Category Archives: death

Feb4

Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

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Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

Children astound me. This girl amazes me. Everyday.

This morning before school we FaceTimed Big Jake, my brother Travis’ dog. Jake is only about 6 months older than Evelynn. When we lived with my parents and on the east side, she spent a lot of time with him. Travis is putting Jake down today because of how unwell he’s doing. We’ve known this day would come for a while now and it’s finally hit a point where Travis can’t put it off any longer.

Death is a difficult subject to handle and kids can simultaneously amplify the difficulty & break it down into such simple terms. We always tell Evelynn the dead remain within us if we allow them to; are no longer suffering. Sometimes, she will feel the need to want to visit a gravesite to say hi, needing something tangible. She didn’t quite understand an idea that someone was simply gone, she needed an idea that they still exist around us and so I’ve allowed her to create and expand her own view on death and after. 

She has a picture of her great grandmother Goetz & I’ll catch her in her room having a full-blown conversation with great grandma Goetz. Telling her what’s going in her life or that she misses her but is thankful she’s “still here with us.” She has a toy dog that barks when there’s movement nearby and sometimes, we will hear it randomly bark—she’s convinced it’s because of ghosts, specifically her great grandma Goetz. She calls it her proof.

My views with religion and God are tumultuous. You don’t grow up with a brother like Taylor, watching him suffer and smile and not be confused about a greater power. And yet, over the years, my views have simplified. Took me 25 years to grapple with my religious views, but I finally understood them.

Evelynn is 7 and seems to already know where she stands regarding an afterlife. She calls it a new “city.” So, this morning, she told Jake she loves him, goodbye, she will miss him, and that she hopes (no, she knows) he will enjoy his new city and she will see him again one day. 

Jake is an amazing dog. Always very protective of Evelynn while everyone else could basically handle things themselves. When another dog would run at Evelynn to knock her over when she was only 2 years old, Jake would body slam that dog like NOT TODAY SATAN. When Evelynn wanted to visit the llamas on the edge of my parents’ property, Jake would stand guard, barking and making sure she didn’t get too close; he didn’t like them hissing. Jake always allowed Evelynn to treat him like a jungle gym or her personal chair, his patience with her was mind blowing.

So Jake, we love you, goodbye, we will miss you, we hope you enjoy your next city. 

Feb16

Reality Check.

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On his 90th birthday last Sunday, my (step) grandpa attended a memorial service for his daughter; and on Valentine’s Day, my paternal grandpa attended a visitation for his wife of almost 63 years. The following day was her funeral mass and burial. It’s been a week of reality checks and right after a breakup I didn’t see coming nor did I want.

Death is a reality check.

My step aunt passed away from cancer and while I didn’t know her well, let me just say cancer is only for the strong. Even when it feels like a losing battle or like giving up, it is only for the strong. Whether you are the one battling the disease or watching someone battle. You cannot be weak and have cancer. Nobody is weak and has cancer, whether they beat it or not. I firmly believe cancer is only for the strong. The mental and physical hits one takes, their capacity to process—only the strong get cancer.

We grew up rotating between visiting three sets of grandparents every week. We lived with my maternal grandmother until I was ten and then every Sunday we would visit either my maternal grandfather (now deceased), my maternal great grandparents (now deceased), and my paternal grandparents.

After returning home Sunday evening from my step aunt’s memorial service, I got the call that my grandma wasn’t doing well. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and I had made plans for Evelynn and I to go see her Tuesday. She never made it through Monday.

My grandparents didn’t have the best health. I’ve only known my grandmother to be extremely overweight and to make little effort in achieving better health. But oh man could she complain. And with my growing up with a severely disabled brother who is confined to his hospital bed and wheelchair, you can imagine how much her lack of interest in selfcare was difficult for me to process and accept. Not to mention my dedication to my own fitness and healthy eating, and struggles with health and celiac disease. And they knew. My mom guilted my paternal grandparents into eating better when I was pregnant—I wanted them to meet their first great grandchild. I’m sad to say by the time my grandmother passed, she was seeing my daughter more than she was able to see me.

Despite this difference, she was damn proud of me and she was a ferocious woman. She was stubborn as all get out and was all about that girl power. Of nine grandkids, I was one of only two girls. Sometimes, I think she loved the fact that I was a full-time single mom. I think it made her prouder.

My grandmother was the only person who whenever I was dating someone would ask me, “Well, does he make you happy? Are you happy Tiffany?” That’s all she cared about. She might ask other questions about his job or how we met—the gossipy bits of general info everyone always asks—but she always without fail would ask me if I was happy. That was the most important thing to her. And if I was, then it was a, “Well then I’m happy for you and Evelynn.” And if I was single, it was a “Well, I’m proud of you. One day there will be a man good enough for you but never settle.” And then there was my favorite, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Men aren’t worth the trouble of settling.”

Actually, she’s one of two people who would ever consistently ask me this—my step grandpa also asks me this whenever him and my maternal grandma find out I’m seeing someone new or when they meet a new man in my life. My paternal grandmother, though, she would ask me this every time I saw or spoke with her. Every time. Whether I was seeing someone new or not or if it was the same person. All she asked was, “Well are you happy now that you’re living in Grand Rapids?” “Well, are you liking your new job? Are you happy at your job?” “Is Evelynn happy?” All she ever cared about was if Evelynn and I was happy. It was the underlying theme to every question every time I saw her.

And yes, I’ll admit, thinking about all of this immediately after a breakup I didn’t see coming and in a relationship where I felt valued and naturally happy, it’s painful. With death, you realize how little time matters and when lack of time was the key reason I had been given for why he wanted a breakup, it stung and was confusing.

Death is a reality check if nothing else. It makes you think of where you are at in life, where you want to go, what you haven’t done that you thought you would have. Above all, it makes you realize how short life really is. Time is fickle.

I never thought life was a given. In fact, we speak of life not being a given but a gift, yet we act like we have a lifetime ahead of us and we are owed that lifetime. Maybe it’s watching Taylor live a very confined life all these years, but I feel lucky for anything I get to achieve or experience. It’s why I’m so passionate about working out and eating healthy—I’m showing appreciation to my body. I feel lucky to be able to work out daily and breathe in fresh air and wake up in the morning to a new day. I never could be the girl to sit around and binge watch Netflix. I could never be the girl who felt good being winded by stairs. I was the girl who if stairs were making me winded, it meant I was going to up my cardio game in my workouts. If I couldn’t play a full half game of soccer without needing my inhaler, oh man was I on a mission. Asthma might be a diagnosis but it was not about to control me.

I think it’s why I never settle in dating. I think it’s also why I never quite give up. Life is too short to be in a relationship I don’t want, respect, or value; where I don’t feel valued or where I simply know I’m not happy. But life is also too short to not want to experience life with someone else by your side and make memories with and build a life with in the hopes that when we reach 90 years old (fingers crossed), we can look back together and reminisce and be like, damn did we live. The only three questions I ever ask myself when dating: Am I happy? Do they treat me well? Do I like who I am when I’m with them? That’s my criteria.

I find it extremely captivating and beautiful to be able to grow with someone. To have someone who calls you out on your bullshit, expects the best of you and pushes you to grow but also accepts you for you and knows you’re not perfect. It’s an ideal I continue to hold out for.

And it is completely acceptable—encouraged, even—to be selfish in love.

The other day my recent ex made a comment, “I know you want to be in a long-term relationship with someone.” Here’s the thing, I want to be in a long-term relationship with the right person for me. (And yes, I did correct him, too.) I might have a fear of going through life without ever really knowing love and it might hurt like hell when someone doesn’t choose me back but I’m not willing to force it. I’m not willing to force finding it or feeling it. I’m 30 years old and I won’t lie, I thought I’d be married by now—don’t most of us?—but I’m also 30 years old and know who I am, know my worth, and know what makes me happy. I’d say, I’m pretty ahead of the crowd because all that is worth more.

And I have to thank my late grandma for consistently asking me about my happiness over the years (and reminding me not to settle) because it’s a question I’m not only not afraid to ask myself, but I’m also not afraid to answer honestly and make moves to change if needed.

Apr17

I only pray for strength.

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“If all your prayers were answered, would it change the world or just yours?”

I don’t believe in the power of prayer to heal. I believe in its power for strength and acceptance, but as for asking for wellness or to live or to beat something? No. (*snort) No, I’m sorry.

Evelynn was sick last week. Again. She came down with walking pneumonia, which is basically pneumonia but without a fever is how the doctor described it. When someone asked me how she was, they immediately went into the mode of “Did you take her to the doctor? Has she been put on medications? Did you pray for her?” First, I was already annoyed that a near stranger was asking me about my parenting skills when I had already had it taken care of. I don’t need someone checking on me with basic common sense.

Second, I don’t believe in praying for someone to get better.

That is favoritism.

Health might not be a materialistic item but I’m still asking for special favors. I’m asking not for me to have the strength and ability to overcome something on my own (or in this case, Evelynn’s), but for God to grant me health when there are thousands of other sick people on this earth, as well. I’m asking for special treatment.

And I love when it’s a “speedy” recovery people pray for.

I won’t do that. In fact, when people ask for prayers to get better, I move on. Well, first I pray fo something else entirely and then I move on.

I know, I sound cold.

Hear me out.

Taylor is 22 years old. He wasn’t supposed to live past a week, then a year, then two years, then five years, then ten years. Then he wasn’t supposed to make it to be a teenager, then into adulthood. They gave up guessing his life sentence but continued to be amazed by his survival. Damnit, he’s old enough to drink. He has the second largest spinal fusion surgery, beat only by one more vertebrae—yay Taylor (eyeroll). He lives his days in a hospital bed sleeping and watching television. He’s hooked up to oxygen and heart monitors. Somedays he’s constantly being suctioned to remove mucus buildup. He’s never grown out of a diaper and gets sponge baths via the kitchen counter. He’s fed through a g-tube. At one point, he had been put on a ventilator after his spinal fusion surgery, which lead to him now being fed through said g-tube. He’s my height (5’5”) about and half my weight—he’s less than 70lbs. You read that right. Cut my body in half vertically and you have the size of Taylor. Literally.

He’s 22 years old and didn’t celebrate his 21stwith alcohol—it wasn’t an option and not by choice but by total health restrictions. Hell, he doesn’t even get cake.

I don’t pray for Taylor to get better. I used to pray for Taylor to magically walk one day but then I hated the idea that maybe he’d be stealing someone else’s ability to walk. I loved him but hated that idea. I lost my faith in God in high school because I didn’t understand how God could be cruel. I found my faith again years later and it’s not conventional or founded in the church.

It is founded within.

He’s not cruel. Life is just unfair. There are other kids worse off than Taylor. Kids who don’t make it until 22 years old. Kids who don’t have the mental or physical strength to withstand abuse and neglect. Kids who are unloved.

Taylor is very well loved. He smiles. He laughs. He can’t talk but he can communicate.

Taylor is a living miracle.

Taylor is strong.

Strength is what I pray for. The ability to handle the outcome. I think it’s the only thing God can give in abundance, besides love, because it’s requires our own will power.

Yes, I believe God gave us free will. In that free will, he gave us strength. The strength to accept any outcome life throws at us. We have to decide how strong we are going to be. We have to decide what is worth it in life. We decide what is worth losing everything over and what is worth moving on from.

When someone passes away, I pray those they leave behind are strong enough to grieve and make it through. When someone is diagnosed with cancer, I pray they are strong enough to battle the fight; and if their body isn’t physically strong enough, I pray they are mentally strong enough to accept the outcome. When someone needs a transplant, I pray for strength and acceptance because the alternative—to pray for someone else to die in order for them to get that transplant—fucks with my head too much.

Strength and acceptance. Those are the only two things I will ever pray for. I hope you have the strength to accept the life you make for yourself. And if you can’t accept it, I hope you have the strength to change it. I hope you have the strength to rise above. I hope you have the strength to live instead of simply survive. I hope you have the strength to make a life worth living.

Dec4

Death Never Scared Me.

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Death has never scared me. And anyone who has driven in a car with me will tell you the same. I was brought up believing it was natural; how and when we go is, for the most part, out of our control; some people, who we never think deserve the second chance at life, are given a miracle while others, who touched so many people in so many ways, who were the epitome of greatness, are taken too soon. It’s one of life’s greatest tragedies and mysteries. You will swim your head into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey chasing such answers, letting your mind never move on from the whys and hows.

In one week, I lost a young relative I didn’t know as well as I should have and a professor who I attribute 85 percent of my writing skills to—he pushed his students to be vulnerable in their writing, to ask themselves the hard questions of why they make certain choices in their style, diction, format, tone, etc. He was always so quick to write a recommendation letter for me and it was his comment regarding me dropping out of the Written Communication M.A. program this fall—it happened with his first M.A. program of study, too—that lead me to be entirely okay with my decision.

I try not to ask myself why; why we lose some too early in life and why others spend a lifetime suffering. I have to believe there is an afterlife of peace—I refuse to believe that after Taylor has spent his life suffering, he will suffer after death as well. Life can’t be that cruel.

No, death has never scared me…until Evelynn came along. Then everything changed. Even my driving. I don’t tailgate as bad as I used to—though, that may also be because I’m no longer in a rusty truck (this WILL change next year; I need a truck, yesterday). I have this insurmountable fear that Evelynn could be taken from the only other people she really knows, her grandparents, losing her entire home in the event of my death. It gives me hives, the possibility. My jaw clenches, my throat tightens, my body becomes rigid. The very idea makes me nauseas.

She’s a girl of routine. She likes her morning breakfast in Taylor’s room watching television with him. She likes her movie before bed in my room. When she wakes up in the night, she scurries into grandma and papa’s room. She starts her days off with juice and then it’s water for the remainder of the day (she doesn’t like pop and carbonation, thank god). She has a strict gluten free diet that most people simply don’t understand. She’s bossy when it comes to Taylor’s needs—heart or oxygen monitor going off, his show is over and needs a new one.

Then let’s not forget every parent’s fear: growing up without an advocate. Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind, every decision. Who and when I date, my work ethic and career choice, the car I drive and my choice in purchase, the routes I take, my decision to stay at home despite the blow to my independence.

Then there’s more: will she remember me? Will she know my love for her is unbreakable and everlasting? That simply the sight of her fills me with such pride and light? They say there’s nothing greater than a mother’s love, I can believe it.

Yes, death itself has never scared me. It still doesn’t, for the most part. It’s the impact on Evelynn that I fear.