Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Category Archives: scary things


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A new website for the Truck Safety Coalition

I was going to write today about my woody peony which is in bloom.  It’s beautiful, and this is the first spring I’ve had it.  But just moments ago I received an email from the Truck Safety Coalition that our new website is up.  So of course I went to see.

Click here to see it.

I got caught up in the memorial photographs.  Many of the more recent ones have little bios about the people that were killed.  If you have a strong heart go there and look.  The pictures are alphabetical and I only got as far as the C’s before I couldn’t see through the tears and had to stop.  Maybe we should revamp the new website again so that this list flips back and forth, sometimes A-Z, sometimes Z-A…because I don’t think anyone will be able to look at all of them, and those at the back of the alphabet deserve our attention as well.

You can also listen to a few stories, short video clips of some of us talking about our losses.  Tissues will be needed I’m afraid.
There’s a lot of  important information on the site, and if you ever have anyone you know that needs us, just let us know.  I hope you never do.

Dad’s last name was Badger, so I saw his picture among the memorials.  It’s hard to see it there, he just shouldn’t have had to die that way.

Thanks for all your support when I ramble like this.


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Aunt V is out of the hospital!

Quick update.  Aunt V got discharged this evening.  I’m home for a moment to pack a bag, then I’m going to go stay at her place.  Maybe one night.  Maybe more.  We’ll see.  She, of course, insists she doesn’t need any help.  Maybe not, but I need to know she’s able to get around before I’ll be able to leave her alone at her apartment.

Doctors never did figure out what caused the blood pressure to spike above 200.  So the underlying problem is not resolved.

Thanks for all your kind thoughts.

Aunt Vi Uncle Warren 2010 005


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Re-entry is tough

From weeks of relative silence I’ve been bounced back into my real world.    I drove home Tuesday, and Wednesday evening our 94 year old Aunt called because she didn’t feel well…and her blood pressure was sky high.  I told her to get to the hospital, and we’d meet her there.  We’ve been at the hospital ever since.  She has been through many tests but no one can tell us what is going on and why the blood pressure spiked, nor why she remains too dizzy to walk.

Many decisions need to be made, difficult decisions.  Wish us, but mostly her, good luck please.


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Traverse City renewal

Northport March April 2010 973 In Traverse City the old state psychiatric hospital is being converted to upscale offices, chic stores, yuppie restaurants and trendy galleries.  I went by yesterday to take a look.  The complex is enormous, building after yellow brick building, three or four stories high, rows and rows of windows.  The parts of it that have been completely updated are beautiful.

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But many of the buildings are still in disrepair, and those buildings haunted me, their windows blank, watching me as I tried to absorb what it might have been like years before.

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Porches allowed patients fresh air but were caged with wire mesh to keep the residents contained.

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Barred windows, many now broken.  The silence that seemed to scream.

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There’s a sadness there that clings even to the freshly renovated buildings.  I don’t think I could live in the condos on the upper floors; even with sunshine pouring down I felt as though I was trespassing on fragile souls.  But it’s a good use of property and will be beautiful when it’s finished…

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…though I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few ghosts floating around.  So many lost souls, so many lost stories.

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Happy Birthday Dad

Today is Dad’s 81st birthday.  I was walking at the mall this morning and a smallish man was walking ahead of me, built quite a bit like Dad, baseball cap on, and if I squinted he could a sort of might have looked like Dad.  But not really.  Funny how I keep looking for him.

A week or so ago I was corresponding via email with the mother of a young woman named Channing who was killed in a crash a year ago.  She was struggling at the one year anniversary with the fact that she felt worse now than she did at the time of the crash.   She also said she felt bad that she had been “taking” and not giving anything back, as she knows we have suffered a similar loss.  This is what I wrote back to her.  I didn’t mean it to run on the ways it does, or get so philosophical, the words just came.

“I don’t think it’s unusual for it to be more difficult for some people after the first year.  I think at first you’re running on adrenalin, getting through the first day, the first week, month, first holiday, first birthday without them.  And sometimes you think that if you can survive the first year that it will all go away.  But it doesn’t go away and that causes you to be even more depressed.  Because you start to believe that you’re facing years and years and forever feeling just like you feel right now, and you feel pretty horrible right now.  And the pain is so intense that sometimes you can’t breath and you can’t imagine not being able to breath for the rest of your life.  And you feel hopeless and you want to crawl away somewhere and cry forever.

But I’m here to tell you that though the pain doesn’t go away entirely, it will eventually recede to a manageable level.  I don’t know if the pain actually moves away or if we just learn how to manage it better.  Your counseling sessions with your family, if led by someone you connect to, will help you learn, will give you hope, will teach you tools to make some days better.  And then a few more days will be better.  And someday you will laugh about something and you will be surprised because you don’t remember the last time you laughed.  And then you will fee guilty.  And than later on, maybe days or months, you will laugh again, maybe even at a memory of something Channing did, and you will realize that it’s alright to laugh.  That you’re not dishonoring her by being happy.  Her life is not discounted because you have moved beyond the pain.  That making yourself stay in the pain is not going to bring her back, and that the way to honor her is to do good works, tell her story,and love her forever.

Someday you will be there, I promise.  And then you will be able to take some newly injured family and hold them close to your heart and they will say, “we’re taking but we’re not giving.”  And you will know that they are in fact giving, they are giving you the opportunity to do something good with your pain.  And then you will have completed the circle.  And Channing will smile.”

I tell you this, dear blog readers, not to tell my story all over again, because I’ve done that here many times, but to let you know how much I appreciate your patience when I head down this road again.  Because it’s here that I can lay the pain and let some of it go.  For whatever reason, if there is something sad hanging onto me and I put it down in writing it loses some of its hold.  And though I know that it’s not fair to spread that pain among all of you, especially those I’ve never met and aren’t related to, it does help.

And so I thank you for reading and listening and caring and helping me remember my Dad.  On his 81st birthday.  Tonight.

Braun and Badger 105


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Haiti

I feel an extra emotional connection while I watch news footage of the massive 7.0 earthquake in Haiti.  It doesn’t look like many structures survived, and there are likely thousands dead.  The extra little tug I feel is caused by the fact that the truck driver that killed Dad in 2004 was from Haiti.  He had been in the US only a couple of years.  Likely he has family still in Haiti.

I only saw him once; at his only court appearance.  For whatever reason, killing someone with a semi is only a misdemeanor.  So when we went into a Georgia court to find out how he was going to plead we were dismayed to find ourselves in a courtroom filled with people there for nonpayment of child support, under age drinking and one guy who had burned tires in his yard without a permit.  Then there was us.  We were the only people there dressed in suits, other than one man and his attorney.  We knew instantly that the well dressed man nervously sitting with an obvious attorney was “our” driver.  Turns out he had been advised to plead “no contest” which doesn’t admit guilt but also meant he didn’t have to go to trial.  I think his attorney had worked out a deal with the Prosecutor that if he plead no contest he’d get off with probation.  They didn’t count on our family showing up from all over the country and providing the judge with heartfelt impact statements.

We had a wonderful judge that allowed us to make our impassioned statement and who took the time to silently read statements we had sent to the Prosecutor previously.  I remember  being in that courtroom, my brother standing beside our driver reading the family’s statement of grief and loss.  I remember the driver rocking back and forth on his toes not looking at us.  I remember the noisy courtroom hushing as people realized what we were talking about.  I remember the stifled sound of  sobs from some women, people we didn’t know, when my brother said that my sister couldn’t listen to Christmas music without crying anymore.  I remember a court officer, guarding the back door, wiping his eyes.

We wanted some jail time, to make the point that killing someone wasn’t just the cost of doing business, and the judge gave the driver the most she could, 30 days.  We were grateful.  The driver’s attorney protested loudly, saying that people fell asleep driving all the time.  The judge responded with a quote from our impact statement; “We expect more from professional drivers.”  The driver was escorted out and it was done.

The judge asked for a recess, and we all started to move out of the room.  Along the way people we didn’t know and would never meet again stood up, offered their hands and condolences.  It took some time to get out of the room.  Out in the hall I felt a bit of a letdown as I moved toward the exit.  Then I realized none of my family was with me, and I turned back to find them.  They were standing in a clump in the middle of the hall…with the judge, still in her robes.  She had come out to tell us she was sorry.  She was sorry about our loss, and she was sorry she couldn’t have done more.  She didn’t understand, you see, that we were thrilled with her ruling.  We had been warned that he would likely get off with probation and that we would probably be disappointed in the process.  Instead she did just as we asked, and we thanked her for that.  She had tears in her eyes.  So did we.

The driver  risked being deported back to Haiti by pleading no contest to a misdemeanor.  I have no idea if he ended up being sent back but I hope not.  It has always been my hope that he was able to stay and raise his two children here, that he turned out to be as fine a dad as ours was, that he used the lessons he learned from this experience to raise wonderful, contributing children. That in his own way he makes the world a better place  just like Dad made the world a better place.

So as I watch the footage of Haiti I hope that he and his family are not there.  I hope they are safe in Florida and that he has found peace.  But I know that very likely someone he loves has died a horrible violent death and that even if he is not there himself  he now knows the intesne grief that sudden death brings to survivors.  I hope he can cope, I hope he has the support we had.  And still have.

I wish him and his family well.


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Settling down

I met a woman once, not so long ago, who was expressing her unsettled feelings.  I only met her a couple of times, but each time she was rapidly and intensely expressive about how she wished she had made different decisions, always anxious about whether or not something else might have been better.  She described how she moved from job to job thinking the next thing would be the best, how she moved her family into a big house thinking that would be the best, her children into a private school wanting the best for them.   How she had to take a different, higher paying job to pay for the all the decisions she had made and now how tired she was, stressed out and not at all sure that anything was best after all.  That in reality her family had been the most happy in their small cozy home, kids in public school, she at a job she liked.

She reminds me of me.  Internally, though I rarely express it aloud, I too wonder if  living in a different place would be better, a different (or any right now!) job would make me happier, if living alone would be better for me than living with someone else.  And yet I know from experience that when the work world was busy I wished it would slow down, and when it slowed down I worried that the work would never come back.  I remember when I lived alone and wished there was someone else there.  Why is it such a difficult thing to appreciate what we have right now while we have it?  Why can’t we just be happy with what we have?  Why must we wonder what it would be like if...

Yesterday I purchased a teapot.  You’d be right to wonder what that has to do with being satisfied with life as it is.  It’s just that I’ve wanted a teapot for a long time.  A really long time.  And last night while my husband and I were out shopping for other things we wandered by the teapots and actually stopped and picked one out.   So now I have a little spot of color in my kitchen, and I’m sitting with a hot cup of tea watching the birds outside my window while fragrant meatloaf is baking in the oven.

I think for the moment I’ll learn from the lady with her frantically scattered fearful thoughts  and just sit here enjoying what I have.  I have beautiful birds outside, finches and chickadees and nuthatches, cardinals and a big woodpecker, titmice and sparrows.  I have Katie asleep nearby and a husband off in the den.  Dinner is in the oven.  The sun is sort of shining.  I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow.  And I’m reading a great book; “Night Gardening” by E. L. Swann.

I think I am content.

funky art 057


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5 years

Dad 044 It was five years ago today that Dad was killed.  It seems like yesterday, and a hundred forevers all at the same time.  Much was lost and much has been learned.  Where once I cried in mourning, now I cry angry tears,  and I’m determined that we’ll win our fight for safety.  That’s progress I suppose-from mourning to anger.  Still, I wish I could have remained unwittingly ignorant.

I wish that he was still here.


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Invisible

When I was a kid I thought that I wanted to grow up and have no permanent home, to travel the country, maybe the world, living nowhere and everywhere, free to move about as I wanted.  I’ve always kept that idea tucked in the back of my mind, thinking that someday maybe I’d hit the road permanently.  But after spending a week alone in DC I have to say I may need to reevaluate that concept of freedom.

On one hand it’s a wonderful experience that everyone should have, days and days without agenda, no responsibilities, sleeping as late as you like, eating when you like, what you like, visiting sites you’re interested in, leaving them if they don’t hold your attention.  On the other hand there is no one to discuss the sites with, no one to catch a meal with, no one to wake up to the next morning.  And as I wandered the city in my one pair of jeans, wearing my beige coat, purse over my shoulder I began to feel invisible.  People working the museums, the train, the national monuments saw me, I’m sure, but I’m equally sure they won’t remember me.  People taking my meal orders at restaurants smile blithely but wouldn’t be able to describe me the next day if they were asked.  Often my food orders were prepared in error, people didn’t seem to hear me, or maybe they just weren’t listening.  I thought that perhaps this is the way homeless people feel.  Invisible.

Each day I’d go out and explore some new venue.  I’d fill my day until it got dark and then I’d scurry home to the hotel.  I was grateful I had the hotel to retreat to and  I wondered about other people that wandered as I did but didn’t have that luxury.  It was a funny feeling to belong nowhere; to attempt to fill my days, plotting where I could go to get warm, or to sit down for awhile.  There aren’t so many places you can just sit for very long without arousing suspicion.  I even wandered into the downtown DC public library and read a whole book one morning, when I arrived at an art museum several hours before it opened.

It’s an eye opener to be “homeless” for a week.  To not be noticed by anyone.  When I was a kid I thought that being invisible might be fun.  Now I think maybe not so much.

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Shoes

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Today I fought to make myself go out into the windy cold day.  On the metro for the first part of my trip I was in a car surrounded by a teacher and his six gradeschoolers.  We were all standing up and he was trying to get them to hang onto the poles so they wouldn’t fall.  “Simon says hang on to something!” he’d say and they’d all grab the poles.  He was very engaging and the six 3rd or 4th grades were really cute.  I got the impression they were going to Union Station and catching a bus somewhere.  At the transfer station I got out to get on another line that would take me to the Mall.

Man it was cold today!  And so windy my eyes were tearing up.  I walked head first into the wind down to the Washington Monument, then spent quite a bit of time at the new World War II memorial.  That’s a pretty place.  From there I walked all the way around the tidal basin to the Jefferson Monument.  And you know what?  There was the teacher, many other teachers and a whole passel of kids!  Including “my” six!  Should have followed them and ridden the bus!

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After the Jefferson Memorial I walked back over to the Holocaust Memorial.  I knew going through this memorial site could be upsetting but I thought it was important.  Plus I really didn’t know enough about the Holocaust and what better place to learn?

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Several times in the exhibits I was glad the light was low as my eyes were tearing up and there was no wind to blame.  This museum is a testament to our freedom of speech as it became painfully obvious how little the United States did to help the Jews.  And how late.  Though the focus of the exhibit was not to denigrate the US, it was obvious in the time line and in the stories of people and countries who attempted to put a stop to the killings that we were too busy fighting the war to use our resources to stop or slow the extermination of thousands.  Sounds somewhat familiar.  If you ever get to DC this exhibit is worth your time.  Please put it at the top of your list of things to see.

So what does all this have to do with shoes?  Well, I put a lot of miles on mine.  But that’s not it.  About 2/3 of the way through the Holocaust exhibit is a room piled with shoes.  Actual shoes worn by people gassed.  There were prisoners whose job it was to take valuables from the bodies, and the shoes, along with other clothes were collected and often given to Germans in need.  Sort of a Nazi second hand system.

I got through the whole exhibit without actually crying and it was tough.  But the shoes?  The shoes made me cry.