Archive for December, 2010
With love & appreciation,
The Brown Family
From the backseat:
“Mom, Dad, Mom, DAD. Does D O D spell D V D?”
My 5 year old, Rae Rae
To the best of my abilities, I am trying to avoid being doomy gloomy Katy. I am not good at grieving outside of the confines of my house walls, or that of my parent’s home. My writings, which usually are filled with easy whimsy and delight are suddenly heavy and saturated with sadness.
As much as I know people want to be supportive, your lives go on. It’s more fun to ready happy thoughts and gaze at things that sparkle. And that is perfectly OK with me.
Every time I sit down and write, I transcribe memories and emotions and sentiments that mean more to me to vocalize, to friends and family, then they could possibly mean to the recipients.
Somehow writing about decadent cookies, funny pooping kid stories and inappropriate remarks made by SuperHub, doesn’t seem so funny to me. My sense of humor has yet to return. It will. I know it’s there. There are moments when something tickles my fancy, but it has yet to stick.
This holiday is nothing as I planned. Damn it. I am a planner. I wanted to exclusively shop local, or from family owned businesses, for gifts. Suddenly, shopping locally meant me dissolving into a pile of tears every time I see someone I know in public.
Thank God for my laptop.
Without anxiety medication, AmazonPrime and the hot UPS guy, who personally thanked me for keeping him in business, my kids wouldn’t have their Christmas wishes come true this year.
I suppose this is life.
Beauty found in relationships from every corner of our lives.
We go on, get about our business and become better people for it. Even now, I can see I’ve changed from this experience. My Dad, in his life and his death, taught me patience, kindness and understanding.
I am patient with myself, and my family, as we grieve and heal.
I am kinder to everyone. Those who knew my dad, in any capacity, are grieving just as we are and need comfort too. There are many people, from every walk of life, who are going through tough times. Even strangers deserve our kindness.
I understand that enduring the agony of the human experience, is what shapes our souls and makes us better people. Even if it’s impossible to see or understand in this moment.
Thank you for your kindness, patience and understanding. I promise to be funny again. Soon.
I am not sure what to fill this empty space with.
There are so many things to say and very few words. The sadness within me is so heavy, so concentrated, when I cry it’s like pushing an orange through a funnel. Besides the pain in my chest, there is the mental exhaustion which has set in and rendered me borderline useless. Giving my kids a bath, taking a shower, heating up water for a cup of tea; things that were done without thought just over a week ago, now seem to require more energy than I can muster in my entire body.
As too many of you know, grief causes physical as well as emotional pain.
And oh the pain.
The one thing that goes through my mind, time and time again, is the thought of my dad the last time I talked to him. It was late, the night before he was killed. Eight hours before he would no longer be here on Earth with us.
His sweet, loving goodbye.
I miss my dad.
I miss his beautiful face. Silver hair. The warm Old Spice aroma of his cheek after a shower on a Sunday afternoon. His (always) patient smile. The gentle strength that filled any room he was in. The twinkle in his eye as he glanced at my mom, the love of his life. I miss his daily words of wisdom. His laugh. Early cups of coffee together. The way he cradled my kids, nieces and nephew in his arms. The way he pulled his car across the bottom of my driveway, sideways, when he came over to help around the house. I miss his mid-afternoon calls to check in. The early Saturday morning calls to request his buddy Cooper be ready “In 10 minutes” so they could go on an all day adventure, usually ending with a can of root beer and some new treasure that Grandpa knew Cooper couldn’t be without.
I miss my dad.
In his life, my dad worked hard, helped everyone, loved unconditionally, accomplished much, gave generously and taught many what it was to be a good person. His life’s celebration was a admirable display of a life well lived.
I loved it more than I hated the untimely manner in which it seemed to come.
Note to You: I do not care if you think I am crazy.
My dad is still here with us. I feel him. I talk to him. I see the signs he sends along the way. This may be the only thing keeping me sane right now. In the first hour I learned of his passing, I begged him not to leave me. Not yet. And he hasn’t.
I was lucky to have 31, almost 32 years, of a childhood. My dad took care of me at every curve in the road. Last Saturday, I became an adult. It was the moment, I feel, my dad had made sure we were well prepared for.
My family is comprised of people I love more than myself. They are my rocks. We will get through this. We will continue to make Dad proud.
The strength I have right now, comes from my family and friends. Your words, kind deeds, hugs, smiles, stories and thoughts. There aren’t better words than “Thank you.”
Yes, I will let my close friends and family cook for us, clean my toilets and fold my under britches. I had no idea that this is what people do for people who are grieving. But I completely understand why and welcome the help.
I love you Dad. I miss you.
GKG, Katy Nagurski, Small Fry
My silence is not because I have nothing to say. It’s because I can’t bring myself to type the words. My dear pops, my dad, my rock, was killed in a car accident over the weekend. I appreciate your patience with me as I take this time to be with my family. We are completely broken. The pieces are still here, but they need to be cautiously pieced back together. When I can, I will take you on my journey.
Nearly a month ago, I locked our playroom and closed the door.
My kids were forgetting how blessed they are to have such a fun space, filled with wonderful toys to play with. They weren’t showing respect for their toys, the room or me as I requested time (and time again) to please keep things semi-under control.
So they lost the privilege to play in it. And it took nearly one month for them to earn the privilege back.
Before allowing the troops in, I enlisted my 4 year old Rae Rae to help me overhaul things. While I cleaned and tidied up, Rae Rae organized her Barbies and their house.
When things were tidy and it was time to make dinner, I turned around to see each piece of doll furniture carefully placed around the Barbie house. Rae Rae’s total Barbie House Remodel was complete.
Rae Rae: “Do you love it Mommy?”
Apparently we now have a Barbie Brothel.