So...I haven't actively written for this blog in a while. I have another blog (Sarcastic Thoughts on the Late Train) that sees more action, but this side is for my personal stuff.
Here's something big and personal:
My dad died on Tuesday, August 19, 2014.
He wasn't supposed to die, at least not in my opinion. Clearly, God had a different plan than the rest of us. It was completely sudden and unexpected. He wasn't sick. He was extremely healthy, in fact. When he turned 50, he started going to the doctor often. During one of his checkups, they found pre-cancerous cells that could have led to prostate cancer. Instead, he took aggressive action and beat the cancer before it could beat him. This last Christmas, he shared with the entire family that he was 100% clear of any cancer cells, and his doctor told him he was very healthy for a man his age.
So, then what the what?!? How does a healthy man, only 60 years old, just die? The electricity went out in his heart. It's that simple - cardiac arrest. According to the American Heart Association, "Cardiac arrest is caused when the heart's electrical system malfunctions." It is not the same as a heart attack...he didn't have heart disease.
The medical professionals said he didn't suffer. Okay. Fine. But I still am having a very hard time understanding this. I've used a private journal to write out the memories and the feelings, but now I am ready to announce to the blogging world that my dad died. And I am angry about it. I just don't get it. I'm not ready for my dad to gone. I wasn't finished with him.
I'm not ready to share all those other details about the visitation, seeing him for the first time, the funeral, or the other things that have happened since the moment I found out he died...maybe in time.
For now, the world just should know, James "Jim" Harvey Higham, age 60, died at home the afternoon of August 19, 2014. He is survived by his wife, his four children, three children-in-law, and five grandchildren, as well as two sisters, three brothers-in-law, one sister-in-law, two nieces, and one nephew. He is preceded in death by his parents and two grandchildren.
We all miss him greatly.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Monday, August 2, 2010
If You Really Knew Me
I've been watching the MTV show "If You Really Knew Me." Here is part of the description from the Web site:
"Like a reality version of The Breakfast Club, each episode of If You Really Knew Me takes place at a different high school, and follows five students from different cliques as they go through the life-changing experience of Challenge Day, a one-day program that breaks down the walls between cliques, and completely changes the way students view their school and each other. Watch the amazing transformation each week as new students open up for the first time and try to change by revealing who they really are, behind the cliques and the labels. Is it possible to change your life, and maybe even your high school, in one day? These students are going to find out... on If You Really Knew Me."
I've seen the first two episodes, and I am digging it. It makes me nostalgic, it makes me sad, it gives me hope, and it gives me worry.
If something like this had happened in my high school, I am not sure what the outcome would have been. I don't know what clique I would have been assigned to...I called myself a "floater." I could talk to anyone, but at the same time I didn't do a lot of socializing outside of school.
Just for giggles, I thought it would be interested to pose the challenge to you...I'll start.
If you really knew me, you would know that I always thought I was fat in high school. Only after seeing pictures of myself years later did I realize that I was a very healthy size.
If you really knew me, you would know that I always wanted to hang out with people after school and on the weekends but never felt like I belonged.
If you really knew me, you would know that I was excited to go to my ten-year reunion because I was still not married, I had no kids, and I was living 8 hours away...I was excited because I had broken any mold of what people thought I should be.
If you really knew me, you would know that after the ten-year reunion, I felt just as un-cool and un-popular as I did in high school.
What would I really know about you?
"Like a reality version of The Breakfast Club, each episode of If You Really Knew Me takes place at a different high school, and follows five students from different cliques as they go through the life-changing experience of Challenge Day, a one-day program that breaks down the walls between cliques, and completely changes the way students view their school and each other. Watch the amazing transformation each week as new students open up for the first time and try to change by revealing who they really are, behind the cliques and the labels. Is it possible to change your life, and maybe even your high school, in one day? These students are going to find out... on If You Really Knew Me."
I've seen the first two episodes, and I am digging it. It makes me nostalgic, it makes me sad, it gives me hope, and it gives me worry.
If something like this had happened in my high school, I am not sure what the outcome would have been. I don't know what clique I would have been assigned to...I called myself a "floater." I could talk to anyone, but at the same time I didn't do a lot of socializing outside of school.
Just for giggles, I thought it would be interested to pose the challenge to you...I'll start.
If you really knew me, you would know that I always thought I was fat in high school. Only after seeing pictures of myself years later did I realize that I was a very healthy size.
If you really knew me, you would know that I always wanted to hang out with people after school and on the weekends but never felt like I belonged.
If you really knew me, you would know that I was excited to go to my ten-year reunion because I was still not married, I had no kids, and I was living 8 hours away...I was excited because I had broken any mold of what people thought I should be.
If you really knew me, you would know that after the ten-year reunion, I felt just as un-cool and un-popular as I did in high school.
What would I really know about you?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Recurring Nightmares
When I was young I had a recurring nightmare...it lasted for many years, and occasionally it will pop up again. It never changes. I can never keep it going, I can never stop it before it ends, and I can never manipulate it in any way.
That is different than some other recurring dreams I have. I have been able to start a dream again the night after the initial sequence so I can see the outcome. I can change somethings in a dream when I have it a second time. I dream in color. I can read in my dreams. I can have different points of view in my dreams. Some people claim those things are not possible. I disagree.
My childhood recurring nightmare goes a little something like this:
My family is going camping. I am very young...only my parents and my middle sister and I are in the dream, so my brother and youngest sister were not yet born. We have the tent set up, a campfire ready to go, and fishing poles set out. My dad has a conversation with the troll who lives in the zip-up window in the tent. 
Yep. A troll...we live amicably with the troll. My dad reminds him that the rule is, "We do not bother you; you do not bother us." Mom is staying behind to organize things and get the campfire started so that when Dad, Teresa, and I get back from fishing we can cook up the catch.
When the three of us traipse back to the campsite, I notice something weird. Mom is picking up some bread, and she has a blank expression with glassy eyes. I ask, "What's wrong?" "Nothing, Dear. Everything is fine. Just fine," she replies while slowly putting the bread on a paper plate and reaching for the butter knife. I freak out when I realize that is no butter knife. That is the troll from the tent window! He has transformed himself into the butter knife and put Mom in a trance! I scream it at the top of my lungs, "That is not a knife Mommy! That is the troll! Don't touch it!" She replies, "Everything is fine Dear. Nothing to worry about," in a sing-songy manner. She reaches for the knife, and I WAKE UP!Every time. That is the point at which I am jerked awake. I have tried a hundred times to see the rest of the dream, to change the outcome, to get rid of the troll... he haunts me, and I have no idea where that dream came from.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Sisters
Today's storm has led my brain into one of those train-of-consciousness-type nostalgia sessions...
It begins with my trip to the Wilton Tent Sale with my baby sister Deanna last weekend...we had breakfast with our husbands, her daughter, and our brother's daughter at McDonald's. She and I walked over to the tent sale while the boys took the girls to the park. We had such a great time walking up and down the aisles and picking out things we loved or needed or really, really wanted...It was great to spend time with my sister in that way: as adults, as friends, with such a relaxed agenda.
As we approached checkout, the bottom fell out of the sky. It was pouring, and we had left the car at McDonald's--all the way across the big Wilton parking lot...so, we wrapped up our purchases in the big plastic garbage bags they gave us, and we started out. We didn't run. We didn't scream. We laughed. We laughed HARD. We stomped in a couple of puddles. We smiled so big it hurt our faces. We had a great time walking in the rain, arm in arm, as sisters and friends. We felt like kids again. We both said aloud how lucky we felt to be spending this time together since we are so far apart geographically.
A turn in my memory lane led me to hunkering down in the middle hallway of my parents' home during a heavy storm with my middle sister Teresa when we were teenagers. We were at home alone, and when the storm started we completely freaked out. We thought for sure a tornado was going to come rip the house off the foundation and send us flying. We were holding hands, and we had written a "if you find us" note (I have never claimed to NOT be dramatic...). We can laugh about it now, but it was one of the few times --ever-- that I've spent that kind of quality time with Teresa.
Deanna and I were fast friends as children. She is almost six years younger than me, and she clung onto me with all her might as a kid. We hit a rough patch when I left for college, wide-eyed and ready to meet the world head-on. She felt abandoned, and I had no idea...years later, as she was starting her marriage and I was settling into Chicago as my long-term home, we grew closer again. She's my first best friend. I cherish her, and I am so happy that we can still laugh in the rain together.
Teresa and I were constant competitors. She is almost two years younger than me, and she was always held up to a standard by others that I didn't even know I had set...I ached for her to appreciate the things I did as the older sister. I wanted to be friends with her and be able to hang out with her. She wanted little to nothing to do with me. I tried so hard for so very long to develop a relationship with her. I still put forth an effort, but I know I've given up some hope. I love her dearly, but I feel lost when I try to put into words what our relationship is or should be.
I know other sisters who have long-distance friendships, who have strained relationships, who have come back into the lives of each other, who have not spoken in years... I know of sisters in pain because they cannot be together.
Let me tell you something: Nobody is ever going to know you as well as the sister you grew up with. Nobody else is going to know the perfect thing to say to make it all better and to make it all come crashing down. Nobody else will be able to have an entire conversation with you that nobody else can even begin to comprehend, whether it's facial gestures, nonsensical words, or a specific giggle. Nobody else can make you feel like dirt and just as quickly make you feel like the queen of the universe (or co-queen, anyway).
Love your sisters. If you don't have biological sisters, love your sister-friends.
It begins with my trip to the Wilton Tent Sale with my baby sister Deanna last weekend...we had breakfast with our husbands, her daughter, and our brother's daughter at McDonald's. She and I walked over to the tent sale while the boys took the girls to the park. We had such a great time walking up and down the aisles and picking out things we loved or needed or really, really wanted...It was great to spend time with my sister in that way: as adults, as friends, with such a relaxed agenda.
As we approached checkout, the bottom fell out of the sky. It was pouring, and we had left the car at McDonald's--all the way across the big Wilton parking lot...so, we wrapped up our purchases in the big plastic garbage bags they gave us, and we started out. We didn't run. We didn't scream. We laughed. We laughed HARD. We stomped in a couple of puddles. We smiled so big it hurt our faces. We had a great time walking in the rain, arm in arm, as sisters and friends. We felt like kids again. We both said aloud how lucky we felt to be spending this time together since we are so far apart geographically.
A turn in my memory lane led me to hunkering down in the middle hallway of my parents' home during a heavy storm with my middle sister Teresa when we were teenagers. We were at home alone, and when the storm started we completely freaked out. We thought for sure a tornado was going to come rip the house off the foundation and send us flying. We were holding hands, and we had written a "if you find us" note (I have never claimed to NOT be dramatic...). We can laugh about it now, but it was one of the few times --ever-- that I've spent that kind of quality time with Teresa.
Deanna and I were fast friends as children. She is almost six years younger than me, and she clung onto me with all her might as a kid. We hit a rough patch when I left for college, wide-eyed and ready to meet the world head-on. She felt abandoned, and I had no idea...years later, as she was starting her marriage and I was settling into Chicago as my long-term home, we grew closer again. She's my first best friend. I cherish her, and I am so happy that we can still laugh in the rain together.
Teresa and I were constant competitors. She is almost two years younger than me, and she was always held up to a standard by others that I didn't even know I had set...I ached for her to appreciate the things I did as the older sister. I wanted to be friends with her and be able to hang out with her. She wanted little to nothing to do with me. I tried so hard for so very long to develop a relationship with her. I still put forth an effort, but I know I've given up some hope. I love her dearly, but I feel lost when I try to put into words what our relationship is or should be.
I know other sisters who have long-distance friendships, who have strained relationships, who have come back into the lives of each other, who have not spoken in years... I know of sisters in pain because they cannot be together.
Let me tell you something: Nobody is ever going to know you as well as the sister you grew up with. Nobody else is going to know the perfect thing to say to make it all better and to make it all come crashing down. Nobody else will be able to have an entire conversation with you that nobody else can even begin to comprehend, whether it's facial gestures, nonsensical words, or a specific giggle. Nobody else can make you feel like dirt and just as quickly make you feel like the queen of the universe (or co-queen, anyway).
Love your sisters. If you don't have biological sisters, love your sister-friends.
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