Marking a Year

First a Moment…
Then a Minute.
Next an Hour…
Which becomes a Day.
And then a Week…
Which becomes a Month.

And now,

A Year.

In those first moments of losing Dana, it seemed that I would never be removed from that scene. I felt like time stopped, that this was now my existence forever—in a somewhat frenzied mental state, not being able to see beyond the end of Dana’s bed. And too, there was a sacredness, a holiness—a spiritual residue left from Dana slipping from here to There that I didn’t want to walk away from. I think I had the sense to know that as soon as I stepped away from her bed that the grieving would start and the loss would flood in. Which, of course, it did. So here we are, a day away from marking the 365th day (Dec. 23) from when Dana went Home for her first Christmas (or in the words of her “Unkie” Jon, took up “a better offer” on where to spend Christmas). This blog post is a little different than the others; not so much writing, but requesting. I certainly have thoughts to process and share (and hope to do that over the next few days), but as I’ve approached this one-year mark, I’m finding myself wanting to be about things that honor and remember Dana. I’m seeing this past year as a year of “getting by,” doing whatever it takes to get through a week, or a day, or even an hour. I’m wanting (hoping?) year two to lean toward honoring and remembering, which may encourage the emotion of “cherishing” to come alongside the emotion of “hurting.” Of course, in the grief world, increments of time are ambiguous segments. While some cultures seem to have emotions keyed into timeframes (a time to mourn and then you’re done) ours doesn’t. Or at least not my culture.

So, I have two requests. One is in the form of gathering information, the other is in the form of a challenge. First the information.

Occasionally someone will share with me something Dana told them or advice she gave and they’re relieved that I appreciate hearing it. I guess it’s easy to think it might break my heart (and it might, but that’s okay). Here’s the thing: I WANT that kind of information; I crave it. A few months ago I retrieved over a year’s worth of instant messaging between Dana and me. That is a gift. And I’m thinking there is more out there from Dana. So, here we go:

Stuff Dana said (or did, or laughed at, or reacted to, or taught, or Tweeted, or anything in general):

Maybe you have some of her Facebook posts, or Tweets, or e-mails. Maybe you can remember a conversation, either in detail or in general. Maybe she helped you with a decision (she was the queen of “cut to the chase”). I would LOVE to have this.

How to share “stuff Dana said”:
Feel free to e-mail me at barry@inword.org, or post as a comment to this blog or on the CarePage. Feel free to let me know if you want the details to be private (and in that case send it via e-mail), but I would love to compile this information and pass it along in some fashion.


The Dana Challenge:
(I think she would hate that title, but it’s all I got right now)

Perhaps you’d like to do something in honor of Dana this year. Dane’s family of “Mama, buzzins, unkies and Pammies” and I have started a list (keyword: “started”) below. Nominations are not closed, so feel free to add to this list. Meanwhile, you may want to take one of these suggestions and run with it or do a few of them.

1. Take a ski lesson. Or if you’re a skier, ski a mountain in Dana’s honor. Or pay for someone’s ski lesson.
2. Take a knitting lesson. Or if you’re a knitter, knit something that celebrates life.
3. Scrapbook a trip or an event.
4. Take a bike ride through crunchy leaves in the fall.
5. Try a food you’ve never had.
6. Fill out a bracket for the NCAA March Madness tournament using nothing but mascots as your criteria—think logic (a boilermaker would smash a buckeye), philosophy (devils always lose) or food chain (cats beat birds; actually, cats beat anything). For tiebreakers (i.e., two cats facing off), go with your favorite team colors or the mascot that is less cartoony.
7. Organize a junk basket or drawer in your life (“God is a God of order, not chaos”).
8. Memorize Rev. 21:1-4 (or any other bite-sized chunk of Scripture). Ramp it up a notch by joining a Precept Bible study or taking a one-day Precept training seminar.
9. Find a harp teacher and randomly offer to pay for a lesson or two for a student in need. Or hire a harpist for an event you hold or attend and tell others about the amazing woman who inspired you to do so. If you find yourself at a symphony, listen for the harp, which is always a challenge, especially when brass is involved.
10. Help a friend on chemo.
11. “Do a puz with your cuz for no other reason just be cuz.”
12. Memorize “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” (or at least your favorite segment) and have it ready to go in your head for next year.
13. Get with a friend and can a batch of old-fashioned lime pickles. And give Barry a jar :-) .
14. Make shrimp salad at your favorite beach and share it with your favorite people and a good book.
15. Read a book about heaven (one of Dane’s faves: Intra Muros, now titled “Within Heaven’s Gates”)
16. Give to an organization (e.g., a church, a ministry, a health-care foundation).
17. Call up your favorite friend or your “Unkie” or most anyone, and listen and care.
18. Get excited about most anything and talk and laugh really loud.
19. Be brave. Don’t let any crisis define you; let the delicious moments define you.
20. Love.

Disclaimer: Sorry, but I can’t accept responsibility for any injuries (physical or emotional) that might result in trying any of these activities or exercises. I would, of course, love to hear a review of anything anyone tries.

I love you all tremendously. Your thoughts, prayers, comments, prayers, notes, prayers and prayers are the biggest reasons why I’m able to say that Year One was a year of “getting by” and not a year of “caving in.”

More soon,
Barry