Grandchildren. . .

Number seven is coming 

February 29, 2012

Congratulations to Katie & Anthony

(nothing wrong with announcing it again, this time bigger!!!)

AND NUMBER. . .

congratulations to 

Farrah & Bradden, 

(yep, you heard me right)

 June 19, 2012

Bridges. . .

The hardest thing in life to know 

is which bridge to take and which bridge to burn.

My Accomplishment

Here is what I have been working on: 

Frontier Mine No. 1 Disaster

On 14 August 1923, 137 men entered the mine, 38 came home.  Ninety-nine men were killed that morning about an hour after they first entered the mine.  In the small communities of Frontier and Kemmerer, those 99 men represented 4% of the population.

I did two research papers on the accident when I attended Western Wyoming Community College, and since I have had so much background information about the accident I thought a blog was a great way to share the information so that their descendants would be able to know what happened.

I believe that it is not only a genealogical tool, but also a historical tool about early coal mining in Wyoming.  Go check it out and leave a comment!

Did I really do that?

Yep, I did and it's okay.

Sometimes on this walk down widowhood road you just have to do what you want. 

Sometimes you just don't have the energy or the strength to endure one more drive home alone tears streaming down your face because although being with everyone is great, after it's over the big gaping hole of emptiness reminds you how much you miss him.

Sometimes dinner and spending time with family is just not worth walking into a dark empty house.
Crawling into a cold empty bed,
and knowing he'll never hold you again.

Sometimes it's not about the food, it IS about avoiding the pain.

Thank you family for understanding
because
IT IS OKAY!

(P.S. If the shoe was on the other foot, I imagine with the life insurance he would have bought himself a brand new four wheeler, what better way to remember your deceased wife, and he would be out on the San Rafeal swell alone, and. . . you all would be okay with that.)

The giver is really the biggest receiver

So yesterday was the Remster's big number 5 birthday.  I gave him some cash and a coupon for the Chinese Buffet, his favorite place to eat.  I figured that we would go and shop for a gift and then go out to lunch.

At first I was going to take him out before his birthday, because who wants to wait for their present? 

Then as it got closer I realized that  it was almost torture to get a birthday present and then not get to play with it. 

So I settled on cash. 

Last night on the way to his house, I felt kind of guilty, I thought how lame.  Just cash and a promise to go get a birthday present, maybe not such a good idea.

And
then
he opened it,
and in his five years of wisdom and with great delight he exclaimed:

from here

"It's thousands of dollars! ! !"

(The bigger gift, squashing grandma's insecurities!  Thank you my little five-year-old!)

 

Guess What

from here

Eight is Great

and 

better than seven!!!

Stayed tuned.  

To find out why!  

More details to come!

It’s all an attitude of gratitude

I am thankful for my family, blessings, friends, and my testimony.

As I have listened and read others “thankful” lists, I get crazy-twisted when I read or hear, “I am thankful for trials.” 

Really?

Seriously?

Then there are those who profess, “I pray for trials so I may grow.”

Really?

Seriously?

My last seven-year-trial has been the death of Joe and I AM NOT grateful for this trial. 

I am not grateful that:

I crawl into an empty bed every night

Wake up alone every morning

When my grandchildren visit grandpa, they go to the cemetery

None, not one single grandchild will ever go fishing with Joe

Everyday I cry because I miss him so much

I have to go to the temple alone—and, he’s not waiting in the celestial room

I go to church alone

I celebrate my anniversary alone

I have had to learn how to fix a sprinkler system

I know how to move heavy things

I know how to use all the power tools I own

I can back up the RV into a parking spot

I have to keep his memory alive or  people will forget him

I have to deal with family, financial and world problems alone

So, choose your words wisely, ARE you really grateful for your trials, or you just haven’t got the big one yet?

(PS:  even if I choose to look at the "glass half full" it 's still the same--half empty!)

A Death that is 100% Preventable...

...the cancer community it wishes it had that rate!

People raise hundreds of thousands of dollars every year for cancer prevention and research.  They run, walk, and eat yogurt, while all the proceeds go to cancer.  Great strides have been made in the cure, and I am grateful.  I am grateful for my friends and family who have survived cancer.  I am happy that they have survived and been cured.  So glad for cancer treatment and cancer research

However, isn’t it ironic how much time and money go into finding a cure for cancer and yet there IS a cure for DUI vehicular homicide.

That is beer all over the road and the drunk's truck in the background

100% preventable.  No early detection; no tests or exams; no signs or symptoms to watch for; no family history no predisposition.

Ironic isn’t it that we as a nation and community fight so hard to win the battle against cancer, and yet, where is the fight against drunks and drunk driving?  

Drunk driving will affect 1 in 3 of us. (source)

Visit MADD here.

Tagalong:

one that persistently and often annoyingly follows the lead of another.

Yep, after 7 years I feel persistent and yep, I find it very annoying.  

 By default, I am the definition of “tag-a-long”.  I don’t set out to be a tagalong, I don’t fantasize how to be a tagalong.  I don’t want to be a tag along.  

 It’s my position in society by default.

At Thanksgiving dinner, family get-togethers, dinner with friends, weddings, restaurants, movies, vacations and all other social activities:  I either go “stag” or I “tagalong.”

Over the past seven years, it has begun to chip at the strength I am able to muster.

I find it more difficult every year that passes to continue to motivate myself to go stag or tagalong.

I cannot do it anymore.  I am tired.  Too tired to walk into one more room, situation, meeting, or business alone.  I am tired of meeting people by myself and then having to explain; being discriminated by the carpool lane; I am exhausted of standing in line alone and I am tired of sitting alone.  I am tired of the lonely ride home to an empty house.

I am annoyed that the world continues to live and move forward, while I, once again, just tag along.

But most of all I am tired of PRETENDING I am okay with being alone.

I am not.

Update on Anthony

Anthony's appendix burst a couple of weeks ago and he ended up going to the hospital last Monday.  They thought it was kidney stones~guess he had choice words for me and Dad...

When they realized it was his appendix they wanted him on antibiotics before they would operate.

picture from here

He was operated on Tuesday, no small incisions for him, they needed to clean out the infection and leave a drain.  Suddenly he is all compassion for my  c-section birth I gave him...

I drove up Wednesday, he was very sore.  He doesn't quit talking when he is on pain medication and he holds still.  Miracle!!!

Friday they released him from the hospital.

I was curious as to why he didn't feel the pain in his gut and react sooner.  After discussing this with him, he explained that he thought it was the usual gut problems he received while in Honduras on his mission.

So, nope he cannot be in charge of determining when Katie or the new little boy goes to the doctor!!!

Get well son, I miss your bouncing!!!
(can't believe I just wrote that)

Addiction

Hi, my name is Janet and

picture from here

I am addicted to my

Ipad!

• It sleeps next to me

• It adapts to my mood. 

If I am:
happy--it keeps me happy
sick—it soothes me by taking my mind off of my affliction
lonely—it helps me reach out to others through FaceBook, emails, blogs, & FaceTime
sad—it can brighten my mood by watching YouTube, or reading uplifting things
grieving—I can read and search about grief to know I am not alone
bored—it entertains me--Yea Netflix!!!
perplexed—I can instantly Google and answer any question I have
ornery--I can read my scriptures or listen to hymns!
creative--I can use paint on my pictures or I can list my ideas

• I love to read on it:

I don’t need to worry about lighting, because it adapts.
I don’t need to worry about glasses because it adjusts.
I don’t need to carry a book with me; it’s self contained with several choices!
Its my all-in-one:  my scriptures, magazines, notebook, journal, phone book, music, and link to news.

• New purse, it has to fit the Ipad

Yep, yes-sireee,
I am addicted, and
nope, no-sireee,
I am not ready to give it up!


Disclaimer:  Nope, I am not getting paid for this endorsement!  ~I just love it~



Deathaversary

Every year 'bout this time I ponder and remember.

I ponder about what the last hours of his life were like.  (I'm still missing about an hour)  Did he know, or suspect.  What was his final thought?

And

I remember that morning as if it was yesterday.
Ironic,  I forget so many things on a daily basis, but the only day I want to forget, my memory is crystal clear!

So, the following post is what I lived that day

Seven Years Ago Today. . .

The phone, the doorbell, the knocking--no rather the pounding on the door.

Blindly I navigate to the phone. The noise--it's so irritating, all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep.

Once I find the talk button on the phone, I say, "hello" the last words I ever speak in my normal world.

"Janet, this is Joan, come and answer the door." My head clearing, it's dark outside; Joe's not home. I freeze on the third stair from the bottom, the phone and my hands drop to my side, and in my head I hear, "you are a widow".

SUDDENLY, adrenaline shots through me. I AM awake.  Many thoughts crowd my head.

• my poor children
• my grand babies
• how will I pay the bills
• I can't have a funeral--the house is in the destruction part of remodel
• a funeral
• unpacking
• where will I bury him

The knocking/pounding and door bell jolt me into the present.

In his highway patrol voice I hear Dave demand, "Open the door".

I weakly reply "No, I know what you are going to tell me".  I shrink.  If they can't find me they can't tell me.  If they can't tell me it's not real.

Dave says, "Answer the door ---everything will be okay".

The door opens, my world comes to an end, and in comes, my bishop, and my neighbors--Utah highway patrolman, Dave and his wife Joan. I walk over to Joan and lay my head on her shoulder. No one should have to look you in the eyes to deliver this news.  I feel very, very bad for them.  What a terrible thing to have to do. 

Be brave I tell my old self as I meet my new self.

I don't hear the words. I can't think. I want to run away, but my legs don't work. My voice asks if Joe had fallen asleep.

No.  The other driver was drunk.

Was it a young kid?

No.

Good.

Then, I remind them Joe is not really too late and he'll be home soon.  He'll take care of this mess.

It's about 5 am and I know I need to call Farrah before she goes to work. I tell the bishop I don't know how to reach Anthony.  He says he'll take care of that, then I wonder if it is any easier to reach an LDS missionary in Honduras for his father's death, because Mother's Day and Christmas it is nearly impossible to make contact.

I am down in my room and I find Farrah's name and hit send. A sleepy Farrah answers. When I tell her about the accident she screams the most gut retching sob imaginable.

Athena does not answer. Adam does not answer.

I have to call Farrah back and ask her to go to Athena's and tell them to answer the phone.

I tell Athena. They will get ready and come down. I tell them to be careful.

I call Lott's house. His mother answers the phone.

I tell her.

She sobs.

Next I call my dad. He asks if I need anything I tell him to go be with my girls.

I call my sister, her daughter Carlee answers, but goes back to sleep. I call her again and tell her it's important and to take the phone to her mom. I and tell her.

My last call is to Patty.  Suddenly, I don't believe what they have told me.

My world turns into a blur.  The color of my life fades.

Neighbors unwrap the couch, move the construction equipment, and set up the bunk beds for my children to sleep in.

I don't know where anything is.  I didn't know where anything was before, all of our possessions were still in boxes.

I just kept thinking, it will be okay when the girls get here.

I didn't worry about Anthony, I gently put him in Heavenly Father's hands.

So much was going on.  Then, while I stood in the guest bedroom, I took the phone in my hands and heard my sons voice, "Mom do you want me to come home?"  He had three months left, and they would let him come home and then return to the mission field if he wanted.  Finally he cried a whisper,  "I don't know what to do."

Seven years later, neither do I.

I keep looking back remembering, while the rest of the world lives and moves forward.

I miss him, and the grief and pain never end.

When I dream, he lives and all is well.  Then I awake,

and I don't know how to live without him.

Hummmmmmmmmmmm

It has been quite sometime since I have posted.

And, I have not posted very many times this year.

How boring!

As you are reading this, I guess you are expecting me to apologize and commit to do better--well, sorry dear  reader:

Surprise

 

It is what it is!

&

You get what you pay for!

But, grab your tissue and turn in tomorrow for a tear jerker--

yep, another anniversary!