Clean-Up on Aisle Seven

December 8, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ 2 Comments

A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I was in the middle of Stop & Shop when I saw a box of rye-flavored Triscuits. Those particular triscuits were a favorite of my mom and John’s. The lonely box was at an end cap, propped up among many other “holiday” favorites, including Stove Top stuffing, gravy in a jar and cranberry sauce.

I started to cry.

Luckily, it was very early on a Sunday morning, so the store was pretty empty. I immediately pulled my sunglasses down to cover my eyes.

I wasn’t sure why I had had that reaction or what had triggered it – I go to the store on a regular basis and walk right by the crackers, chips, pretzels, even the Hallmark card section, without incident. It made me feel vulnerable, uneasy and out of control.

Thinking that I was “over” it, I took the sunglasses off and turned down the next aisle only to feel suddenly surrounded by Starbucks K-cups. My mind went straight to the last time I had bought them – a visit to Chicago last November while my nephew, Patrick, was staying at my mom’s house. Patrick…

I started to feel that familiar, tingling, burning sensation in my eyes and nose, and I had to put on the sunglasses again.

Praying that I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew, I put my head down and pushed my cart through the aisles hoping I could somehow regain some composure. Candy is always a good distraction. So, I walked over to the candy aisle and grabbed a big bag of mint M&M’s. I also decided to message my lifelong friends, as they were coming for a much-anticipated visit the following week.

I texted that I wondered how long it would be before I heard, “Clean-up on aisle 7!” over the loudspeaker. I was a total mess. Their responses were immediate, thoughtful, encouraging and there was no judgement.

Holding back more tears, I typed that I was really looking forward to their visit, more than they realized, because I was struggling with an overwhelming flood of memories…

All those memories…being with family, seeing my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, my brother saying, “I’m getting that!” after EVERY single toy commercial leading up to Christmas, my mom saying with almost every single bite that, “I shouldn’t be eating another bite!”, the Christmas carols, my siblings and I begrudgingly polishing the silver ornaments before they could go up on the tree, posing on the stairs before we could tear into the presents, and even the simple and mundane memories…the crackers and the Starbucks. We all have memories…some are on the surface and some are locked away, and then all it takes is something like a box of Triscuits to bring it all up again. And it hurts. Grieving, especially during the holiday season, really hurts.

With that pain, however, there is joy. I know I don’t always see the joy right away, but it’s there.

There is joy in remembering how much Patrick enjoyed a good cup of coffee, especially espresso, which he’d finish in 45 seconds or less. There is joy in remembering my mom closing her eyes and smiling while she went for that third or fourth bite of pumpkin pie after the table had been cleared. There is joy in remembering John loudly humming along with the Mannheim Steamrollers Christmas album. There is joy in remembering the Christmas tree falling on my little brother, Brian, while we watched t.v. together. There is joy in remembering how the entire pew would shake as my siblings and I tried to hold in our giggles during those more reflective, prayerful moments at church. There IS joy.

There is joy when I think of some of the new memories my family and friends created just this year…from the Chicago girls visit, to the Fireball old friends/new friends toasts, the trips to NYC, the Thanksgiving program and intimate family dinner, and the harmonica that wouldn’t die. There is joy.

Some people think we shouldn’t dwell on the past because we cannot change anything – we should just look ahead. For me, it’s because of my past and all of the people who shaped it, that I even have the strength to look to the future.

And I just realized that it’s because of my past that I now know how to navigate the grocery store during the holidays, which is the quickest route to the candy section, and that the alcohol aisle opens later on Sundays. I also realized that there are many people wearing sunglasses in the grocery store on Sunday morning. I used to think it was just because everyone was out celebrating the night before, but maybe some of those people are trying to deal with painful memories too.

I am not alone.

the key to grace

August 2, 2015August 2, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ 2 Comments

over twenty-one years ago, my brother, brian, went missing. he had struggled for years and we were immediately worried. we searched and searched for nine gut-wrenching weeks, his body was eventually recovered on north avenue beach.

to say that our entire family was devastated is a huge understatement. my parents lost their youngest child, their only son, and my sisters and i lost our baby brother.

and yet, somehow, life, although forever changed, went on…my nephew, patrick, was born a month later.

my dad referred to him as the “blessed distraction”. and he was…for all of us.

life, although difficult at times, is so beautiful. and it does go on…

but life stopped again a little over three years ago, when my step-father, john, went missing. we searched and searched for two of the most miserable weeks a family should face. at one point, when his location was discovered, my mom quietly asked me, “are you going to go down there and bring him back?” i was literally jumping out of my skin at the thought of sidling up next to him at some random bar and saying, “please come home…we all love you so much.” how many times did i have that reoccurring dream with my brother…”come home, you are loved, please come home…”. i wept while sharing my plan to get him with one of my best friends and a key member of the search team, her response, “this is redemption”.

and then it happened again. before i could book a flight out there, his body was found by a man in a boat just off of the coast of key west. we were completely devastated.

i kept thinking about how john lived his life and how, at least on the surface, he always chose to see things in a positive light. a friend gave me a gift with this definition of grace after i described john to her.

“grace: life is a classroom. we are both student and teacher. each day is a test. and each day we receive a passing or failing grade in one particular subject: grace. grace is compassion, gratitude, surrender, faith, forgiveness, good manners, reverance, and the list goes on. it’s something money can’t buy and credentials rarely produce. being the smartest, the prettiest, the most talented, the richest, or even the poorest, can’t help and being a humble person can guide you through your days with grace and gratitude.” ~philosophy

on the verge of having a major nervous breakdown, i reached out to anyone who would listen to me tell my family’s story. one friend referred me to the afsp (american foundation for suicide prevention) and the out of the darkness walks, which helped a lot. thanks to the loving support of friends, family and the afsp, team choosing grace was created.

over the last three years our team has been choosing grace. we’ve raised awareness and funds for research, education, suicide prevention efforts and support for those left behind. we are not alone. it seemed as though our family was beginning to heal. this could not happen again.

and now we face another loss.

two weeks ago, my sister and brother-in-law lost their son, patrick. he is gone. the person who absorbed so much pain on behalf of others, couldn’t bear the pain anymore. it is beyond comprehension.

i cannot do anything. i cannot do enough. i cannot take away the pain his parents feel and i cannot stop my own pain either. my sadness, which i know is secondary to his parents’ and my father’s pain, permeates everything.

it is hard, but i think we are all trying to choose grace again. our friends, family and complete strangers are helping. the kindness that patrick shared with us just by being born is being paid forward…acts of kindness in his honor have been reported in 21 states, as well as mexico, the netherlands, u.k., canada, and these acts continue every day thanks to one simple hashtag: #noochieraks.

the givers and the receivers are experiencing the same feelings of kindness, love and joy that we experienced from knowing patrick, or as i call him, “noochie”.

a couple of days ago, a friend gave me a truly unique and special gift…the key to grace. i promise i will pay it forward. as their founder says, “every key has a purpose.”

every life has a purpose.

i am still searching for mine.

~you can check out another way to pay it forward here: http://www.thegivingkeys.com

~information on the afsp and our team’s efforts may be found here: http://afsp.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.team&teamID=77364

a gentle soul

July 18, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

On September 26th, our team, Choosing Grace, will participate in our 4th Out of the Darkness Community Walk in Chicago. What started as a small group of friends coming together to honor a few loved ones, has grown into several people honoring many, many lives lost to suicide.

As we get ready for this year’s Walk, we remain committed to the AFSP’s mission and to telling our loved ones’ stories.

We remember them.

We honor them.

We hope their stories help others.

This is John’s story…

Well, this page has been sitting in draft mode for several weeks. I’ve tried many times to write about John, our relationship and/or the events that occurred, but I just cannot do it.

It still hurts so much.

I have decided to post an edited version of the eulogy (it’s still long though!) I gave at his funeral. For me, it captures John, his love for his family and friends and how Choosing Grace came to be.

I don’t know about my two sisters, Julie and Bridget, but when I first met John over 17 years ago, I didn’t want to like him…of course, I wanted my mom to be happy, but still, I didn’t want to like him. In all honestly, that lasted all of about 15 minutes. How could you not like John right away?

In those early days, I remember describing John to close friends and family as an angel who fell into my mother’s life after our brother, Brian, died. I often thought, was this somehow carefully orchestrated from up above?

All I knew was that my mom was happy after a long, difficult time of deep sorrow. And that brought me peace.

After my mom and John had been married a few years, I found myself on their doorstep while going through a particularly difficult time. While the door was clearly open, I did not want to go in. I was in my late-twenties and the thought of moving back home with my mom and sleeping in a twin bed made me feel like a loser and I didn’t want to like it. Again, John made it easy.

John and Mom spent so many hours laughing as they watched their favorite t.v. programs, played Scrabble and popped popcorn. It was hard not to be happy. Although I was struggling at the time, it was a good year. It felt like home.

One thing my mom always says is that John and I had more of a brother-sister relationship than a step-father step-daughter relationship. It may have been the way we interacted with one another – he’d elbow me and say “I’m teasing” when debating very important issues- such as the rivalry between the Bears vs. Packers, should we order pan or thin pizza for dinner or should you grill or steam asparagus? I imagine that most of you had that same easy type of relationship with him. John was a Gentle soul.

I also remember looking at some family pictures with him a few years ago. He was so proud to be one of four brothers. He pointed to his brothers Tom, Dave and Steve, talked about their wives, children and grandchildren and where they all currently lived. John was like a kid a Christmastime when the cards came in the mail. He and my mom would point to the cards they had proudly displayed, so that I could see all the new babies and how all of his nieces and nephews had grown. A couple of them also stayed with John and Mom while attending various programs or just visiting the area. I’m sure they can also attest to the loud laughing. He loved his family so much and it was obvious that he was very sad about the recent loss of his “big” brother Tom. In addition, he is step-father to Julie, Bridget and me and he adored my sisters’ husbands, and my husband and all of our children. He is “Papa John” to our three children and our dog, Bailey….whose ears promptly perk up when they hear Papa John’s name. Bailey’s been a little sad…

The thing about John was that even though we didn’t talk all that often, I still felt close to him and knew that I he’d be there whenever I needed him. And when we hadn’t seen each other in awhile, it didn’t matter, we’d pick up right where had we left off. If you were a lucky member of his email list, you’d hear from him on a somewhat regular basis with jokes, pictures, interesting articles and holiday greetings.

Over the past several days, I’ve had the opportunity to speak with many, many people who knew John – some for a short period of time and some who have known him since his childhood. It was clear, John was Loved. Everyone described him as, “THE nicest guy!!!” and then most people would describe his hearty laugh that you could hear from about a block away!

As most of you know, John was an architect and he LOVED his work. He taught me, through a number of moves, to look at a house through his eyes. Instead of paying attention to the ugly paint colors and nasty carpet, look at the foundation, the roof, the architectural details, and ask…when were the plumbing and electrical updated? I see the world differently when I look at it through his eyes.

There were some other important lessons I learned from John…like, (and I know this may sound gross) but, garlic and anchovy pizza really does taste pretty good with a cold beer.

He also taught me how to kill a mouse…with a tennis racket. I would never do it…I’d call him, but at least I knew how to, in a pinch.

He taught me that I couldn’t keep a straight face, no matter how tired and cranky I was, when he was singing, “These Are A Few of My Favorite Things” in the backseat of the minivan with the kids.

He also taught me that even though he liked the Green Bay Packers…we could still be friends. And even though I’ve always been a Bears fan, I found myself routing for GB in last year’s SuperBowl because I knew it would make him so happy if they won. And it did.

But…after all this time…I really believe that the most important lessons that I learned from John took place over the past several days while we searched and searched and later learned the sad news…

Every person has a story. Everyone needs to be heard. Every life has meaning. Everyone looks at a problem from a different angle and you must respect that and you must choose what works for you.

Now…I have been through all of the various options and know that I have to make a choice about how I’m going to move forward…now that John was brought home to us. The situation is still so unimaginable to me…and I know that everyone in his family, his friends, acquaintances…everyone will probably always have questions. And that’s okay. For me, I know after losing my brother in a very similar manner, that sometimes you have to move through a traumatic experience and not get answers. It’s not easy by any means, but you can do it. It is not easy…but you do have a choice. As I see it, there are many choices on how we can move forward.

We can choose to be angry. We can choose to be resentful of the situation. We can choose to feel guilt. We can choose to feel betrayed. We can choose to feel scared. We can choose to ask the questions – “How could this happen?!?!?!?!” “And what could I have done to stop it?????”

We can choose to put all of this information and emotions aside for now. Maybe, it’s just too big to take in right now.

We can also choose to see beauty in the most seemingly unimaginable, tragic and horrible situations. We can choose grace. I try to think of how John lived his life and, while he was by no means a saint, he did seem to look at many things through “rose-colored” glasses. Like…if it was raining and I was complaining about having a bad hair day, he’d say, “Yeah Liz, but it’s great for everyone’s gardens.” Or when it was snowing and I’d complain about the drive or shoveling, he’d say, “But Liz, it’s great on the slopes!”. It was actually kinda annoying sometimes to be honest…I mean, we weren’t going skiing, but he was right, sometimes it’s all in the way you choose to look at things.

While we moved through this search, I spoke with many people, and I’d like to acknowledge the following people for their efforts in our search: Joe Glunz, Clar Krusinski, Mary O’Callaghan, MaryKay and Shawn Post, my husband, Dave Riggs, Sgt.Gold and the Chicago Police Department and the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department. In addition to John’s amazing family, our friends and family, I also made contact with bank tellers and mailroom clerks – one of whom was willing to go door to door with the missing person flyer after an 8 hour shift. As the weeks have gone by, one thing became perfectly clear…people are there to help you.

People want to help one another….especially in tragedy and that’s pretty cool, if you allow yourself to be helped. I was struck by one particular conversation that took place shortly after the search was over. I was speaking with an investigator down in Florida and said,

“Our family and friends really want to thank you for everything you did. John loved his wife, Gail, his family, friends and work and he deserved to be treated with care… And maybe you spend your life working on cases night after night day after day and maybe sometimes you question, why did I even get into this business…but from my perspective, you were critical to giving our family closure…and I thank you.”

I didn’t hear anything on the other line and thought… “Shoot, I dropped the call while I was rambling on and on” (as usual)… But no, the investigator cleared his throat and said, “Thank you…no one has ever said that to me.”

And I said, “Well you need to know it’s very true. Your contribution to this investigation was very, very important and I’m sorry if I’m being cheesy, but….” And he cut me off.

He kinda chuckled and said, “You’re reminding me of that commercial…you know the one…the person opens the door for someone, someone else notices…it’s for insurance or something?” and I’m like “OF COURSE I know that commercial!…everyone pretends not to like it, but you always stop what you’re doing to watch it because it’s kinda cool…that whole paying it forward thing.”

We both laughed and then we said our goodbyes, but despite the sad situation, we both hung up the phones with smiles on our faces.

I’ve now shared that story with a couple of people and it usually gets the same reaction, there’s usually an eye-roll and then, “Oh boy, here she goes again”, but when I continue to explain…people seem to recognize that commercial…and always chuckle. If you don’t know what I’m talking about…go onto YouTube and enter “Liberty Mutual”…it’s worth it.

As you know, you have a choice about how you’re going to deal with this difficult situation. This is not a typical multiple choice question, there can be so many answers…you don’t have to make your choice at the end of this service…or in even a year from now.

But…it IS a test. There is sadness and pain and sorrow and anger and sometimes there’s just…no feeling at all. You can fall apart, you can laugh, you can feel like punching a wall. You can feel like you’re losing your mind.

After a lot of searching, I’ve made the choice that I believe John made throughout his entire beautiful life.

After a lot of searching, I am choosing what my mom has exemplified throughout her beautiful life, as well.

After a lot of searching…

I am choosing GRACE.

one year later…

June 16, 2015June 16, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

gail s. hanson, beloved mother, daughter, wife, friend, cousin, niece, nurse, teacher…

june 16th, 2014.

i woke up early that monday morning. it felt like any other day. after hitting “brew” on the coffeemaker, letting out and feeding the dogs, and then emptying the dishwasher, i picked up my phone. four missed calls, one voicemail.

my heart started pounding.

the voicemail was from my father who had received a call from my sister. she was at the hospital with our mom. it didn’t look good.

my heart started pounding even louder in my ears.

i immediately called my sister who was in the hospital room with our mom. she was telling me that mom wasn’t going to make it through the night. she then had to quickly go because they started administering cpr again. i bolted up the stairs to wake up dave to help me get a flight back home. she won’t make it through the night? it’s around 5:45am, i have time to get there, i thought. less than a minute later my phone rang…”mom is gone”.

hearts stopped.

hers and mine.

actually, that was her cause of death – congenital heart failure. her heart failed due to interstitial lung disease, due to scleroderma, which is a very rare, terrible disease.

it was difficult to comprehend. ever since her husband, john, died in january 2012 and i learned first-hand how fast her disease was progressing, we had had conversations about what the end would look like. it was not an easy conversation for either of us. she was very detailed in her descriptions…she would eventually require hospice…a hospital bed would go in the room off the kitchen if it was the summer, the living room if it was the winter. she wanted foot rubs, the tv on at all times (“but only the today show, no good morning america! i mean it!”) and she wanted lots of visitors. and morphine…she didn’t want to feel any more pain.

the real ending was different.

she was still living independently, calling on neighbors, friends and family only when she needed help and my sister visited regularly to run errands. we all worried and spoke in hushed tones about how she needed more help, but she fought all of our efforts. sometimes she even used humor…

our biggest fear was that she would be alone in the house when it happened.

by the grace of God, one of her best friends was staying at her house the week she died. they had a wonderful week visiting and even went out for a lunch or two.

late sunday night, she said she wasn’t feeling well, and it escalated quickly with mom asking her friend to call 911 around 11:30pm. she was taken immediately to st. francis hospital and at 4:52am central time, she was gone.

my heart still processes this.

it’s the natural progression of life, your parents will most likely die before you. knowing this certainly doesn’t make it any easier. this year has proven to be one of the MOST difficult of my life. although i thought i was prepared, i wasn’t. it’s been a year of incomplete thoughts and projects, partially written thank you notes, sleepless nights and then days when all i want to do is sleep. i know i haven’t been present in many ways for my own children and for my small caseload of students. i feel so much guilt. i am still trying to understand my grief and my relationship with my mom. i continue to find clues in her books, notebooks, random post-it notes and old letters about how she viewed herself in the world. it is helping.

my mom and i didn’t have the type of relationship that you see displayed all over hallmark cards. it was very, very complicated. there was a lot of resentment that grew over the years. even she admitted that she was a much better parent to adolescents and adults and if we were all born at 18 years of age, it would have been a completely different story. despite our disagreements and differences, she was there for me when i really needed her. she was there to pick me up from school when i was sick. she always took my call even if she was in the middle of an important meeting. she let me move back in when i was going through a difficult time. i never, ever doubted her love.

there are many lessons she shared throughout her life and since she died too.

the most important lesson she shared is that we are all connected. these connections help pull you out of the darkness and into the light. in many ways, she felt the same connection with her family and lifelong friends as she did with the psychotic patients she treated, the elderly, the lonely. we are all worthy of love and kindness. while she focused on those connections, she also had a very strong sense of self and encouraged that in others too. the night before her funeral when i was writing part of her eulogy, i was staring at the sofa where she basically spent the last two years of her life. i started sobbing. i didn’t know what to say, what to do. i never, ever felt so alone in my life. when i composed myself, i turned the page and found the following in the notepad i was using…

as a mother, she did the best she could.

and that’s enough for me.

my heart rebuilds.

it is growing even stronger now because of what i learned from her and her unending love.

from a coffee shop the day after she died...love is everywhere, if you look for it. — my coffee the day after she died…love is everywhere, if you look for it. so grateful to my sweet, thoughtful friends, family, neighbors, coffee shop, etc. for helping me see this…especially this year. love and kindness matter…always.

The Story of Choosing Grace

June 6, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

It all started back in January 2012 with a tragedy and an impending nervous breakdown…

Choosing Grace.

Fueled by loss, a ton of emotion, lifelong and newly-formed friendships, mourning family members and many shared experiences, Team Choosing Grace was formed in an effort understand and raise awareness about mental illness and suicide, as well as honor three people we lost to suicide.

As word of our first Walk spread, three people became four people and then five people and then six people and then seven and then…well…you get the point. This last year, our third Walk, we walked in honor of 26 people.

26 human beings.

26 individuals who left behind sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors, colleagues…

26 people who lived incredible lives, and while not defined by the way they left this world, it is definitely an important part of their stories.

26 lives.

Before this year’s Walk, I was hoping to gather and share their stories. Because this is the first time I am doing this, I am open to any and all suggestions. Perhaps it would be a story from when they were a child, what they were like in school, at their job, or even what their favorite color, food or movie was? Maybe it won’t be a story about them per se, perhaps it would be the story about how their loved ones lived on…live differently…since they left. These stories may be serious or funny or thought-provoking or just plain sad. It may not be a story at all, it could even be a poem, or a quote, or a picture?

As I receive these stories, I will post them on the Team Choosing Grace blog leading up to the Walk on September 26th. If I don’t receive a story, I will ask permission to post the person’s first name so that our team can pause to remember him or her. I am very aware of the sensitive nature of this type of loss, so I promise to be very careful with this information. I will start posting these writings in the next couple of weeks.

Here’s to Choosing Grace and to remembering those with whom we walk daily…

the transitional object

May 5, 2015May 6, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

a few days ago, we had to put our dog of 13 1/2 years to sleep. i had never done it before and was surprised by how peaceful it was…but it also felt so final. there was no doubt about it, bailey was really gone.

before they gave him a sedative, the vet tech gave him a bunch of treats. we had tried earlier in the morning to give him some “chicken meatballs”, but he had refused. in this moment, however, bailey ate up every single treat. he wagged his tail once, then twice, and looked up at her for more.

the vet then gave him the sedative to help him sleep before the final injection would be administered. we were up by his head and he fell into a deep, calm sleep. before the vet gave him the last shot, i looked down at the blanket and right next to him were a couple of heart-shaped kibble crumbs. i pointed them out to everyone in the room and we all marveled at the beauty of the moment.

bailey was full of love.

he was sound asleep as we assured him over and over again that he was such a good boy and that we loved him so much. bailey’s face was propped up gently on his paw and he started snoring loudly…three times…and then there was just silence. we kneeled down by him for a while and then kissed our sweet pal goodbye. before we left, we covered him with the blanket, but not before i grabbed one of the hearts and stuck it in my bag. my transitional object.

the transitional object. i had never heard of this term before my mom mentioned it to me a few years ago…

she had left roscoe’s dog run (basically a cord and a leash that ran from the deck to the back yard) up several years after he had died. we didn’t give it much thought until her deck was converted into a wheelchair accessible ramp and the dog run became more of a hazard as people were clotheslined walking up to her back door. when asked if we could just take it down for a little while when we were having guests over, she said, “it’s my ‘transitional object’, please leave it alone!” when i thought about the amount of loss she had faced recently, it made sense and i didn’t gripe about it anymore.

when she was ready, she eventually let someone take it down.

a few weeks ago, when we were moving things out of her house, my husband texted to see if he should transfer the one can of tab from her fridge to our cooler. anyone who knew my mom, knew her by her tab.

although she hadn’t had a tab in a few years, keeping it in her fridge was another transitional object…something that made her feel more connected to the person she was before she became so sick with scleroderma. the tab is now my transitional object for her. (oh, and the forty storage bins that are stashed away in a friend’s garage and our closet, but we’ll get to that later).

it’s made me think about some of the transitional objects i have had over the years…

our friend, carrie…her words are my transitional object. the words she wrote to her children at her own funeral service about being kind and also her words that she left in a voicemail that i just haven’t brought myself to delete…

my brother, brian…i wore his sports watch until the battery died and his red sox baseball cap through a bunch of 5k’s…it made me feel like he was always with me…

my step-father, john…there are many because his death blindsided me and probably changed me the most. i have kept emails from him when he was helping us choose paint colors and work through house projects, the clothes he was wearing when his body was recovered and his suicide note. for me, these transitional objects help me stay connected to him, as well as try to work through my brother’s suicide.

our friend, ann…i kept the postcard she had sent from her summer vacation just before she died the summer of 1983. it stayed folded up in my pocket and then placed in a book and then eventually i lost track of it…

the same thing happened with the tree-top fairy from my babysitter, sheila. it was always close to me and then it was just gone…

i guess over time you really are able to let go, but for now, i will hold onto many objects, including a heart-shaped kibble crumb and a can of tab…which i know people will think is absolutely crazy, but for some reason it helps. maybe i am more like my mom than i thought…