Really? Crying over a paper bag?

We have reached the last of our 'firsts' - yesterday had been a year since we buried Ian and one year ago today we held his memorial service.  This was also the weekend for our local Relay 4 Life which we participated in last year.  Last year's race was very moving for us; we were just returning from a small get-away with Amy & Alex to San Francisco and went early Sunday morning for one hour of walking.  In that short time we ran into one of the nurses who helped take care of Ian and saw that he had three luminaries made in his memory......it was a really sweet time for us.  This year, not so much.  We were more involved this year than last and spent more time at the track.  Ian just had one luminary this year and we didn't run into anybody we knew.  I returned this morning to collect the luminaries we had made for Ian, Alex and the son of a friend of ours who died 13 years ago from cancer.  I arrived just as they were walking, what looked like, a final group lap.  I waited till the lap was finished then noticed folks were starting to pick up the luminaries.  I walked out onto the track, panicking a little - people were collecting them to throw them away.  I reached the area where Alex's bag was first, but his was already gone.  I looked around to see if anybody was holding his but I didn't see it.  I wanted to start questioning folks, "do you have a bag for Alex Hassett?" but I thought they would think I was some looney women (which wouldn't have been exactly wrong).  Then I looked across the track where Ian's had been and they were all gone - my heart sank.  I'm very much a 'memento' person and my mementos of this weekend were lost.  I could feel myself starting to cry so I turned to leave the track when I saw a woman collecting the bags, crumpled together in her hand......and I lost it.  I just kept picturing someone crumpling Ian's picture on his paper bag, tossing him away like he didn't matter.  I got out of there as fast I could and yes, I was crying over a paper  bag.  I know it's silly, I know I wasn't really crying over a paper bag. I was crying over the fact that we were the only ones who remembered Ian with a luminary.  I was crying over not having the opportunity to cry with someone over Ian.  I was crying over the loss of impact his life was having on people.  I was crying over the loss of remembrance.  The only visible remembrance of Ian this year was the luminary we made for him.  I know that's the way it has to be but Ian's loss is still new for us.  I don't mean to say that others don't remember him or miss him, but to us it's still fresh.  Their lives are moving on and  that's the way it's supposed to be but seeing that and realizing it in such a tangible way hurts.  It's one more step down a road without him.

Yesterday & forever

I don't know how it's possible for it to feel like forever and yesterday at the same time, but that's what yesterday felt like.  It seems you've been gone forever but I can remember every detail of the day you died like it was yesterday.  At any given moment of the day, I could tell you what I was doing, how I was feeling. 

But we lived through the day; it, like your death, didn't kill us.  I miss you every minute of every day.

A year has gone by and I have no more answers now than I did then.  Have things gotten easier?  A little.  Doing things that give your life significance helps. Planning Amy's wedding gives us joy and empties our pockets at the same time, but it's worth every cent.  Doing all the legal work of  forming the "Ian M Hassett Foundation" helps, so does planning our first fundraiser in October ~ I hope you'll think that's an appropriate way to honor your birthday.

Friends tell me to 'lean of Jesus' but I don't know how to do that.  How do I lean on someone who is the author of all this pain?  There is a wall of pain between God & I that I don't have the energy to climb or breakdown.  I can recognize small bits of mercy every once in a while but they aren't enough to diminish the loss of Ian.  I wish I could say things are fine, that I have peace about Ian's passing but maybe it's too soon for those things.  My hope is that one day peace will come.

If I could just stop thinking

I can't stop thinking....it's been exactly one year since I heard your voice......I miss you Ian.

Not just a year of 'firsts'

Winners: Ubi Kim & Abby Kuhlman

We hit another milestone.....we awarded the first (actually, the first two) $1,000 Ian Hassett Memorial Art Scholarship on Thursday night at Senior Awards Night at Righetti High School.  We had a total of six very talented students apply for the scholarship and it was just too hard to pick just one winner so we picked TWO!  We can't do this every year but we were feeling generous and just happy that we had applicants to chose from.  It was a nice evening and I think we were the only presenters (those present to give out their scholarship), along with a small group of parents,  to stick it out for the entire ceremony.  When, did we as a community, start leaving ceremonies just because our kid had gotten their award?  I guess I've reached the age where that seems rude to me.  Don't the kids who have to wait till the bitter end to pick up their award/scholarship deserve just as much encouragement and praise as those that get theirs at the beginning of the ceremony?  I hated the idea of a student, going up to the stage to receive the scholarship that they worked hard for, and looking out to a room full of empty chairs, so we stayed.

Eric & I were not alone in honoring a child that we had lost; there were several memorial scholarships presented at Righetti that night.  There was a dad who lost his son a decade ago - his wife and young daughter were there so you could imagine how his life had gone on and progressed.  He gave out multiple smaller scholarships and part of his remembrance included a dinner that all the winners were invited to at a later date......I wonder how many go?  Another was presented by the friend of a man who graduated in the 1980's and died last year.  It gave me hope that some of Ian's friends will remember him years and perhaps even decades from now.  The last was a very elderly couple who has been giving out a scholarship for their daughter for decades. They were so cute.  They come every year, faithfully....will that be Eric & I?

This has also left us with a slight feeling of......."now what?".   But maybe the timing is good as we begin the mental countdown for our next big milestone - the first anniversary of Ian's death.  I've been told, by those you know, that the days leading up to that day will be tougher than the actual day......so far, that is proving to be true. It's hard not to remember what was happening a year ago on any given day or moment.  These days are full of 'lasts', the last hug, the last 'I love you', the last time I heard his voice.  There is a yearning to gather up all these 'lasts' together, to surround myself with all things Ian - his art, his pictures, his clothes and my memories of him.....all of them, good or bad.  I want to remember all those 'lasts' but the moments surrounding them were painful and heartbreaking.  A year ago today our friend Sandy came into Ian's hospital room and quietly pulled me aside and mentioned that she had gone over the results of Ian's latest scan.  She made a comment that Eric & I might want to go down to Radiology and take a look at them; I could tell by the look on her face it was more than just a passing comment.  Eric & I accompanied Sandy down to Radiology and she was with us as Dr. Sonnabend went over the scans.  The scans were meant to take a look at the mass in Ian's lungs but also gave the doctors a look at his liver - that was the shocking part.  His liver was scattered with small masses of cancer.  At first I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing but then the tears started to flow as the doctor explained that what we were seeing was cancer......everywhere in his liver.  We withheld that information from Ian until Dr. DiCarlo had a chance to look at the scans and talk to us all tomorrow - together as a family.  That was the last night we would have before we prepared to say good-bye to Ian.
So it's not just a year of 'firsts' but 'lasts' as well.