"In the midst of sailing ships, we sink our lips into the ones we love that have to say goodbye. And as I float along this ocean, I can feel you like a notion that won't seem to let me go. And when I look to the sky, something tells me you're here with me. And you make everything alright. And when I feel like I'm lost, something tells me you're here with me, and I can always find my way when you are here.
And every word I didn't say, caught up in some busy day, and every dance on the kitchen floor I didn't have before...and every sunset that we'll miss, I'll wrap them all up in a kiss and pick you up in all of this when I float away."
"So what would you think of me now, so lucky, so strong, so proud - I never said thank you for that..."
Saturday, September 29, 2012
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love
can hear the rustle of a wing. ~ Robert Ingersoll
I wanted to tell you a story Emily told me. She said, "Sarah and I were
walking the other day and we were talking about how Grandpa Mike and
Grandpa Radford communicate with us. Sarah said that she talks to them
through the wind and the trees. I told her that they communicate
through music with me." So I asked Emily to give me an example and she
said; "One time I was really sad and trying not to cry. I felt like
nobody understood me and then suddenly the song Iris by the Goo Goo
Dolls came on and I knew it was them telling me they saw me and
understood me and that it was ok."
Listen to the first part It's very fitting for what she's talking about.
"There's a special kind of freedom sisters enjoy. Freedom to share
innermost thoughts, to ask a favor, to show their true feelings. The
freedom to simply be themselves." Author Unknown
This is my mom and dad. This is how I remember them. Their love could have been a movie. Their love was a forever love. And though she's still here on earth and he's in heaven, their love is still so thick that you can feel it, and he looks after her..waiting for her to join him.
As some of you know, my sister Debbie ended her own life this past
year. I find that it is very hard for me to talk about, for all the
obvious reasons and then for my own personal reasons. With her one year
mark approaching I find it is all I can think about.
Our father
had passed away after a long battle with kidney disease. All of his
daughters were in the room with him when he finally succumbed. We all
told him that we would be okay, that it was alright for him to leave us
and that we would take care of our mother. What I remember most about
other people in the room during the time that he was preparing to leave
-- my sister Debbie, singing softly to him -- Amazing Grace.
Most
of my friends did not get a chance to know Debbie well. She was older
than us by 9 years and already had a family while we were still in high
school. I feel like the world is at a loss for not knowing her. She
was so sweet and loving. Most people who did know her would say that
she gave to her own detriment. She could have only one shirt but if she
saw someone going without, she would give that shirt up to the person
without.
The world didn't always treat her kindly. There were many heartbreaks, many bad situations and a lot of pain.
As
my father's 1 year passing mark approached, I knew she was getting
down, but we were all mired down in our own pain over the past year's
events. I tried to keep up with what was going on with her. At one
point, we tried to have her committed to an institution, but it failed.
Unfortunately, the mental illness industry is very tied into the
insurance industry and she had no insurance. We were in the process of
planning to get her either to mom's house or to my older sister's house
when we got the call.
A little too late.
What I remember,
at night, when my thoughts are dark and sad -- the detective asking me
about the small blue jar she had clutched in her hand. "Do you know
what it is? Should we have it tested?"
"I know what it is. There's no need to test it. Leave it and we'll pick it up when we get to Phoenix"
"Ok, but I need to know what is in the jar, ma'am."
A long pause before I could bring myself to tell him --
"They are my father's ashes."
Debbie -- I love you. I will always love you until we meet again. And I miss you.
Kimm, Barbi & Shawn, Ginger, Mike and my girls --all of you who supported me through this --
I love you. Thank you.
Debra Ann Cottrell Russell, with my daughters Megan & Sarah while camping.
1960-2008
A beautiful sister, mother, daughter, aunt, friend and woman.
I'm home sick today. I feel absolutely terrible and as often is
the case with illness, it brings my thoughts around to a darker, sadder
place.
I've been reading all the debate about healthcare reform. I am left
feeling such sadness. My family has experienced such tragedy and that
tragedy came about as a direct result of the lack of sufficient and
affordable healthcare.
I want to put a face on it for you all.
The picture below is of my much loved and much missed sister Debbie.
You see, she suffered greatly from mental illness. It debilitated
her. It did so to the point that she could barely function, even though
she never stopped working. She was a hard worker, a loving and giving
person who believed firmly that you have to earn your own living and way
in life. She was kind. She cared for others. But she could not
battle mental illness alone. She needed help.
We tried in vain for years to get her help. My entire family spent
countless sums, everything we could manage, to keep her healthy, to keep
her fed and to keep her treatment going. Failing that, we tried to get
her placed on disability so that at least she would have medical
coverage. And after that failed, and as a last ditch effort, we tried
to have her involuntarily committed to a state institution so that she
would not harm herself any longer.
At each step in this, barriers were thrown up with the excuse that
she is uninsured or underinsured. I literally begged and pleaded with
the hospital to keep her. I told them that she was not safe enough to
let go.
It did not matter. In the end, before we could get her moved, she
managed to take a bottle of pills and kill herself. Now her children
are without a mother. Her grandchildren are without a grandmother. I
am without a sister. My mother has lost a child in the same year she
lost her husband.
Hers is the face of the need for affordable healthcare in this
country. You, my friends, who disagree with me - you who love me -
remember...
this has touched someone you love.
My family suffers because of this in ways you cannot imagine.
Please try to remember that there are human faces in this suffering.
Look at her beautiful smiling face and remember that she is no longer
with my family because she did not have adequate insurance.
This is just one story...
but it is mine.
I only hope that it doesn't become your story in the future.
I miss you so much, beautiful. Miss your silly laugh and your
voice and the way you ate mashed potatoes for breakfast like they were
the best.things.ever.
Two years ago, with your family gathered around you on this day,
we had to put you in the hospital. Five days later we had to say goodbye
to you forever.
On this day, two years later, I remember what an amazing father you were.
I
am so blessed that I had you for a father. You were my rock and from
the launching pad of your solid strength I was able to fly.
You
were my idea of what a man should be. Strong, always there, stable,
dependable -- a strong calloused hand that lifted me up when I fell,
that kissed my bruises and scrapes, that reeled me back in when I got
too far out of line.
You taught me to walk, to run, to ride on
two wheels and later to drive. You taught me that the best joys in life
are simple; a dawn sunrise on the banks of a river with your fishing
pole dangling in the water and a cup of hot chocolate in your hand, the
sound of dirt bikes starting up in the early morning sunlight, a walk --
holding your hand no matter how old I got. You taught me that people
are not always what they seem and that I should never throw away my
'pearls before the swine'.
You didn't always agree with me.
You didn't always think I was making the 'right' choices. Sometimes I
made you so mad the veins in your forehead would bulge and your face
would turn red, but you never stopped loving me. Not ever.
You
told me the words I needed to hear when my heart was broken, that one
man in this world would never stop loving me. That one man in this
world would always stand by me, cheering on the sidelines of my life.
The time I got stood up for homecoming in the 7th grade, you came home
with two dozen red roses and told me that any boy who would pass up a
date with me was blind and stupid and not worth the tears I'd shed.
You helped me believe in myself.
The best things I have ever done were because you and mom believed in me, daddy.
And
later, watching you with my girls -- the apples of your eye, as you
took them places and bragged on them. Even your last days in the
hospital, you were sure to tell the nurses all about your grandbabies
and how special they were.
Today, I remember the days of riding
up next to you in the cab of the truck as a little girl -- on our way to
some camping adventure. How you loved to sing! And we would sing at
the top of our lungs, loud as we please --
especially this part, where you would smile and we would sing as loud as we could "She's 41 and her daddy still calls her baby".
You always called me baby, no matter how old I was. And I'll always be your baby, daddy.
I love you. I remember you.
Jazmyne Allison-Mahrie Reh
Born 1:06 a.m. September 29, 2012
This is your great granddaughter, Daddy. And Debbie? Thanks for finally sending us a girl! We love and miss you both. The days pass swiftly but you're never far from our minds and you are always in our hearts.
It's very fitting for what she's talking about.
