No Goodbye's

Dear Readers,

First I need to thank you.  Thanks for sticking with me and not getting tired of my letters to my brother.  Thank you for supporting my need to express my feelings.  Thank you for being willing to get to know my brother and love him.

Today is my sweet baby's 1st birthday.  Wow!  As cliche as it is to say, time flies. 

Bubba Jasec.  Happy Birthday!

While I was driving to Taco Bell to get him his special birthday dinner - pretty much loves cheese quesadillas when I make them at home, so why not try it for his "birthday dinner out"? - I got to thinking about the day one year ago when he made his entrance into our family.

We weren't planning on any more babies.  We'd given away a lot of our baby things - crib, strollers etc...  But sometimes despite our own choices, God sends us things we didn't even know we were missing.

As The Hubs and I were waiting for his arrival, all drugged up on an epidural, just killing time, I called my brother and asked him how he'd feel about us naming the baby after him.  He agreed that it would be "cool".

I wanted Jasec to be a warrior, like Ben.  I wanted Jasec to have the name of a man in my life who has meant a great deal to me.  And also, part of me knew that my brother may not survive this cancer battle and so I wanted a piece of him to keep with me here on earth.

As I waited in the Taco Bell drive-up line I sent a text to Ben saying "Hi.  Thinking about you today on Jasec's first birthday.  So grateful you were able to meet him.  So grateful I was able to give him your name.  Love you."

And then I started crying.  Which isn't super great when you're about to get handed a bag full of tacos and quesadillas.  Teenage employees of fast food restaurants may think I'm about to go on an emotional food binge.  They aren't trained to deal with emotional women.  Oh well, I can be fodder for pimply gossip.

And in my head I composed this letter:

Dear Ben,

I don't really know how to say goodbye to you.  I don't know how to let you go.  So, I've decided that I won't.  I refuse.  And no one can make me. 

For as long as I live on this earth without you I will sense your presence.  I will remember you.  I will talk about you.  I will tell your stories to my children.  You will be more than just a picture on the mantle or a cement headstone in the ground.

I will see you in the dancing shadows cast by campfires on red rock walls, in the graceful movements of a galloping horse, in motorcycles flying through the air.

 

I will see you in flannel and cowboy boots, in hoodies and deep thumping bass music.

 

I will hear you in the "chirp" of tires grasping at slick rock, in the roar of a tricked out engine.

 

I will see you in the crisp morning air of the Uintah Mountains, in the casting of a fishing line or the swaying of the trees.

 

I will smell you in the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and bacon, the fizz of a soft drink or the muted flavor of vitamin water.

Most of all, I will see you in the eyes of my sweet baby boy who bears your name.  I will watch him grow, I will hear his laughter, see his smile, soothe his heartaches, share in his joys.  And all the while I will teach him about the man you are.  And I hope that he will feel a closeness to you through that special connection of a name.

God is taking you away, but he gave me little Jasec to help make it better.

Ben and Jasec, Feb. 2012, at Jasec's blessing.

How grateful I am for both of my Benjamin's.

Love,
Aspen

Ben's Biker Gang

Written summer 2012

Dear Ben,

Cadie learned to ride a bike today.  Two wheels, no training wheels, freedom.  My heart was bursting with happiness for her as I watched her go back and forth, up and down our street.  She was the ultimate ragamuffin with her messy braids flying along beside her.  Her bike was still wobbly as she flew past me.  I can't believe she actually made the turn at the end of the street rather than laying the bike on its side.  Her grin was huge.

Mom was standing next to me and she made a choking sound as Cadie flew by with her feet up on her handlebars, wobbling, grinning, braids slapping her face, not watching the road, but watching our faces as she passed. 

"It's almost more than I can watch."  Mom said as she pasted on a smile and waved to Cadie. 

I laughed at her and reminded, "You, who watched Ben?  Cadie has nothing on him."

And it's true.  You were such a fearless kid.  We learned to ride bikes at about the same time.  I was six.  You were four.  My older sister pride insists that I learned before you, but most like I was only a day or two ahead of you with my pitiful bragging rights.  You always caught up to me and then passed me on by, with a grin to match Cadie's on your face.  Of course you were missing the pigtails, but the affect was the same.

I still remember sitting on my bike in our cul-de-sac watching you show off your new skills.  You were pedaling around the circle and I was sitting in the middle, on the manhole cover, watching you.  I don't remember what I was feeling at the moment.  Probably I was happy for you and am used by you.  You were always so proud of yourself and so cheerful about things that being jealous would have been wrong.  Your happiness wasn't cocky, it included me.

Anyhow, I remember sitting there watching you race and then you looked up to give me a cheesy grin and suddenly lost control of the bike, which caused you to slam into a mailbox.  You were so little that you slammed the top of your head into the bottom corner rather than slamming your face into the side of it.  You fell down and started crying.  I remember the mailbox was black.  What a strange thing to remember.

I hurried over and could see blood on the top of your head, along with a V shaped cut.  It was the first of many times that I walked you bleeding into the house to find Mom. 

Before too long you graduated from bikes to motorcycles, three-wheelers, go carts, or pretty much anything motorized.  I rode along behind you anywhere that you were willing to take me.  Farmington Canyon, the dikes, countless riverbeds and slick rock trails.  You always went just a little faster or up a  steeper trail than I would have.  I wasn't nervous though, I trusted you.

One of my favorite memories is of a time after I was married.  You and several of your buddies were living together in a rental house in Centerville.  A few of you decided to buy little 50 motorcycles. 

Not Ben - but gives a nice visual

I laughed so hard when you told me about it, just picturing you guys riding those tiny kiddie bikes around. I remember you telling me that you guys would ride those little bikes around your rental house sometimes, including up and down the stairs.  I'm sure your landlord LOVED you guys. 

The best was the day I was driving along 400 East on my way to mom's when I actually saw you guys.  Your little biker gang.  It was hilarious.  All of you with your big shoulders hunched and your knees tucked into your chests, going a smooth 25 down the side of the street in a little line.  You all had a Dick's grocery bag hanging off your arm.  Grocery shopping on your bikes.

I honked and waved, once again cracking up at one of your antics.  Lucky for you there were no mailboxes in your way this time.

~ Aspen

Dear Ben

Your 32nd birthday was this past week.  On 12/12/12.  How cool is that?  And you made it.  You're getting old my brother. 

I wanted to post something on your birthday, but the day ended up being much harder on me than I'd anticipated.  I kept thinking of the day you were born and the hopes and dreams and happiness that accompanied that birth.  And then I began thinking of all the years ahead that would be empty without you in them. 

And I couldn't find the strength to post anything here.  I didn't have the right words to express the depth of my sorrow at losing you.

I managed to post this on Facebook:

Dear Ben,
Happy birthday! You made it!! 32 years ago Mom and Dad brought you home to me and let me hold you. I've held you in my heart ever since that day. You've taught me so much about friendship, loyalty, patience, and the value of being unconditionally loved. Thank you for being my childhood play mate, my adolescent confidant and my friend. Now, for the first time, you're going somewhere I can't go and teaching me about goodbye. Nothing has ever hurt so much in my life. But if I could give you one wish for your birthday it would be freedom from this mortal body that has held you prisoner. I would wish to see you driving a jeep through heaven, smiling your cocky little half smile, and leaving us all in your dust.

Happy Birthday B.
Always,
Aspen

 

Now, three days later, I still want to post something more about your birthday and it's significance.  But I still find it too hard to delve into that emotional abyss and bring something up that would be more than just rambling. 

So, I began sorting through my letters to you and I came across this one.  I suppose it fits and it describes how I've been feeling lately.  Somewhat.  For now it will have to do.  Until I can get my thoughts together and down on paper.  Just know that I love you.  Forever.  And even though you need to go, my life without you will never be the same.

- - - - - - - - - -
Dear Ben,

Sometimes I want to be a total martyr.  I want the world to know that I hurt more than anyone has ever hurt before.  That my pain is deeper, my frustration greater, my anger more pure than anyone in the history of the world has ever experienced.  I am special in my suffering.

But it isn't true.

All it takes is one look around and I realize I'm nothing special.  There are no strangers to heartache among us.  Everyone has been touched by health problems, divorce, death, suffering, and disappointment. 

Cancer is no respecter of persons. 

Cancer doesn't define who we are.

Cancer is something that affects so many people.  I don't know that you could find a single person who hasn't been touched by it.

Often I'll run into acquaintances at the grocery store, at church, at the park and they'll ask about you.  I always try to keep it light and thank them for their interest.  Then they'll share their stories with me about their cousin, uncle, grandparent, parent, neighbor, co-worker, friend who is also fighting cancer.

How can something so common feel so personal?  How can something that so many people go through still feel like it's unique to my life experience?

And sometimes I feel guilty.  For the times before now when I didn't really get it.  For the friend who had a brother pass from cancer several years back, back when I didn't truly understand.  I feel horrible that I wasn't there for him and his family like I should have been.  I offered my condolences and went on with life, never asking again how they were dealing with the loss.  I didn't attend the viewing, I didn't bake them something delicious to eat.  I didn't offer to watch their baby or listen to their memories.  I didn't know. 

Ignorance was bliss.

I wish this club of suffering and worry wasn't one I belonged to.  I didn't realize how nice it would have been to be left out for once in my life.  Too bad I can't resign my membership and go back to being carefree.  It will never work. 

Because now I know. 

Now I'll be able to see that sad somewhat haunted look in other people's eyes when they talk about their loved one.  I'll know that aching they feel in their chest that never leaves. 

I'll know that every text message, phone call, knock on the door and ambulance siren causes them to pause in their day and for a moment wonder if this is it.

I'll know that they have no patience left to deal with every day frustrations.  They, like me, probably yell at their kids too much, snap at their spouses, roll their eyes at the neighbors.  They, like me, can't handle a dirty or noisy house, unwashed dishes, dirty laundry.  It's taking their full capacity just to keep from thinking about the future and what it holds.  Too much energy to just keep plugging through.

It's kind of sad that I'm not special.  

'Cause if I was, that would mean that a lot less people were going through this.

~ Aspen

With Great Gifts Comes Great Responsibility

A few weeks ago The Hubs went to visit my brother, Ben, and his wife Sara.  It was just the three of them and they had a lovely little chat wherein Hubs spilled his guts and they gave him a nice gift to aid in his emotional healing.

I won't go into the details here, but for the sake of the story you need to know that the gift was some money to spend on iTunes.

Hubs was overwhelmed and touched by their generosity.  Once he came to grips with accepting their kindness he got to work making a wish list, playing songs, and making purchases. 

I was home during this shopping spree of happiness and our conversation went something like this.

Me: That was so nice of Ben and Sara!
Hubs:  No kidding.  Way nice.  I'm excited to get some of the songs off my wish list.
M: Just don't buy any Elvis.
H:  But I like Elvis.
M:  Elvis's music is okay, but his voice stinks.  He sounds like he's having a seizure when he sings.  I bet after each performance he'd go back stage and laugh at all those poor screaming fools who liked to hear him sing.
H:  You have to admit that (insert song name here) is a great song.
M:  Sure.  When someone else sings it.  I'm a huge fan of Elvis songs remade.
H:  Whatever.

Then there was some clicking and more song playing and more giddy purchases being made.  I was reading a romance novel.  In my novels the hero never listens to Elvis.

Flash forward two hours - and some sweet romantic scenes - and Hubs calls me over to the computer to play me his list of purchases. 

Things were going along fine until I heard something sounding like a cheesy ho-down, honkey tonk ooze fest.

Me:  What is THAT?
Hubs: What, this song?  Isn't it great.  (Starts singing along).
M:  Okay, really, what IS that song?
H:  (He just smiles at me)
M:  (Leaning forward to read the name of the song off the playlist) Hand Me Down That Can 'O Beans?
H:  Ya!  From Paint Your Wagon!!  (He's thrilled and smiling as he sings along).
M:  I'm telling Ben you wasted his money.
H: (Stops singing)  I didn't waste his money!
M:  Ya, you did.  Ben would never condone the use of his money to purchase a song from Paint Your Wagon.

People, I would typically say that when someone gives you a gift card or money that they have no say in how you spend it.  It's a gift.  You are free to use said money in the manner you see fit that will bring you happiness.

But, in this case, when your dying bro-in-law gives you an iTunes gift card you DO NOT insult the giver by purchasing music from Paint Your Wagon.  You don't want him to have regrets at this point in the game.  You want him to be able to rest in peace.  And he won't be able to do that if he knows that 89 cents of his money was wasted on a song about beans!

With great gifts comes great responsibility.

Oh, Hubs, maybe you should have bought some Elvis.

Tag Teaming

I've been working on a theory for the past 9 years and I believe I have enough indisputable evidence at this point to move from theory into scientific fact. But, like LaVar Burton on Reading Rainbow I say to you.... "Don't take my word for it". 

(I believe he was trying to say you should see for yourselves.  If that's not what he was trying to say then that little quote was confusing and ill-placed.  Also, I did zero internet research to see if that is in fact what he said.  I'm just going from memory. And we all know that my mom says sometimes I remember things that no one else does.  So maybe I just made that up. My point is that I'm going to lay out the evidence for you and let you be the judge for yourselves.)

I have come to the firm conclusion that one of the laws of childhood is that you do everything in your power to sabotage restful sleep for your parents.  Sometimes this means you yourself must go without sleep.  But it's worth the sacrifice.

For the oldest (or only) child this is most strenuous as they have no back-up, tag-team partner to help them in their quest.  They must carry the brunt of the load until another comes along.

I'm proud to say that Ms. Els valiantly carried the flag for the first 2 years of her life until Cadie Lu was born.  After Cadie Lu was born she showed signs of being a great sleeper.  But, at some point Ms. Els got in there and let her know how things were run.  After that they began taking turns calling out, coughing, needing to use the potty and getting drinks in the night.

My suspicions at this point were like an annoying phone ringing. Something I was aware of in the periphery, but was too sleep deprived to spend much time thinking about.

When Joely came along Ms. Els suddenly became a world champion sleeper and has given us nary a problem in the night since then.  After 4 1/2 years of problematic nights she was able to rest easy knowing she'd done her duty.  She passed the baton to Cadie Lu and Joely.

(Side note:  Sleeping through the night has no bearing on how hard it might be to get them to go to bed in the first place!)

Cadie Lu and Joely did a fairly mediocre job of carrying the torch.  Both seem to actually like sleep.  And without Ms. Els whipping them into a frenzy things seemed to calm.  Oh, some nights they'd throw out a moan or a whimper, or even a blood curdling nightmarish scream just to make sure I startled awake with my heart racing.  But once I peeked in on them they went back to sleep for the night, having accomplished their goal of interrupting my sleep.

Then, along came Jabes.  He apparently came with fresh reminders from heaven.  At this point the girls were moved to their own room in another part of the house, but Jabes had a firm discussion with Joely at some point and together they have taken their duty quite seriously, almost raising it to a level that Ms. Els could only have dreamed about.

I do not exaggerate when I tell you that Jabes ONLY sleeps through the night when Joely is up.  And Joely ONLY sleeps through the night when Jabes is up.  Spookily they are never up at the same time or even on the same nights.  They always, always tag-team it.  It's eery to see their organization and stealth given the fact that they are so young at ages 4  and 11 months old. 

So, you see, I have years worth of research from the trenches saying that this is in fact an organized and planned offensive by children of the world.  It can't just be mine!  Right!  Right?  Please tell me it's not just mine....

This makes me wonder how it will be when they are teenagers.  Maybe then it will be narcoleptic tag-teaming.  Like someone will always be impossible to wake up.  And then I'll be whining about how all they want to do is sleep...

Ha ha ha.... Riiiight!

Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn't

This year our Thanksgiving celebrations were fraught with adventure... and disease.  Let me paint you a picture using my words.

The week or two leading up to Thanksgiving:

The Hubs - Began experiencing olfactory hallucinations (smelling things that aren't there) due to extreme fatigue, or schizophrenia.... the jury is still out on the cause.

Me - Contracted pneumonia.

Ms. Els - Managed to start into a nice hacking cough - viral - that made me question just how unconditional a mother's love really is.

Cadie Lu - Came screaming to us at 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday saying her ear was exploding.  After a very loving Instacare visit she was diagnosed with a double ear infection.

Joely - Tested the waters with croup, but didn't feel miserable enough.  Recovered from that and then decided to follow Cadie Lu's example, only do her one better, and woke up screaming at 3:30 a.m. Thanksgiving morning saying his ear was exploding.  Double ear infection.

Jabes - In the tradition of being the youngest and needing to be heard, went all out.  Began the downhill slide with croup which he then followed with a double ear infection, sinus infection, and pink eye.

It was awesome!

You know things aren't going well when your brother who is dying of cancer sends you a text asking if he can do anything for you. 

So, because of all this delightful mischief going on, and the fact that people were busy caring for my children rather than making dinner plans, Thanksgiving was kind of a thrown together affair.

This year was a "Ridges" year with my family.  I should have known things weren't going to be all buttery roles and turkey coma when mother announced she wasn't going to make mashed potatoes, or homemade stuffing.

WHAT?

Instead she was going to have my dad dig up some potatoes out of the garden, slap them on a baking sheet and do baked potatoes.

And she'd be making Stove Top. 

I'm tearing up just remembering it. 

The day before Thanksgiving:

My sister Emily arrives from St. George.  It's her 27th birthday.  She ditches her kids and hub with her in-laws and comes to mom's house to save us from ourselves.  Fulfills all her birthday dreams by making lots of pies and rolls.  I lay on the couch, near death, and watch.

Dad gives me a ham to cook for dinner tomorrow.  What the ham?  But then I remember that I pretty much love pig in all it's forms, so I took it home to cook.

Thanksgiving Day:

The day begins with a gentle awakening by Joely screaming his head off at 3:30 a.m.  We never go back to bed.  We wait until 9:00 a.m. when Instacare opens. 

While waiting mom calls to let me know that the turkey is still frozen.  Looks like it's gonna be ham tonight.

In-laws call inviting us to lunch.  We jump at the chance.  They have turkey and homemade stuffing.  Woot woot!  It's our one shot at a real dinner.

The Hubs takes Ms. Els, and Cadie Lu to his parent's house while him and Joely go to the doctor.  Jabes is napping.

During this time I realize I haven't showered for like 3 days and that I really don't have time for pneumonia.  Have a stern talk with myself about bucking up and getting better.  Not sure if it's going to work... I can be stubborn.

On the way to in-laws I drop ham back to parents to cook it their darn selves!  I make my mom come get the ham from me at the curb in order to avoid all the stairs.  While handing her the ham out the window I make a gentle, subtle ploy for mashed potatoes.  I mean, if we can't have turkey then can we at least mash up the taters?

During said plea Dad comes out to return a book he'd borrowed from me.  Mom mentions my potato wishes.  Dad's reply, "There will be potatoes.  You can do whatever you want with them."  I believe he's deep in mourning over the turkey and can't be kind at that moment.  So I tell my mom that if she'll just put a potato on my plate I'll wet it with my tears and mash it with the moisture from them.  Also, tears are salty, so I won't need salt.

She accuses me of being dramatic.

As I drive away I yell out the window, "Oh, and I sure can't wait for that Stove Top!  I've been waiting an entire year for that!"

Off to lunch at my in-laws.  But first, I must fall asleep on their couch for an hour.  Glorious.

In-laws have turkey, homemade stuffing, but alas, something is missing.  No potatoes - mashed or otherwise - adorn their table.  What's happening?  Are we embarking on the Great American Potato Famine?

Fast forward to 4:00 p.m., arrival at my parent's house.  What is that I smell?  Did we have a turkey miracle occur?  Indeed we did.  They have somehow salvaged the bird.  We have turkey and ham.  Happy, happy day! 

Dad's mood is greatly improved while carving meat.

And then, I hear the heartwarming sound of my mom mashing potatoes!  Sweet heaven.  But, wait, something is wrong.  I wander into the kitchen to find that my mom - in a totally typical moment of experimentation - has put the potatoes in a blender to "mash" them.  Can you say potato soup?

Luckily she realizes what's happening and only puts in half the potatoes.  Then, in another typical moment, she attempts to salvage the potatoes.  She hand mashes the other half and then stirs the soupy potatoes into the hand mashed potatoes.  We all wait to see how this is going to go.

Glue.

That's how it went.  I casually and non-judgementally mention that the potatoes schlopping out of the blender have a rather gluey quality to them.

Let's just say that when Thanksgiving dinner was over we still had a bowl full of glue sitting in the center of the table.  Okay, that's not totally fair, my bro-in-law Marty ate a bunch.  He apparently likes the taste of horse hooves in his festivities.  Nasty.

The good news is that there was pie.  Lots and lots of hip hugging pie.  All sugary and delicious in it's homemade crust.  And whipping cream.  Real whipping cream.

All in all, as my brother said, I'll never forget this Thanksgiving.

The Thanksgiving that almost wasn't!

Service Makes a Difference!

Hello dear readers!

 

Many of you are friends with me on Facebook, or are friends with my family, and have already gotten word about a service project my sister put together.   If you've already seen this info please feel free to close this page and come back to visit when I post something new.  But if not, please, please read this letter from my sister.

 

I just want to add that having spent time at Huntsman Cancer Institute with my brother I have seen first hand what suffering looks like.  You can't possibly imagine unless you've been there.  These small things will make a difference.

 

Also, cancer makes people feel hopeless and powerless.  You are at the mercy of the disease.  This is a way for our family to try to give comfort and also honor our brother, Ben, and the battle he's fought so valiantly.

 

Thanks!

Aspen

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Dear family members,

With the Christmas season approaching, I have been trying to come up with a way we can incorporate some service into our celebration.   I have been wracking my brain, wondering what we could do. And then the idea hit me this morning. 
 

Gather items to donate to the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
 

My sweet brother has spent a lot of time in hospitals, including Huntsman, during his cancer battle. We know that it can be a sad and lonely place, and that not everyone has the amazing support that my brother has in his incredible wife, Sara. I wanted to do something to help other patients fighting cancer. So I started doing some research, and have decided I want to make "Essential Totes" for patients that are on an extended stay. 
 

This is where I ask for the support of all of my family, friends and even strangers. I will gather donations from now until mid-December. (DECEMBER 10) We will then assemble and deliver the items as we get closer to Christmas. 

 

If you feel like you could help out, PLEASE do. 

 

We have seen the incredible suffering that cancer patients go through first-hand. We have seen the ones that are lonely as well, and it is heart breaking. If you would prefer to donate money, I can use that to buy supplies as well. I can take checks, cash or PayPal.

I know that things are tight around Christmas...I have 4 kids, I get it...but if you could find any wiggle room to give, it would mean a great deal to us. I plan on including a note in each bag saying that these are dedicated to Ben...the strongest person I've ever known.

Thank you in advance!

Camille

 

Please see Camille's blog for a list of needs, a button to donate through PayPayl, and also some FAQs: 
 

http://martyandcamille.blogspot.com 

 

(You can also link to her blog from mine ------> "Davis Family")