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…

make me a channel of your peace

April 12, 2015April 13, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ 1 Comment

Last night was the final celebration in the house with the red door.

There were so many highlights, but one of my favorite moments was when we shifted gears from the party to a mass in the living room. “Make Me a Channel of Your Peace” or the Prayer of St. Francis was played on the piano by a family friend at the spur of the moment toward the end of mass.

Although I’ve heard this song a hundred times before, I actually HEARD the words last night.

“Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope.”

My family has known despair. We have also been shown there is so much hope.

Our friends have surrounded us with light and love during the darkest times a family should ever have to face. Our friends have also been there during some of the most beautiful and wonderful times. As crazy and chaotic as it got over the years, our friends have lifted us up and have always been there. And they have shown me that that will never change.

Our six-year-old son has been humming this song all day.

And I cannot wipe the smile off my face.

My heart is at peace.

❤️

Make Me A Channel of Your Peace…

“Make me a channel of your peace.
Where there is hatred let me bring your love.
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord
And where there’s doubt, true faith in you.

Make me a channel of your peace
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope
Where there is darkness, only light
And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

Oh, Master grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.

Oh, Master grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console
To be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.”

brothers and sisters

April 11, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

my facebook newsfeed was flooded with images of families yesterday, as it was “national siblings day”. there were many pictures of brothers and sisters smiling at the camera, and, from the looks of it, all of them seemed to get along all of the time. well…at least that’s what it looks like from the pictures.

but anyone who’s ever had a brother or sister knows that’s not always the case.

in my own family, we were VERY close – in age.

before my 1st birthday, my little sister, julie, was born.

my little sister, bridget, was born before my 2nd birthday.

two weeks after my 3rd birthday, my little brother, brian, was born.

i was two years old when i changed my sibling’s first diaper. started doing laundry when i was eight. i cooked gourmet dinners of elbow macaroni with parmesan cheese and frozen pizzas by time i was nine. i was also disciplining my younger siblings ever since i can remember.

my sisters and brother were born into a family where the dictator (first born with strong leadership skills) took over from the very beginning. it was made worse by the fact that we had a LOT of unsupervised alone time. it was only natural that one of the kids would become the “alpha”.

i look back at some of those memories and wonder – who the hell did i think i was?

when they finally figured out that they could say “no!” to me, i was crushed. we’d fight like cats and dogs (although i should note here that our cat and dogs NEVER fought). after hours of fighting over clothes, food, tv shows, etc., we’d figure something out and rarely hold grudges.

we also had a LOT of laughs, fun holidays complete with silly string and good times with all of our furry pals. when we’d see each other at school, we’d try to pretend not to know each other, but always catch one another’s eye and smile.

no one knows us like our siblings know us.

our siblings shape us.

those first relationships shaped the way i saw the world and connected with other people. and, for that, i am so grateful.

today, we will gather to celebrate YEARS of family and friendship at the house with the red door. it seems appropriate that the gathering is the day after “national siblings day” because today we honor the importance of family – the one you’re born into and the ones you choose.

the sick day

April 10, 2015April 10, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

For the last couple of nights, we have been staying at my mom’s house while we make the final preparations for the big move. Because of the storms last night, I went to bed early next to our six-year-old son who kept asking, “Is it going to thunder again?”

We slept in my mom’s old bedroom and when I woke up in the middle of the night and looked around the room and out into the hallway, I was flooded with memories once again. My sisters, brother and I all spent a lot of time in there when we were little kids, especially if there was a thunderstorm, the occasional bad dream or when we were home sick from school.

The sick day.

It was almost immediately following my mom’s phone call to the school to report my absence and my siblings closing the back door behind them, that I actually started to feel better.

So, with an empty house and endless possibilities, I would get into my mom’s bed, get all snuggly under the covers and turn on the t.v. After HOURS of watching the Price is Right, Press Your Luck (No Whammies!) and a number of soaps, I’d get a little bored.

Right around that time, Mr. Meow would typically walk into the room, jump up on the bed and keep me company.

Me Meow in his natural habitat, someone's bed. — The Tonight Show, starring Mr. Meow

Mr. Meow was the coolest cat and pretty much game for anything. My favorite sick day game was when I would pretend to be Jack Hanna’s assistant on the “Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” and Mr. Meow was a baby panther born at a local zoo. I would be interviewed, show off the baby panther’s latest tricks, and Ed McMahon and I would laugh at all of Johnny’s jokes (“YES!”).

On one of the sick days, I was super restless and tired of playing “The Tonight Show”, so I decided to try my hair cutting skills – on myself. I really wanted to transform my already too short haircut from the mullet I had into something more stylish. Faith, from my favorite soap, Ryan’s Hope, always seemed very put together, so I decided that’s the look I would go for.

Scissors in hand, I stood in front of my mom’s bedroom mirror and started cutting.

Snip. Snip.

Two fuzzy, frizzy balls of hair on either side of my head just behind my ears were gone just like that. My heart started pounding as I started to realize there was no turning back. This haircut did not look like Faith’s. I went downstairs where there was better lighting and tried to “fix” my haircut. Maybe if my bangs were shorter, you wouldn’t notice the back?

Snip. Snip.

I begged my mom to let me stay home from school the next day. “Mom, I still don’t feel well…”. That didn’t work. After work, my mom had gone up to her bedroom to change only to find mullet remants on her dresser and floor. She knew I was feeling just fine.

Sick days were closely monitored for me after that day. I think my siblings learned a thing or two from my mistakes because they were able to miss several days in a row and were perfectly healthy.

I wonder if Mr. Meow and Ryan’s Hope were a part of their sick day too.

the dream

April 9, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ 1 Comment

"Le Mutt", as a I renamed her, "Buffy" — One of my favorite stuffed animals growing up, Le Mutt (aka “Buffy”)

Over the past 20 years, I have had a vivid reoccurring dream about moving out of our family home.

In the dream, I am just a child.

I am sitting on the floor of my old bedroom packing one last box and sobbing while I’m doing it. My room looks exactly like it did when I was growing up. The four walls are covered in the same flowered wallpaper that I tried to cover up with Shawn Cassidy, Scott Baio and Duran Duran posters over the years. The back of my door has the crooked pen marks and dates from my makeshift growth chart. Boxes are stacked up and pushed against the walls.

The contents of this last box are vague, but there’s my “Le Mutt” (Buffy) stuffed animal inside and a basketball trophy at the top of the box that usually catches my eye. The brass girl with the high ponytail and the basketball at the tip of her fingers pokes out of the box, so I cannot close it. Anyway, I don’t want to close it. I’m stalling and I don’t want to leave my room.

The whole time I’m there, I hear voices downstairs. Everyone’s busy and moving. Busy and moving. I ignore them. I am busy too. I am able to ignore the voices and commotion downstairs until they start shouting and their calls becoming more urgent, “BETH! B-E-T-H!!! We have to go! The new owners are here! The new owners are here! They are coming in the front door now! You have to leave NOW!”

And that’s how it ends.

I have had that dream or a slight variation of the dream four times since my mom died. In one of the dreams, I kept the key and went back in because I “forgot” something. The new owners returned home to find me there and I pretended to be checking the furnace because I wanted to make sure it was working properly. (That part cracks me up. I mean, what in the hell do I know about heating and air conditioning?) Anyway, their response was not exactly warm and welcoming and I slowly walked out the door.

Every time I wake up from the dream, I am sad.

The countdown is on and I have pledged that my old bedroom will be the first room packed up before the movers get here, just in case.

Besides, the room is different now. The wallpaper is gone and the walls are painted Navajo White. When we stay at the house, our daughter, Kate, has claimed it as her bedroom. It is no longer mine.

It is the memory of the room that is mine.

When I came back here by myself a few weeks ago to clean, clear out and pack up, I found a very real memory tucked away in the back of one of my mom’s dresser drawers.

She kept a small corner of the wallpaper from my bedroom.

In all of my dreams, I couldn’t have ever imagined this…and I am happy.

just sitting ‘n spinning…

April 6, 2015April 6, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ Leave a comment

A few weeks ago, my former babysitter, Tina, joked that she would bring a sit ‘n spin to the last hurrah at our childhood home.

Ah, the sit ‘n spin…such great memories! The sit ‘n spin was a staple in every home in the 70’s, usually found in the living room, right in front of the t.v.

My siblings and I would spend HOURS on that little contraption. When it was my turn, I would stare down at the blue and yellow stripes and spin so fast, the colors blended together. What a trip! Sometimes I would close my eyes, throw my head back and knock into any sibling or dog in my way. I was like a mini-tornado and loved every minute of it!

A few years ago, I saw one in the basement at a friend’s house and asked if I could try it out. Two notable differences this time around: I got dizzy after the first turn, and 150+ lbs takes a whole LOT of upper body strength!

It was not the same.

Luckily, my babysitters (er, I mean former babysitters) and I have our memories…

Last summer when my mom died, I immediately called and texted friends and family to let them know the sad news.

Then I messaged my babysitters.

I still cannot really explain it, but as I sat in the tiny, crowded airport awaiting my flight back home, I felt a sudden urgency to let them know. And just as they had been there for me when we were all kids, they responded immediately and were there for me again.

I was about 8 years old when my parents got divorced. Within that same year, my mom went back to school to become an R.N. and she also went back to work full-time. Because of her long hours, she relied heavily on neighborhood kids to take care of the four of us. Tina, Erin and Anne were some of our regular babysitters and they were a part of our family.

When I reconnected with Anne and Tina via Facebook a couple of years ago, it felt like we had never lost touch, although it had been many, many years.

It felt like home.

They have memories of things that I only somewhat remember…favorite toys like the “Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop” playdoh set and songs we used to make up and sing together.

"shave and a haircut...two bits" — “shave and a haircut…two bits”

I remember Kiss singing “Beth”, Stu, Kayo, the Christmas tree falling on Brian, Blarney shenanigans, Little Kings’ subs, Round Records and the rock fight incident…just to name a few…

They will probably never realize the influence they had on my life or how safe I felt when they were there. I know that we had the neighborhood reputation as being the “Benda Brats,” and we definitely lived up to the name, but they still showed up for us. Every. Single. Time.

My mom hired them out of necessity because she couldn’t be there. Little did she know that these kind, intelligent, beautiful, funny and accomplished women would be there for me again when she was gone.

Not only there for me, but willing to let me sit ‘n spin…

the bro

April 4, 2015April 4, 2015 ~ lizabethriggs ~ 2 Comments

Our 13-year-old puppy, Bailey, exudes loving kindness. He’s also very cute – it says so right on his latest and greatest t-shirt – “I’m cute”.

Yes, it is a little bizarre for a golden retriever to wear a t-shirt. However, it is even more bizarre that his t-shirt serves as a bra, or as I like to call it: a “bro” (from one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes).

The “bro” became a wardrobe staple for Bailey a few months ago when the vet suggested that he wear a t-shirt because the tumor on his chest had grown so much and needed some support. Because Bailey is a “senior” dog and the tumor has grown between muscle, tendons, and is filled with blood vessels, removing it was just too risky. Providing support and keeping him as comfortable as possible is what we were told to do.

And so we listened to the vet’s advice and followed Bailey’s lead…

The first time Dave and I saw Bailey, we fell in love with the fuzzy little puppy. He came home with us on Christmas Eve – what a gift! Our very first baby, Bailey would lie in my lap as I rubbed his tummy, tickled underneath his chin and cooed, “Who’s a pretty baby?!” We invited friends and family to see our new “baby” and he pretty much captured their hearts too. Despite the uncontrollable sneezing, eyes watering and almost swelling shut, even our friends with terrible allergies still visited and pet him saying, “It’s okay because he’s so, so (ATCHOO!) adorable!”

Bailey taught me that there is joy in the most unexpected, simplest things.

He’s been there for us since the beginning…about 1 year into our marriage. He was the first one to learn that I was pregnant, and the first one to console me when we lost that pregnancy. He was also right there when I learned that I was pregnant with Emma. When I sat on the stairs in surprise, excitement and FEAR, he quickly tried to comfort me. For Bailey, consoling and comforting meant nudging my arm with his cold, wet nose until I finally pet him. My heart rate immediately slowed down.

Bailey taught me the simple, yet important lesson that making someone else feel better when you feel sad, makes you feel better too.

When Emma was born and cried NON-STOP for three months, Bailey stood guard over her bassinet, crib, baby swing and car seat.

I think he felt just as bad as I did that we couldn’t stop her crying. When he wasn’t standing over her, he could be found next to me. We would both look over at the crib and he would gently nudge me with the cold, wet nose.

Bailey taught me that misery really does like company.

When my mom and step-father, “Papa John”, would come over, they would literally run over us to get to Bailey. When we saw them just before our big move to Connecticut, my mom hugged me and sobbed, “Oh honey…I’m going to miss BAILEY so much!” The last time she visited and I was taking pictures, Mom asked if her “granddog” Bailey could be next to her in the picture. In fact, he already was as he didn’t leave her side that entire visit, which was the last time any of us ever saw her again.

This was taken the day AFTER Kate's First Communion when we realized we forgot to take one with Grandma the day before! — The day AFTER Kate’s First Communion when we realized we forgot to take one with Grandma the day before. Kate was such a good sport to get back in the dress and wear the wilted headpiece.

Bailey taught me the importance of being loyal and present.

These days, Bailey’s a little slow…slow to get up, slow to hear things…just slow. No doubt about it, it’s just plain hard to get old. When he is up, he walks around looking like he’s had a partial boob job, which is funny but a little sad too. He still walks around the kitchen while his little sister, Jane, balances dog toys on his head. He lets her go first when we open the door to let them both outside. Bailey now refuses to eat unless there a “chicken meatball” to spice up his dry food. Just like his “Uncle” Blarney did many years ago, he also pretends to shiver to get extra treats and it works every time too. (I mean, have you ever seen a dog shiver with chattering teeth and all? It’s sooooo cute!) The vet just smiled when I told him and agreed that he’s earned every single treat.

It’s no surprise that the tumor is right over his heart and it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Because Bailey has always had the biggest heart.

So, we continue to keep each other as comfortable as possible and the “bro” supports us all.

choosing grace

while i have a choice, i am choosing grace