Could this really happen to me? Yes. It most certainly can.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Could this really happen to me? Yes. It most certainly can.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
I compare my partial withdraw from most things related to Melanoma to that long ago story. I’m healing, I’m processing. But you can’t run forever, Forrest. You can’t hide forever either. Life has a way of forcing itself on you, whether you’re ready for it or not. Some days I feel like I can tackle the world and dive in. Other days, I can only get my big toe wet.
With the month of May fast approaching, Melanoma Awareness Month, I feel like I’m being pushed closer and closer towards the water, and off my solitary island. I’m afraid.
I don’t do this for me, I’m doing it for you.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Who was Don? Who was this man who lived his life on Earth among us? Every single soul has a story to tell. The unique story of their big, beautiful life and how that story keeps going on and on, connecting, moving, surging, as sure as the tide. That Force. That Being. That Soul, to be simply "Gone" is incomprehensible.
Don was born in Brooklyn and was raised in the hardscrabble streets. His father died when he was in his teens, leaving him to care for his mother. A Brooklyn boy knowing what it means to step up and take responsibility.
Don was a son.
After Don graduated from high school, he enlisted in the Naval Reserve and enrolled in City College in NYC where he earned his Associates degree in Engineering. He then went on to active duty in the Navy, where he served his country for two years in the Korean War.
Don was a scholar and a soldier.
After Don left the Navy, he moved to Ohio and enrolled in OH University. While at his first dance, he saw a very tall, very beautiful dark haired girl. He didn't care if she was taller than he was. He had RED hair, which always got attention from the girls. When he saw her walking across the dance floor, he grabbed her hand and said, "We should dance if we are going to get married".
Don married his dark haired beauty right after graduation and remained married for the next 57 years.
The life Don and his bride Cherry shared, produced a son, Mark. I've asked Mark and Tammy, Marks wife, their children Aubrey and Beatrice, to write something about this incredible man. Below are their words:
My Father in law and I fought like cats and dogs the whole 23 years I knew him. We may be the same person. Stubborn, loud, fragile. We fought and loved and fought and loved. When I married Mark, Don wanted to put me in his clan and become my leader. I was (am) bossy. He called me and wrote to me nearly every day. He bought me ridiculously expensive presents. I think he liked the challenge. We argued about politics and once when he told the girls they would make good secretaries one day I thought I would kill him. He taught me about life. I taught him about people. We turned out to be a perfect match.
I was the first person that he told when he was diagnosed. Late in 2006 he thoughy he had bad allergies or a sinus infection. Really, he had a melanoma tumor that filled all available space in his sinuses. Doctors told him that he had three months to live. His was reply, "says who? "
"Science and Melanoma", came the reply. Very quietly Don's reply was, "Melanoma has never met Don Bidwell, and Melanoma can go to hell".
When the cancer came back last April, I think we all knew...he and I spent the last 7 months together planning for the end of his life. Surgery...again 3 months. He told me he had very few regrets and the one he did have he could remember. He wanted me to know that people were more important than anything. He kept telling me to love. He was true to himself right up until he died. Trying to make the girls smile. To make a funny. About a week before he died, (he was in a hospice facility), as soon as we arrived he asked Audrey to go ask for his pain med. Audrey returned with a vial and gave it to him. He declared that it was empty and that he received not a drop of medicine. In comes the nurse. He tells her I absolutely need another vial. I did not get any medicine. The nurse mumbled something about calling the doctor to which Don replied, bring me the vial. Again the nurse was mumbling about too much medication, about calling the doctor first and overdosing. I could see the girls squirming. THEN I saw the glint in his eye and he says, so what will happen? Do you think it might KILL me? He got the medicine. ~ Tammy
Friday, December 19, 2014
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Because even in grief there is hope. We are Grief Warriors. Bad Ass Grief Warriors.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Two weeks ago our pastor talked about the quote from Mary Oliver- “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” He mentioned it again yesterday. Thanks a lot. I can’t get that quote out of my mind. It keeps whispering to me, poking me, prodding me.
Well, I can say one thing I’ve learned with certainty. There are no plans. Goals, perhaps. The grieving mind is a slippery thing these days. I’m trying to figure that out too.
I was at an outdoor concert a couple of weeks ago, listening to blues music. The park was filled with people, young and old. As I sat watching the crowd, I see these individuals and realize they all have their “stuff”. Each one of them are living a life that extends to friends and family members. Well beyond what I can see. They too, could be grieving. Or sick. Maybe they just lost their job, or their home. Maybe their child is serving overseas. Maybe they are working through a divorce. Something. Anything.
I smile as I watch a young mother chasing her toddler as he runs back and forth across the grass. She patiently picks him up, plunks him down, and goes through the same exercise again and again. Exhausting for her, I’m sure. A young boy, full of energy. He reminds me of my own son, always in motion. What will he become?
That scene brought me back to my own childhood. I must have been close to the same age as the girl with the drum set. My grandmother had a back yard full of trees and wild blooming things. Ivy was everywhere, giving this small yard a jungle like appearance. As I gazed upward into the trees, I watched their leaves blowing and waving furiously. I could hear them whisper. To me. My aunt was leading me through the jungle, holding my hand. “ Do you see those leaves, Suzie? They are smiling and waving at you, telling you that they love you”. I believed her. And I never forgot that day.
What were the Hosta’s telling the precious young drummer girl? I hope she was filled with wonder and the promise of all things possible.
I pray that I can continue to look at my one wild and precious life with open eyes, filled with wonder and awe. And to know that I’m not lost, like a ship in the night. But that I’m on my way.
Love and peace~
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Remember that your help or support will be needed long term: It is going to take time.
As in long term, it may be a lifetime of support.
Be Practical: Grieving parents need space to grieve. You can help this by providing meals, offering to keep the garden tidy, cleaning the house, or running errands for them. Do the everyday mundane things that suddenly seem pointless to them. Stay in close contact; simply calling and visiting can be a huge source of practical support.
Do some research on the grieving process: Go online and read about what parents feel when they lose a child. Jump into forums and talk to other people about their feelings and the things that helped them through during the initial stages of their grief. Sites such as Compassionate Friends can be a good place to start. Good advice. That way you’ll know, and spare me having to try and explain myself. Because more than likely, I won’t.