Honor

I am one of ten classmates on our tenth reunion committee and we are making calls and emailing our classmates to encourage attendance at Reunion and to ask them to make a donation in honor of our 4 years spent together at 28 Westhampton Way. I should be a pro at fundraising and encouraging attendance at reunion because I have been raising funds for Mike's scholarship since May and am proudest Spider you will ever meet, so without a doubt, I'll be back on campus and would love to see all of my classmates as well.

If I'm really honest, I went back for our 5 year reunion and didn't have the best time.  The University has completely revamped the way reunions are run, and I mean I know I am on the committee, but y'all, it is going to be FANTASTIC!  If you are a UR'04 Spider, you should be super excited to come!

As I set down the phone, I got to thinking about what it means to honor.  To me, it means a couple of things.

• You are acknowledging what your time on campus meant to you.  Maybe you met your spouse, forged indelible friendships, acquired the skills and knowledge that have contributed to your success today or just had some epic parties at The Row (I hope The Row is not all UR meant to you, but whatever it takes!)

• A donation, no matter the size, is a way to ensure future Spiders are able to have those same experiences that were so memorable to you.  Or, dare I say, your gift could be allowing them to have an even better experience.  Either way, past, present and future Spiders all share a common experience and that wouldn't be possible without the help of those that have gone before us. 

One of the reasons I wanted to establish the scholarship fund for Mike was to honor his life and the incredible impact he had on our campus.  He would want to help future Spiders share in the academic and extracurricular experiences and friendships he held so dear. With your help, we can do our part to impact the next generation of Spiders for years to come.  Right now, legally I am not allowed to give a lot of specific details about the scholarship, but I will say that it will not be a one-and-done type deal.  While the fundraising campaign will end on May 8, 2014, the funds will be given for years to come.  It will impact more than just one Spider.

So, as you think back on your time on campus, as you think back to your friendships/classmates that/who may have contributed to those fond memories, consider giving to University of Richmond and specifically, the Mike Clements Memorial Fund. Your donation will get you a ticket to the party in the Greek Theatre on May 30 (if you are Class of 2004). And you should know, the University makes me aware of your generosity, but does not divulge the amount of your contribution.  As far as I am concerned, every dollar counts and I am just so thankful you would be a part of something so special.

If you'd like to help, go to www.givenow.richmond.edu, select "Other" and type in Mike Clements Memorial Fund.  All of the donations are tax deductible. If you've already donated, THANK YOU doesn't seem like an adequate expression of my gratitude.  We currently have a little over $15,000 thanks to you. 

Honor your time.  Honor your classmate/friend, Mike.  And, of course, GO SPIDERS!

WE ARE UR.

  

The First Time

Yesterday was a difficult day.  My parents and I drove up to Washington, PA to attend Jim’s (Dude’s dad) funeral.  Jim passed away on Saturday, November 9, after a long but well fought battle with Alzheimer’s.  I remember the day I learned that Jim had Alzheimer’s.  I remember exactly where I was (and what Dude was wearing – strange).  He and I decided that we would go check out this new cupcake place that had just opened up by me.  We had just had a fun night with our friends in DC, but as we sat across from each other munching on our cupcakes, his face got long and the conversation turned very serious.  The fun that we’d just experienced was miles away.

“My dad has Alzheimer’s.  We have to close the practice. “

“What?!  Your dad is 55.  What the heck does that even mean?!”

“I don’t know, Jess, but it’s bad.  It’s going to be bad.”

In that moment, neither of us understood the impact Jim’s illness would have on the family, and on Dude, in particular. In the succeeding years as Jim’s illness progressed, I was excited when Jim still remembered who I was and was touched by the fact that Dude visited his dad in the nursing home as often as possible, lighting up as he would tell me about the moments he shared with him each time.  We both understood the importance of constant contact with Jim and I’d encourage Dude that, no matter the circumstances, that contact was essential.  He agreed.  The last email Dude ever sent to me contained a photo of his dad at Falling Water, an outing the two of them shared just shortly before Dude died.  I remember the excitement in Dude’s voice as he recalled the fun they had visiting that landmark and then he exclaimed, “I’ll email the picture I took!”  He was close to his dad.  And, as Jim’s illness claimed more and more of his mind -- but not his spirit, sense of humor or faith – Dude struggled, too.

I always knew I would attend Jim’s funeral.  I had never imagined attending it without Dude.

As I drove up yesterday, I anticipated things.  I looked forward to seeing all of the family.  I didn’t think the funeral would be as hard on me, but it was incredibly difficult.  Not only was it the first time I was attending a family function without Dude, Dude and his dad were so much alike that as I listened to the eulogies, I felt like they were talking about Dude.  Technically, Dude’s funeral was the first family function without Dude, but I was in such shock, I didn’t remember my name and can’t really recall one detail of that whole day.  This time, I was alert and it was painful.  Really painful.  I cried for his mom and brothers.  I cried because I always thought Jim would make the best grandfather and he didn’t get that opportunity.  I cried looking at photos of Dude when he was little and remembered the stories Jim would share.  I cried because as much as Jim was not my father, he was a part of my life for 12 years, I traveled this long road with Dude and now it was over.  I cried because the two of them were reunited in heaven.

 Dude’s family has always been welcoming to me, but they’ve been even more loving and supportive in the wake of his death.  It was wonderful to spend time with all of those with whom I was familiar and to meet a few I hadn’t met.  This time I ate my whole lunch – at Dude’s funeral, I didn’t touch it – and the reception was full of love and laughter and
reminiscing.

Then it got hard again.  Ava asked if I wanted to go see Dude.  Of course I did!  I tell her at least once a month that I need to come up and see him.  Yesterday was the day.  The first time I would get to see Dude’s grave. I expected pain that would split me in two to creep into my heart.  I even asked if I needed to stop on the way to get a bottle of wine and a bucket of Sarris chocolate to make it through this experience.

As we drove up to the cemetery, we passed his high school.  At Trinity High School, they are named the “Hillers” because their school sits on a hill.  And, Dude was King of the Hill – class president, prom king, you name it.  Just past his school, we approached these beautiful gardens that held tombstone after tombstone.  We found the undertaker’s house and went in to find out exactly where Dude was.  He highlighted a map and off we went.  The mausoleums were right by a lake – just a beautiful spot.  As we were getting out of the car, we looked up, and this graceful deer ran right in front of us.  I reached for my phone to take a photo and the deer was gone.  The sun shone down, and despite what the thermometer said, it did not feel cold.

I walked up to the first mausoleum and opened the door.  There were walls of marble slots with names and birth and death dates.  My parents and I looked and looked and didn’t see Dude.  This was the one the undertaker said he was in, but we couldn’t find him.  We went inside the little room contained within the big building and looked.  No Dude.  We went in the building next door.  Again, we searched and searched to no avail.  There were a bunch of chairs in the middle of the room, so I sat down and pivoted to try to get a better look.  Frustrated, I called Ava, but she didn’t answer.  Back to the other building we went to look again.  This time in the little room, we find a note someone left and family photos of him and a candle with his name, but where on earth were his ashes?!  Now, I am getting really mad and Dad offers to go back to the undertaker’s house to ask again.  He does, and comes back and says Dude is up high.  We look and look.  No Dude.  At this point, I sink into the chair tucked in the corner leaning up against what look to be empty graves because there are no names on them. I yell “Dude, where ARE you?” and just relax my hand on one of them and continue to look.  About 30 seconds later, the door opens.  It is the undertaker.  He runs in saying that he had totally forgotten that he just moved Dude into a bigger grave last night and has yet to put his name back on the grave because he is about to put his dad in and will put both names on at the same time. 

“Where is he? I asked. 

“Right where your hand is”, said the undertaker.    

 It was a very difficult, but very special day. 

Make that dash count!

I was once told that the dates on your tombstone are exactly that.  Two days.  It's the dash that counts.  The dash is when you were really living.  Lately, I've been reminded to make the best of that dash. After I returned home from London, I went to the DVR to catch up on the Cory Monteith/Finn tribute episode of "Glee".  It's a good thing I watched it alone because I pretty much sobbed through the entire episode.  From start to finish, tears didn't just stream down my face.  It was an all out ugly cry.  I kept watching even though at every turn, I was reminded of Dude's death.  I was brought back to those early days.  To the days when nobody hid their tears, and many spent hours trying to comfort me, his mom and brothers, and all of us most affected by the tragedy.  I don't remember much about the episode, but something "Kurt" said hit me hard.  I will paraphrase because I don't remember it exactly. 

"People want to know how Finn died.  I don't care how he died.  That's not what matters.  That was one day in his entire life.  I care about how he lived."

The quote struck me.  In the early days and months after Dude's death, I met with many of his friends.  Some were my friends too, and some I'd not met before or would only consider an acquaintance. All of them wanted to know one thing.  What happened.  How did a man full of such life and energy give up on what he would have once deemed a great adventure?! I understood why everyone asked this question yet I didn't want to answer it.  I was in the trenches for all of the ups and downs, so of course, I could have provided an answer.  Do I truly know the real answer?  Probably not, but I know enough to provide something that would suffice.  Yet I'd always redirect the question.  I'd shy away from answering not only because I wanted to protect Dude, but because to answer the question would be to tell them of a man they did not know.  See, Dude was not Dude when he died.  As one of his brothers said, "he got lost and forgot who he was."  I could recall those last few months.  I could discuss the transformation I saw in him.  The hopes.  The fears.  The good. The bad. The ugly.  But, it would not be an accurate description of the man they knew.  The man who had touched their lives.  So, in response to the question of "What happened?", I'd politely say focus on the man you called your friend.  Focus on what you loved most about him and how he made you feel.  Focus on what he did that touched you.  Focus on the lessons you learned from him.  Focus on how he lived.  Not how he died.  It is in this way that Dude's spirit is kept alive in our hearts.  It is in this way that we carry the best of him with us and "introduce" him to those who sadly did not have the opportunity to meet him.  I'm sure most of the people I met with may not have been satisfied with that answer.  They felt that knowing the details of his illness, his downward spiral that ultimately lead to this death would help them heal.  Maybe I did them a disservice by not going into all of the tragic details.  If so, I'm sorry.  But, his death was one day.  The last thing I want is for people to remember him for how he died.  Very few people want to be remembered for how they died.  It's how you live that matters.  It's the dash that counts!

Tonight, I was once again reminded to make life count.  University of Richmond, where I went to college, is a small school and everyone knows everyone.  Andrew Holter was a couple years younger than I, but he was an opinion editor of The Collegian, our newspaper, and I remember him and his columns well.  They were always funny yet thought-provoking.  Even when Andrew was studying abroad, he took the time to write his columns. Perhaps the most thought provoking thing Andrew wrote came shortly before his accidental death -- he drowned while visiting some friends in Italy. Before his death, Andrew (unknowingly)  wrote,  

"In life, the gains come on slowly, and the losses happen in an instant. Life is tragic. If you're reading this, that means you're alive. Do something with it. You don't want to die without any scars, do you? "

It's the dash that counts!  

Dear Dude: 18 Months Later

Dear Dude,

It is hard to believe that it has been 18 months since you left this earth.  It is a struggle to believe that you are gone at all.  There are still days that it just seems like a horrible nightmare and I'll wake up from it all.  Still nights when I have to listen to your voicemail to fall asleep because I was so used to talking to you before I went to bed.  There are days when I just want to gchat you or call or wait for you to call and say, "Hurry up and get ready.  I'm coming!" 

I imagine it will always be like this to some degree. 

There are days when it seems like you've been gone for so long.  Days when I burst out laughing remembering something you said or did sometime.  Days when the pain is not so sharp; when the longing is not so desperate.  There are days when I feel like I am starting to adjust to all of this.  There are times when I "hear" you say, " I am here. I did not and will not leave you."  There are conversations that begin with "If Mike was here.....or Dude would totally dig that!"

I imagine it will always be like this to some degree, too. 

 So much is different yet so much is the same.  My/our friends continue to surround and support me unconditionally.  Memories of you come flooding in from others in the form of a story, old photos, a donation to your scholarship, or even just saying your name.  I love that they share these things with me.  And, DUDE!  Your scholarship!!  It's hard work, but you totally deserve it.  Everyone has been generous -- my family and friends who have never met you, people you touched on campus or people you knew in other ways.  Please echo my prayer to Jesus that that fund will soar and we will reach our goal by May 8th.  You deserve the best of the best, Dude, and I'll do everything I can to make that happen for you. 

You may be gone, but you are not forgotten.  Ever.  And you are so very loved.

I know it will always be that way.

Love, me

A Prayer for Relief

I've been rather absent from my blog for the last couple months.  That's mostly because I have been trying to stay away from the computer and enjoy the sunshine, time with family and friends, the pool, everything summer has to offer.  I've been trying to look at the lighter side of life even though I feel like life is heavy.

If you didn't know, I am currently in a law suit with LSAC.  That's all I'll say about that because my attorney would probably scold me for discussing the details.  I received the formal complaint that was filed in court the other day and began to read through it.  I got to one point and burst out laughing.  The section where my specific requests are listed is called "Prayer for Relief".

Prayer for Relief, I thought.  Yeah, that sounds about right.  I am in need of a prayer for relief.  

I don't like to whine, but I've had a heavy load lately  Just when I think I'm ahead, I get knocked back a little bit.  I'm not sure why I've had to experience any of the pain of the last year and a half.  Maybe one day I will know.  I might never know.  I have to be OK with it either way.  And, I am thankful for the little ways God shows me that despite all of this, He is still there...

I'm burning the candle at both ends these days.  Dealing with LSAC is a struggle, but if a blind student didn't get accommodations for the LSAT, why should I?!?!?!  Fundraising for Mike's scholarship is hard work.  It's rewarding and he deserves it.  But, it's hard work -- and at times, it just knocks me for a loop.  I can't believe I have a reason to actually do this.  But he deserves it, so I press on.  The weight of grief is not as heavy as it used to be, but it's there.  Moving forward from such a tragedy takes work, too.

God and I need to talk. Two things Dude's family and I have said even since his death are:  God is good - all.the.time & happiness is just around the corner.  I see glimpses, but.... 

 I need a prayer for relief in more than just the legal sense.

Goodness in Grief

Last week marked 15 months since Dude left the world.  Not a day goes by that I do not think about him, what happened, and how this has changed my life – and all of the lives of those who loved him – forever. I/we are different now.  One devastatingly tragic moment resulted in gradual change. 

It used to be that the physical and emotional pain was palpable and constant.  It wouldn’t let up. I thought it would never end.  I literally thought I would die.  I wanted to die.  I would never take my own life, but I didn’t think I’d have to do that.  In my mind, there was no possible way I could survive such a tragedy. The expression “Good grief!” would come to mind and all I could think was there is NOTHING good about grief! (I know that’s not what that expression intends but that’s what I would think.)  

 Now, it is not as bad.  There are certainly horrendous things about grief, especially deep grief.  There are more awful consequences in dealing with the death as a suicide.  It is incomprehensible that Dude would deliberately and intentionally chose to leave the world forever.  He definitely wanted to die, and that is just heartbreaking and tragic and all things horrible.  I’d be fooling myself if I said one day it would make sense.  It won’t, at least not on earth.  I’d be deceiving myself if I said the pain and the emptiness will go away.  It will always be present to some degree.  You can’t just “get over” or recover from the loss of someone you loved so deeply.  He will never meet my husband or my children.  That makes me sad.  But he wants me to be happy.  He wants me to move forward.  Amidst the pain, there is some goodness in grief.

Grief is an excellent teacher.  From the start of this journey, I’ve been advised to live one day at a time.  That is so hard for me.  I am impatient.  I was born 13.5 weeks early.  I like to GO!  But this attitude means I miss things.  It means I rush.  I don’t fully appreciate what is in front of me.  In grief, it is impossible to speed through life.  You.Just.Can’t.  Some days, especially early on, it seems like a huge accomplishment to get dressed. I’ve had to slow down.  I’ve had to spend time with myself. I’ve had to think about what is really important in life.  Who is really important in life.  I’ve learned who I can depend on and who I should probably let go. Those are important lessons.

You gain a new perspective on life.  I know life can change in an instant.  I realize the people who are important are really important.  I want to spend time with them, celebrate them, love them, appreciate them because even in the best of times, they could be gone so quickly.  I don’t take the days or people in my life for granted as much as I used to before this.  The simple things in life have much greater meaning – the beauty of the sunset, the warmth of a sunny day, the gentle breeze that blows through my hair, the snuggles from our dogs are taken in with much deeper gratitude.

There are days that are still hard.  Days when I look around and think I can’t believe this happened!!  I can’t believe he is gone.  He is not gone.  Oh, but he is gone.  There are days when his friends and family and I cry together.  Days when a slight smile is all I can muster.  Days when we nearly bust a gut laughing at a memory Dude left with us.  Days when a big ‘ole grin is plastered on my face after learning that someone else donated to his scholarship.  Someone else remembered him. That is comforting.  This is the “new normal” now. 

I wish that I could have learned these lessons another way.  I wish it wasn’t at the expense of losing Dude. But just as his smile, love and the memories we shared will remain in my heart, so too, will what I have learned from this horrific experience.  I guess there is some goodness in grief.

I love you, Dude, and I miss you every day.

Dumping Diet Coke

Diet Coke and I had a serious relationship for many years.  I don't know how long, but it was a long time.  I loved that silver and red can.  I loved listening to the crack as I pulled back the tab to reveal the liquid goodness.  I loved the bubbles.  The taste.  The fact that I could enjoy that beverage without consuming any calories.  Zero.  It was glorious.

I could sometimes consume two (or three...) a day and not even feel one tinge of guilt....until my mother would witness me consume this beverage.  I must have had a bit of an addiction because I would often make a point not to drink Diet Coke when she was around me.  I'd keep it at my condo or drink it out with friends, but not in my mom's presence.  As I type this, I am thinking that I sound like an alcoholic, but I really was a Diet Coke-aholic.  I would wake up and have one first thing in the morning.  I claimed it was because I wanted the caffeine.  Some people drink coffee.  I drank Diet Coke.  I think the real reason was because I just really enjoyed the taste and needed my "fix" to start the day off right.

My family and I were on vacation in Aruba in April.  We ate every meal together.  Every meal I would get a Diet Coke.  We were at an all inclusive, which means you can have whatever you want food and drink wise whenever you want.  It is a fantastic concept except for the fact that you can gain a lot of weight if you're not careful!  To balance out my ridiculous calorie consumption, I drank Diet Coke.  But remember my mom was with me.  And she loves to get on me about drinking Diet Coke.

"Don't you know that that stuff is known to cause brain tumors?"
"Do you want to die early?"
"They say drinking diet soda makes you actually gain weight."
"No soda is healthy for you, but diet soda is really bad.
"There's something in that soda that makes you hungry" -- My friend from grad school and I used to try to test the "Diet Coke makes you hungrier theory" and sadly, our experiment produced positive results.

Anyway, I had to listen to this every day for a week.  My mom is an elementary school teacher.  That means she will say the same thing three or four different ways if you don't give her the response she wants!  It's annoying.  I got tired of it.  So, on the airplane ride home, I told her I would quit drinking Diet Coke!

I didn't intend to actually do it.  I intended to try to do it.

My boss used to drink at least 4 Diet Cokes a day.  I used to know she was in her office in the morning before I even saw her because I would hear the crack of that silver, red, and black can.  All of the sudden, when I returned from Aruba, I no longer heard the crack.  I asked her if she was still drinking Diet Coke.  Her response was "No, I heard something about how it can make you store fat.  I don't need any help storing fat, so I quit."

"It's only been two days, but I am trying to quit, too.  After what you just told me, true or not, I think I am going to try harder", I said.

Then I started to feel much better.  I hated to admit that I was feeling good thanks to no Diet Coke.  I wasn't as hungry.  And, as time went on, I didn't really miss it.  I was shocked at myself!!

This weekend, I went to the movies and split a drink with a friend.  She got a Diet Coke.  I took one sip and regretted the decision.  I was hoping to embrace the soda like a long lost friend.  But, I didn't want anything to do with it.  It tasted like a science experiment!!

It's been 90 days since I've cracked open a can of Diet Coke.  I quit cold turkey and don't miss it at all. We're done.  Forever.  And, I am not sad.  I feel better than ever.