Tag: loss

One More Lesson from my Grandpa

My grandpa died last week. I have received very kind words, support, condolences, and love from everyone I see. It usually goes the same way. 

“Were you close?” They ask. 

“Yes we were.” I respond.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Cue hug, encouraging comment and subject change. 

They always ask if we were close. You don’t get that question as much when it’s your dad or brother dying. But when it’s a grandparent, I guess there are people who don’t have very much involvement or relationship. In my family, it would be a near impossible feat to not maintain some sort of relationship.

As with any loss, I have been doing a lot of thinking and reminiscing. I have spent the week thinking about my relationship with my grandpa. See, I’m one of the first grandkids. Number 5 actually. There are 32 of us. And 15 (plus two on the way) great grand kids. That’s a lot. So my experience with my grandparents is completely different than what my younger cousins have had. 

I would tell my kids all the time, “The Papa Watts I had was NOT the same Papa Watts you have. He may be physically the same man, but he was a completely different person when I was a kid.” See, I had a grandpa who was still working. A grandpa who still had teenagers and kids of his own in the house. I can still feel the cold tile floor under my feet as I run up to him. He would give me a hug and I could smell the coffee and cigarettes on him. If it were a Sunday afternoon, he would be yelling to “Shut that damn door. Were yout born in a barn?” He would try to adjust a bent hanger that was hooked to the back of the TV in the living room. Trying to get some sort reception on whatever football game was going on. Yelling at us to go outside and to be quiet so he could hear.The other adults didn’t seemed upset about him yelling. So even though it was scary, I knew it was ok. 

My grandma would be doing something in the kitchen. I honestly can’t recall a single moment in my childhood where she was sitting. She would be cleaning, cooking, baking, or refilling coffee for the grown ups. She was the approachable one. My grandpa was kind of scary and loud and always seemed tired and angry. He would tell the occasional joke, or hold the babies, but for the most part, he wanted the kids to make themselves scarce. 

Then, he retired. I was just entering adolescence and we moved from Grand Rapids into my grandparents old house. His retirement, coupled with him finding his faith changed him. I was able to see him become more gentle, loving, and involved. I remember him getting irritated about all the people constantly in and out of the house. Too many visitors and kids. And my grandma said, “What do you think has been going on here for the last 40 years”. This made me laugh. For the first time, I think my grandpa realized all that my grandma had been doing. He slowly started to soften and slow down. 

I remember watching him walk around their house, holding my cousin Seth and pointing to every picture on the wall and tell Seth who was in each one. He would walk him around outside and point at the birds and trees. I don’t remember him doing this with any of the older cousins. 

Over the years I watched him become closer to us grandkids and the great grandkids. I could sit an talk with him and my grandma and enjoy the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as annoyed with the kids running in and out or eating all the cookies. He was kinder. 

I am glad I got both versions. So many times in our young adulthood, we are trying to define ourselves. We are trying so hard to figure out who we are, what we want, and where we’re going. We do this with the assumption that once we figure it out, we can sit content in our self discovery. But we will NEVER find that contentment. Because we never stop changing. And hopefully we are changing into better versions of ourselves. Kinder, gentler, versions of ourselves.

Love you Grandpa. You have loved and inspired so many people. Even after death I find you teaching me life lessons. 

Matthew Stutz Thought I Was Cool

My brother Matthew was kind of an asshole. Now, I’m aloud to say that. Because I’m his sister. You are not. I would say that to him quite often. “Matt, you are such an ass.” He would do this small laugh, a half smile, and a small shrug. “Yup. I am.” See, he wasn’t really an asshole. He was actually a good guy. But he had this way about him that could make you just want to smack him. Such a cocky guy. SO good with people. He could walk into a room, and anyone there would want him to like them. He seemed so calm and put together all the time. Nothing intimidated him, he could take on the world with that smirk and laid back nature. See, I’m the opposite. I am usually a frantic mess and quite flighty. I always have a guilty look on my face, and people would assume I was up to no good. So, his natural ability to take any situation and make it work for him would make me give him that look of, “are you effing serious” and he would give one back of, “Well, I’m Matt. Jealous much?” Which would result in the, “You’re such an asshole.”

My brother was one of my best friends growing up. Since his death, I’ve done a lot of thinking and reminiscing, like most do after a loss. I remembered this one time we were teenagers at the mall. We were being obnoxious, and we were confronted by a sales lady. Of course, I looked like I was up to no good. She immediately started the lecture and verbal reprimand. Then Matt spoke. He made small joke and like a freaking Jedi mind trick, had the lady laughing and telling us to have a nice day. I wanted to look at him in disbelief, but it happened so often, that I just said, “You’re an ass” to which he replied, “You’re welcome.” Everyone liked Matt. You couldn’t help it. He always had a witty comeback, a funny joke, the perfect movie quote, and could say more with his facial expression than his words. I had the coolest big brother ever.

I now know why losing a sibling is such a horrid thing. It’s because they are one of the few people in the world who really know YOU. Not the you the world sees, but the REAL you. They see you when you’re trying out new styles and look like an idiot. They sit with you listening to Eminem on repeat so you can memorize Real Slim Shady. They are the ones who you don’t care if they see you pick your nose or hear you fart or see you picking at your zits in the mirror. They are the ones you cry with when Mom and Dad are just so unfair, or cover for because they didn’t do their chore. They’re the ones you ask stuff to when you don’t want to look like an idiot to your friends for not knowing. I mean, they may make fun of you for all that stuff, but it doesn’t matter. They would never rat you out for being uncool, because you saw their insecure, nerdy, real selves as well. The sibling bond is like no other. And it doesn’t go away. When you sit by that adult that is so put together, you can still see that kid, that teen, that friend.

It hurts. To know someone to the core of who they are, and them know you, and then they’re just gone. I wish I could go back and just be that kid, or teen again for awhile. I want to argue about who gets the last of the Lucky charms and tell him he cheated at battleship. I want to build a fort outside and pretend we are being invaded. I want to go hang out at the movie theater and get mad at him for hitting on my friends. I want to drive around in his Olds with music on, and ask him what THAT line was, because I couldn’t understand it. I want to yell for him to throw the football to me and then him yell at me for dropping it like I always do. I want to watch Loony Toons on Saturday morning and hear him bust out laughing that incredibly loud Matt laugh, while dad makes french toast and eggs.

My big brother. That super cool guy that was actually a huge nerd. The one that I could make bust out laughing, and was always excited to tell me about this “cool new” thing. We did mission work in Mexico together. We went to Steubenville every summer. We argued over lyrics of songs (that I was always right on because I saw it on “Say What Karaoke” so I knew). We hid CDs like Limp Bizkit from mom so we could tape them (which she found and snapped in half) and then sat up talking about how unfair parents were.

Losing my brother sucks. So much. Even as an adult I wanted him to think I was cool. The last time I saw him was after my dads funeral. We talked about bullshit. It was great. We watched our kids play together at DQ and went to the movies. The last time we talked to eachother was on Facebook. We talked about art. He was telling me how much he loved my comic I was doing. He told me he loved how extroverted I was and that he would never have the balls to draw a comic, let alone post it online. And you know what? I was a 30 year old 7 year old. Super excited that my big brother was impressed by me. That was Matt though. You wanted him to like you. It meant the world when he noticed you. Not because he didn’t notice people, he did. He noticed a lot and had a big heart. But because he had a gift of charisma that made him like a magnet to those around him.

I love you Matthew. Thank you so much for being in my life and for being my best friends through all those tough years. I’m so glad I got to see you again one last time. I will miss you. You are a part of who I’ve become, and I’m so proud I was able to be part of who you became.

Yeah, Yeah, I’m so Stong. Like I Have a Choice

Oh, death. We have become far too familiar.  For any of you that didn’t know, my brother died tragically in an accident on February 24, 2015. I sat in my car, reading and rereading the message. I HAVE to be reading this wrong. there is no way. I just saw him at our dad’s funeral just a couple months before. We had just talked on Facebook. This can’t be real. I started shaking and called my mom. We sat together sobbing and holding each other. Is this some kind of sick joke? How much can one family handle? When can the sorrow and pain stop?

I would say, across the board, the response from those in our lives was a pretty consistent, “You have got to be shitting me” followed by, “Are you fucking serious?” with a few, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.” Even our more uptight, conservative friends and family found themselves only able to convey their complete shock without the added profanity. Which I was actually quite grateful for, because seriously. What the fuck.

After the denial was unable to stay, and the overwhelming sadness took a brief break, I found myself angry. Very, very angry. At Matthew, at my dad, at death, and at the world in general. How could they just die? How could they leave us? It’s kind of ridiculous to be angry at the deceased. They didn’t choose it. But I still was. I wanted to yell at my dad for not being here. For leaving right before something so tragic happened. I wanted to yell at him for leaving my mom without her rock. For her to have to grieve this without him. I wanted to yell at my brother for leaving his children. I wanted to scream at him that he was such a jerk for talking with me about coming to Germany to see him and the kids and then leaving before I could. I wanted to cry and yell at them both for dying so close together. I wasn’t done grieving dad, Matthew! He’s suppose to have my grief right now! Not you! I want to be able to grieve Matt, Dad! Why did you have to die first? Now he won’t get the grief he deserves!

Stupid, huh? To be so mad at them? Well, I know it’s not really anger. It’s immense sadness. These were two people I loved dearly. I want their lives to be seen, thought of, and missed individually. I don’t want their deaths to be lumped together. I don’t want them to have to share in this time, even if it’s a horrible time. It SHOULD be separate.

So, after I had my internal emotional temper tantrum, I just accepted it. I say just, but in all reality, this is not an “I just..” type thing. What other choice to you have but to accept it? It’s not like it’s a decision you make. Well, I guess I could opt for going completely crazy, but that being the only alternative kind of decides that acceptance is really the only choice in the matter. So now what? Time to start the grief process over again.

I would like to share with any of you readers a little insight to multiple losses. This is something I was not aware of until the last couple weeks. You are only aloud one large loss a year. More than that, and you will be treated as if you have an infectious disease. For all of my loved ones reading this, please do not take this personal. I do appreciate the support, but it is different. And, I too am guilty of avoidance in similar situations. It just is what it is.

The first loss, you will have an outpouring of support. People will send flowers. They will cook meals. They will accommodate you missing work. They will hold you and tell you, “You grieve however you need to. There is no wrong way.” Then, a small amount of time goes by, and BAM. You’re hit with another death in your family. But this time it’s different. You receive texts, Facebook messages, encouraging photos, and then it’s done. You’re expected to snap back quicker this time. You put a smile on you face, and respond with a well rehearsed, “We’re hanging in there.” or “Yeah, our family has had a lot thrown at us, but we’ll get through.” While you’re really thinking, “I’m not ok and I hate that I have to pretend that we’re all so fucking strong all the time.”

I started wondering why this was. I was very honest about things after my dad died. I would just say, “My kids are late to school because I can’t sleep at night, and when I finally do fall asleep at 3am, my body doesn’t wake up.” and “I can barely remember to brush my teeth in the morning, so I’m sorry I forgot her permission slip, can I have another one?” and “No, I haven’t checked my email. I am overwhelmed and have no desire for human interaction at the moment. Please be patient with me, I am trying to function normally again.” No one want’s to hear that after the second death. Because life goes on. People keep living, and the time allotted to you for grief has expired.

I don’t want people to avoid me. That’s what it comes down to. We hear SO much to “cut the negative out of our life”. I don’t want to be cut out of people’s lives. What a line of horse shit. All those who are “cutting the negative” are cutting out my family and me. We need to cut out the toxic people in our life, yes, but not the negative. Life is so full of positive and negative. People feel uncomfortable around someone who is wounded. I do. I am such a coward. I do not deal well with death, divorce, illness, etc. And it’s not because I don’t care. On the contrary. I hate seeing someone I love or care about hurt, and not know how to fix it. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. So I avoid. And I’m here to tell you, now being on the receiving end of the avoidance, it freaking sucks. So, I act. I change the subject when I can tell my sadness is making the other person uncomfortable. I laugh, and smile, and make jokes as much as I can, so people can feel at ease. It let’s them take a deep breathe and not feel like they need to walk on eggshells around me, and avoid being with me.

People keep saying, “If you need anything, let me know!” Well folks, even though I know that’s just what you say whether you mean it or not, I am going to tell you what I need. I need people to take charge for me. I feel alone, and I want to be with people. I just can’t seem to get my shit together. I need people to let me say stupid stuff without feeling offended. I need to be able to say overly depressing things and not be met with a subject change or you leaving. Most the time, I’ve just been holding it in too long, and it comes out all wrong. I need people to treat me the same as before. For god’s sake. Make jokes with me. Plan things with me and then harass me to death about remembering it, because I will forget. I need you to cut me some slack with, well, everything. I know this is a temporary state I’m in. I’m just trying figure out what and how much I am able to handle. You see, I do like to help. I do like to do things, be in charge of things, and be counted on for things. The problem is, I will be fine one min, and then it all just hits me. I will drop the ball, please just pick it up for me and do not make me feel like a failure. I do not know my limits, and I’m trying so hard to figure them out.

My brother’s death has hit me in a different way than my dad. My dad was involved in my day to day life. My brother was not. So, in that aspect, a lot of my issues have to do with the things my dad did for me that I have to figure out without him. With Matthew, I am able to do my daily duties without the need for him. But I’m still not ok. I now have anxiety attacks almost every day. I get a panic feeling in my stomach when my phone rings. I worry about the other people in my life. What would I do if they died? They could. At any moment. How does everyone else not feel completely helpless about this? Now, logically, I know this is a silly thing to spend time worrying about. 99% of the time, things happen, and we’re ok. How many times do we say, “Whoa! That was close!” It makes me wonder how many times I’ve almost died, and just missed it. I know I cannot live my life with these lingering fears. We can’t dwell on death all the time. None of us would ever get anything done. It is just so prominent in my life right now.

One last thing I would like anyone reading this to do. Just stop. Feel the air around you. Look at your world. Notice the colors, feel the temperature, take a deep breathe, and let yourself just exist for a second. Watch your loved ones move around. Notice their quirks. Memorize their facial expressions. Because you never know when “That was close!” will turn into, “I can’t believe they’re gone.”

Broken Bones Do Eventually Heal

I once broke my arm. I was a sophomore in high school. I’ve heard a lot of cool “broke bones” stories. Mine was not cool. It was actually kind of lame. “But Beth! Would you happen to have some sort of analogy or parallel for life with your lame broken arm story?” Why yes I do! Join me, for a trip back to my teenage years.

Late in the winter of 2001, I found myself at a cheerleading practice. This wasn’t a regular practice. We had just lost regionals the week before. It was heartbreaking. So, we decided to have one more practice for fun. Just to throw some stunts and play around one last time until the next season. I finally nailed my Toss Awesome (for you non cheer folks, I held my flyer with one arm. It is pretty freaking awesome indeed). So, I decided to do some skills. Time to warm up my back handspring.  SNAP! The sound of the break seemed so loud, it echoed in my ears. I screamed a four letter word (it starts with an “F” to be specific). Immediate tears. I grabbed my arm and laid there sobbing. The coach tried to reassure me it was just jammed. I screamed at her it was broken and she didn’t know what she was talking about.

I sat there the rest of practice, whimpering. Holding my arm, trying to not move it. After what felt like an eternity, my mom came and took me to the ER. I was finally calming down and able to sit still without shooting pain. Then came the X-Ray. They had to pull my arm away from my body and lay it in a few different positions. I was sobbing and shaking. It was almost as bad as when I broke it. They gave me pain meds, which I immediately threw up all over. Put it in a sling, and scheduled my appt with the doctor.

I spent the rest of the night moving with great caution. Emotionally exhausted. Scared to even sleep for fear I would bump it.

I went to get it casted. Again, I had to have my arm pulled away from my body and the doctor carefully wrapped the light blue cast around my arm. I could feel my anxiety calming, until, he grabbed and squeezed. “Oh my god what are you doing?!?” The pain was excruciating. “I have to set it. Or it won’t heal right, then you would have to come back and have to do this all again.”

That stupid cast. It came up past my elbow. So, that arm was pretty much useless. I learned quickly how little I could do. I had to shower with a trash bag around it. I couldn’t shave my armpit without help, or put deodorant on. Even carrying books to class now took me twice as long. My arm itched and after awhile the cast started to stink. Worst of all, I wasn’t able to play softball that year.

Then, I got the cast off. It was very exciting. They cut it off, and I looked at this skinny, hairy, pale arm. What happened to it? It had become so weak. It was a sad reality for this inpatient, active girl, that even though it was healed, I still couldn’t use it fully. It took quite awhile to get the strength back, but I am pleased to say, I have both arms completely functional now. Yet, when the weather changes, or it’s cold, it aches. Still to this day, I feel some pain. Not all the time, but enough that I won’t forget about breaking it.

All that being said, (told you lame, but it was important to say all that before this next part) I feel loss is like breaking a bone. The initial pain is excruciating. We just want to keep the hurt close to us, but keep having people pull it out of us. Which causes more excruciating pain. If we don’t though, it won’t heal properly. Then after we have it in a place it can heal, we realize that we are limited it what we able to do. We may even have to miss out on something we wanted to do. Then, after we heal, we are made aware of how weak that part of us is, and have to gain the strength back. Slowly, we become completely functional again. But, we will always have an ache. The rest of our lives, we will feel a bit of pain and be reminded of our loss.

This is what I told my kids after my dad died 2 months ago. I have to keep reminding myself, I am casted and limited right now. But this is how I get to healing properly. There are no shortcuts. As inpatient as I may be, healing can’t be rushed.

Doug Stutz Wouldn’t Regret Stuff, So You Shouldn’t Either

Very unexpectedly, my step father passed on November 23. He was 55 years old, and had a day of Christmas decorating and grandchildren planned. He was at the store, had a heart attack, and was gone. Just like that. Ripped from our lives.

I was very close to him. I called him Dad, and I’ve been his baby girl since I can remember. We talked almost every day, and saw each other multiple times a week. These last 12 days have felt like the longest days of my life.

So, I’ve been wanting to write about him. Memories flooding my mind. Writing about him seems impossible. I can’t put him in words. When I try, I find myself frustrated with the lack of depth in my writing. My vocabulary feels so limited in describing him. So I end up with just the simplistic, “this fucking sucks” or “it’s not fair”. I cannot articulate him or my feelings in the fullest sense, so I just resort to the most basic. I am sad. I miss him. He was a great dad. So that’s all you guys get from me right now.

I decided instead of trying to come up with some thought provoking, emotionally touching, in depth post, I would instead focus on grief. Because, well, it is a very real thing for me right now.

Sitting on my bed, sobbing like a child, my fiancé, Ryan, held me and kissed my head. “It’s just not fair!” I managed to get out. “He would be so mad at himself right now.” Ryan’s response was a simple, “You’re right. It’s not fair. He is still needed. We all still need him. And we need to remember him, the good and the bad. Because that’s what makes him him. If we just remember the good, he is a myth of a man.”

So I focused on trying to remember some bad stuff. We, as humans, tend to forget the bad stuff when someone dies. And I wanted to remember my Daddy as he was exactly. I didn’t want to lose any part of him. Have you ever done this? Try to remember the bad stuff after someone dies? It is way harder than you think. Why? Because those quirks and irritations seem so insignificant after the person is gone.

My Dad was kind of a stubborn man. He was very punctual, my tardiness and flighty ways drove him nuts. He was also easily irritated by the chaos of all the small children. I can here him saying “Don’t forget the bag of your kids stuff!” And “When will you be here? I have things to do today.” He was a very patient man, but I have a unique talent of pushing even the most easy going person to their limit. So, I discounted these memories, since his “negatives” were actually provoked by some of my flaws.

The I remembered a time he got snappy with me, unprovoked. He was stressed about work, tired, and worried about bills. I asked him something, and he snapped and yelled at me. It actually made me cry, mostly out of shock and a little embarrassment. But, he did come to me later and give me a big hug and apologize. He told me he loved me and the girls, and told me he would always help and be there for me. So I don’t know if that would even count as a negative. Since he did talk to me about it. I mean we’re all human.

BAM. There it is. Remembering the bad, had actually opened me to noticing even more of the good. It allowed me to see him as human. One that had flaws, but loved above all. One that forgave my quirks and even just downright rudeness. He was someone I forgave without hesitation. We were able to be our human selves with each other. We didn’t have to act, or hold back. Good day, bad day, or just a boring day, we experienced life as it was in the moment.

After these thoughts, I realized I didn’t have regret. I kept wanting to grasp onto something I would have done differently. Something to say, do, or whatever. Why was I LOOKING for regret? Regret is an awful thing! Why? Because I am hurting so bad. To the core of myself. And I need something to blame. There was absolutely nothing I would have done differently. How many people can say that about someone? Yet, it doesn’t seem to ease the pain knowing that. It actually makes it even more painful, because I know how rare it is to find someone like this.

For all those who are grieving. Those of you out there feeling you could have done something differently, or told them something. I am here to tell you, you’re holding on to regret as a defense against the shitty reality that sometimes, life just sucks. We have very little control of so much that happens. So it’s ok to let go of the regrets (that we are seeking out and clinging to) and just be sad. Our anger doesn’t need to be directed at ourselves. This doesn’t help our grief. I can honestly say, for those who play the “if only I just…” game, nothing you could have said or done would change the way you feel now.

I told my dad I loved him and thanked him for his help with my kids the day before he passed. What if I would have yelled at him the last time I saw him instead? I would most likely cling to that and be mad at myself. In reality though, that should be a fine last conversation as well, because that’s what life is! Happiness, sadness, anger, all of it. He was someone I experienced all of this with, and knew at the end of the day, he loved his family, his Lord, his work, and his friends.

All that being said, I am sad. This isn’t fair. It sucks.