letter at a time, I felt the grief well up again. I still want to scream out to the universe, "what the hell happened?!?!??" I wonder if that will ever go away.

We will be spending a lot more time in Indy over the next few months. I need to find a way to get in touch with the grief I now associate with that place and face it. I don't want it coming out sideways. My life is about to change drastically again and I'm really excited about it!!! I know Tyler would be excited for me. I miss not being able to tell him things, face-to-face.

Random thoughts of grief and missing on this first day of April.

It's where he wanted to be...

This is me sitting on top of a beautiful red rock in Boynton Canyon (Sedona, Arizona) with the tin containing Tyler's ashes resting on my knee. Sunday, March 15, 2009, me and 10 other family members hiked up the Boynton Canyon Trail with the intention of releasing his ashes. When this photo was taken, we were all sitting, waiting for the right moment to set him free. That day was particularly hard for me, as it felt like saying goodbye all over again. All the emotions came back up to the surface. I felt like I did the day he died, and I kept seeing his face and how it looked that night in the hospital as the life left his body. It STILL doesn't seem real to me. I can sit here right now and think about the fact that I will never see him again, and it just doesn't seem possible. I cried twice in the car on the way to Sedona. I cried as I was hiking up the canyon with his ashes in my backpack. I cried as I sat on this rock, contemplating what I was about to do. 'It's where he wanted to be...," I thought to myself. He wanted to be in Arizona.

We picked Sedona for it's amazing beauty and energy, and we picked Boynton Canyon because it's the location of an energy vortex. There are 4 in Sedona. It seemed like a good final resting place for what remained of his physical being. After sitting and standing in various spots on the big red rock, I decided it was too crowded with hikers and went around to the other side of it. Everyone followed. I went out on to a flat rocky ledge with my mom and dad behind me. I could hear them crying and it broke my heart...again. My dad read aloud a quote from Tyler, "My 'church' is beside a river in the middle of a forest, or the desert at sunrise/sunset. ‘God’ talks to me when the wind blows across my body and I close my eyes, or when it starts to rain and the sounds from that fill the air." I removed the bag of ashes from the tin, tested the wind, and in three or four motions, I emptied the bag into the wind.

Martine got the whole thing on video and I will be posting that on this blog at some point. I know some of you wanted to be there and could not, so hopefully the video will make you feel like you were a part of it.

I hope he is happy with the view. It was beautiful, as was the day, as is his spirit.

Tyler - You are always with me, always in my heart, always on my mind, forever a part of my soul. I love you.

An honor to be with you...for eternity!

For those of you who don't know, this is Tyler with Connor and Suzanne Spellman. Tyler was Suzanne's birthing coach when she had Connor, and he was a significant person in both of their lives. In many ways he was a father figure to Connor. After Tyler passed away, Connor came to me with a picture taken the day he was born. It was of Tyler wearing a baseball cap with the word "COACH" embroidered across the front of it. Connor wanted to know if I would get the cap for him, so he could have it to keep. My heart broke again in that moment. Of course; Tyler would have wanted Connor to have that cap. My guess is he will always have it, just as he will always have his memories of Tyler.

The following letter was written yesterday by Suzanne and, with her permission, I'm now sharing it with the readers of this blog...

Thank you for listening to me tonight.
Thank you for letting me talk.
Thank you for letting me cry.

I am sorry that I never showed you daily how much you meant to me.
How much you meant to my daily being.
You were the first person that I thought of with triumph and tragedy.
The first person I shared my joys and tears with.
Our late night talks on the front porch or the early morning texts as we passed each other on the road.

I should have told you that you were the one for life on Sunday 10/19/08.
I should have kissed you as if tomorrow would never come.
Turns out, it didn't for us!

I am so sad for the people that will never experience YOU!
Your strength, your wisdom, your humor, your presence.

I have not changed who I am or how I am through all the tragedies and triumphs.
Am I cold? Am I weak? Am I scared?
Or did you take part of my soul with you?

I am realizing that I am not angry or sad or depressed (as many may think) while writing this.
I am happy, relieved and honored that you took a part of me to hold on to....
For eternity!

(Though I don't need to justify or explain what I have written, I must say that I am still sad, still angry for losing Tyler so quickly, so prematurely. But the empty/hollow/aching pain inside of me that burns/screams/festers daily can only be explained by knowing/hoping/wishing that Tyler needed to take a part of me with him. That he felt/understood/knew how much he truly meant to me/my son/my family)