Staci

Something about that Sunday was odd. Our grocery shopping was completely done. The house was picked up. It was still early in the afternoon and we were bored. Never has there been such a quiet Sunday in this house. We're usually scrambling to get things done before the long week is upon us once again.

But this Sunday was different. We opened our new Game of Life and sat to play it. We talked Daddy into playing with us instead of playing his game on the computer. Everything seemed so oddly peaceful.

But then we got the call. A hysterical sister telling us we needed to get over to Mike’s step-dad’s house. Mike’s sister Staci was in an accident. That’s all she knew.

Staci was just at our house the night before. She ran an errand for us and stayed for a family dinner. She stayed kind of late. We had a chance to talk about so much. About how hot their work (she had just started working with Mike’s company) was going to be soon. About how she was going to get her GED. About how hard it was to keep her house clean with her new puppy (She worked so hard to learn to be a good homemaker when they moved in to this house – something I never thought she would do). We talked about the wedding and how we wanted her to take a part in it.

When we go the call, we panicked. I called my mom and asked her to come get the kids. We ran through the house and tried to pack a bag for something unknown. Cell phone chargers, magazines, HOW LONG WILL WE BE THERE??? Snacks, tissues, overnight clothes for the kids…just in case. I stopped randomly to pray.

Before my mom got there, Christy called again. Staci was killed. She crossed the median and was hit by a truck. She was dead. She was only 22.

We spent the night trying to find answers. Trying to find comfort. Trying to find some saving grace in the tragedy that had found our family again.

The last week has been somewhat of a blur. I’ve tried to write several times, but felt like it was a bid for sympathy. I wanted to memorialize her but didn’t want the attention.

Not that I could put the right words together, anyway.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. I’m still not. So many times this week, I’ve thought, “I should call Stac…” “I wonder when Staci will be...” “I bet Staci would like to...” And I am forced to remember that she won’t be here ever again.

Slowly, our days are growing to be “normal” again. There is less crying and more laughter in each day. But there will always be an empty place in my heart for the girl that I called “sis” long before I knew I’d be marrying her brother. There will always be a ready tear when I think about the wonderful person we lost. The beautiful girl who spread so much love in this world.

Your eyes are filled with love.
They glow with life.
They shine with laughter.

Your smile tells me everything is wonderful.
That your life is what you want it to be.
That you want to share your joy with everyone around you.

I look at these pictures
And forget that you're gone.

Goodbye, Blackie

Friday night I woke to the kids standing in my doorway, crying for us to wake up. It was pitch black still – 2:45 a.m. As my eyes adjusted I saw that Ninja Boy was holding something in his gloved hands (glow-in-the-dark, no less!). He was crying, saying “Something’s wrong with Blackie!”

All I could get into my brain was that it was 2:45 a.m. and the children were awake – in my room. By the time I realized that a rodent fit into that equation, The Man was already up and on his way downstairs.

He came back with the news that something horrible had happened to two and a half of our gerbil’s legs and he died. He didn’t offer any more information and I quit asking.

The next morning the kids woke and remembered what had gone on the night before. I was still hung up on the fact that they were awake at that time.

Ninja Boy said he woke up and could only hear the clock ticking, so he was worried about the gerbils. I still find that hard to believe, but I’d rather believe that than some of the other things I came up with. That wheel is a pretty incessant sound in our house – or was.

I tried my best to grief counsel the kids. The problem is that they SAW him...gnawed legs and all (I want to throw up just thinking about it!). I, thankfully, didn’t see it.

They were pretty mad at the other gerbil, Princess, thinking she attacked him. I don’t think she’s guilty. I did a lot of internet searching this weekend and found it is common for stuff like this to happen to baby gerbils – when the mother feels inferior to or incapable of caring for them. Blackie and Princess came from the same Petco aquarium. They had lived in the same cage together for just over a year. From everything that I’ve read, this kind of thing doesn’t just happen.

Blackie was the ‘tortured soul’ of the pair. Princess was always friendly while Blackie was skittish. We also nursed Blackie back to health not too long ago from some kind of illness we couldn’t diagnose – but one of his legs was affected by it.

My theory: He mutilated himself.

Gross, sure. How else do you explain this??

Princess has been standing in the bare part of her cage - just standing, shaking. It won’t be long before she freezes to death herself. They are supposed to burrow into the bedding to keep warm when they sleep, but she won’t move. She misses her sister. (Yes, Blackie was actually a girl – I didn’t need any babies and it’s super easy to lie about their sex.)

I would love to give her another companion so she isn’t scared and lonely. The thing is that I didn’t care for the gerbils. We went to Petco that day to get the kids FISH. How we ended up with rodents is something I don’t remember well. $150 dollars and three months later and the only time the kids wanted to show them any attention was when they had friends over. Then, they would put them in cardboard boxes and stow them in their rooms (yes, cardboard!). Or make them play in the Barbie house. Cleaning the cage was a nightmare. We tried to have the kids do most of it, but it resulted in the gerbil mess reaching even further than the family room. We ended up ‘reclaiming’ the gerbils as OUR pets – meaning it was solely up to The Man to clean the cage and the kids weren’t allowed to touch them (or squeeze them to near death trying to make them lie down in Barbie’s bed).

I’ve been inactively trying to find them a new home since. We are only home for about three hours a day and it was a plain mistake to think the kids could fit such a time-consuming pet into their schedules. Fish, on the other hand…

So, now I’m left with trying to find a new home for ONE gerbil. I don’t think she’ll make it long enough to put an ad in the paper. Craigslist doesn’t accept animals. I’m at a loss. My mom suggested that I call the school and see if any teachers would like a classroom pet. Do they still do that?? I really need help!



In the meantime, let’s have a moment of silence for the dearly departed…

Thirteen

As of this morning, my brother Tommy has been living in Heaven as long as he had lived on Earth. Taken by a stealthy heart disease that would later put my mother through two surgeries.

I’ve written, throughout my life, about his death. Today, to honor him, I’d like to write a little about his life.

Born to a mother a whole 15 years old and a con-artist father in the Navy, there was not much expectation for Tommy’s future. Nowadays, children from those kinds of families typically turn out like the children who raised them.

However, our parents made a fateful move from California to Wisconsin, back to my paternal grandparents’ house. There, Tommy had our Bumpa. A strong, sensible and extremely intelligent retired Navy Commander, Bumps tapped into Tommy’s brain and found someone a lot like himself.

Tommy was loving. He always took care of my brother and me, no matter what. Whether he was watching us while Mom was working, taking us ice skating or flying alone with us across the country – he was always responsible and caring, despite being only two years older.

Tommy was a genius. I’ve never seen a test score to prove that so, but I don’t need to. His brain was a sponge for information. Before he even started school, my grandpa would hold up United States puzzle pieces BACKWARD and Tommy would name the state and capitol. In elementary school, he wrote stories at levels far beyond the rest of the kids. He had to have been in fifth grade when we got our first computer and within days he was a master. He experimented with Prodigy – a primitive form of what is now the Internet. He figured out the password to Rodney Jokes – a program that generated dirty Rodney Dangerfield jokes one at a time. He used Dr. Halo to create elaborate drawings of his absolute favorite thing: fighter jets.




Tommy was also extremely curious, and sometimes naughty. When he was five years old, he used to play “Fireman,” where he would put paper in the toaster to light it on fire, then stomp it out with his rain boots or extinguish it in the sink. As he got older, he became “Mr. Fixit” and would disassemble our toys – though they were rarely reassembled, Tommy learned how they worked. He built elaborate airplane models with extensive detail.

He invented insane ways to torture his siblings and just silly little things to make people laugh. He “chubbed” ears, “chunged” arms and sometimes even “dunka-chunged” them. He would hold our brother Tony down and whip him with his ‘skater hair.’ Or, hold him down and shove Warheads in his mouth. Or hold him down (did I mention he was much bigger than us?) and act like he was going to spit on him. He would stand outside my bedroom door at night, point his finger at me and close one eye to ‘aim.’ I had to scream or he’d charge my bed like a torpedo. (Then of course, I’d get in trouble for yelling when he “wasn’t doing anything", but it was better than getting “torpedoed.”)


He was a crazy kid. A smart kid. A loving kid.

That cold December morning, we lost someone great. Someone who should have grown up to be the next Bill Gates or war hero – who’s full potential will never be known. Yet when he died at thirteen, had more knowledge than I will probably have my whole life.


I miss you so much, Tommy, and I sure hope you can fly up there.