It is my intention to collect stories and memories from Greg's dad, sister,
brother and friends. Until then, here are a few stories I wrote about Greg.
For the last several days, I have been thinking about things in the past more than in the present. On the Fourth, I remembered being invited to my neighbor's house for dinner, to try to take my mind of the flight I was taking a year ago on the 5th back to Minnesota. On the 5th, I remembered getting ready, driving down to Phoenix, and my friend Michael taking me to the airport. I remembered the dust storm that came up just as the plane was to leave, and the hour delay and the further delay because of weather in the twin cities. We had started to fly to Duluth to wait out the storm when it cleared up enough for us to land in Minneapolis several hours late. Hours I could have been with Greg. The flight attendants asked anyone who didn't have a connecting flight to please wait to get off the plane, but of course, everyone got up and waited. They couldn't get the door open and I remember waiting something like fifteen minutes for them to fix that. Finally I was off the plane, my ex finally arrived at the airport to pick me up and finally I was with Greg at the hospital.
Today is July 7, 2000. One year ago at this exact time, my son Greg was still alive. It is about 9 am in Minneapolis now, and we were all with him, watching movies and waiting for him to go to surgery. We watched Animal House and Space Balls. We watched the Price is Right, one of his favorite shows, and both people who took the big spin won the $10,000. I recall Bob Barker saying that had never happened before. Around 11 am, the nurse came in to take him down to pre-op. Evelyn and Lowell went to the waiting room, my ex and I went with Greg. This was nothing new for any of us, as this was his fifth operation in three years. As before, Greg had his stuffed elephant, Spud, with him. The surgeon was the one who had twice operated on his lungs. While we waited, I had to leave the area we were in, because I was crying and didn't want Greg to see that. He was his usual calm self, and I marveled to myself about how he took all the shit that had happened to him in such a stoic manner. I composed myself, went back in to be with him, and watched as my son was wheeled to the operating room.
Since he had had brain surgery less than six weeks earlier, and had recovered from that in a day, I figured this would be another routine surgery. I remember going to the cafeteria with one of the kids and eating something. The kids had game boys to keep them occupied, we watched the other families, we watched tv, we read the paper. My ex went to the cafeteria with the other kid. Time passed too slowly. I decided to try to nap as I was the one who was going to stay with over with Greg that night. I half slept in one chair, with my feet on another one, and I remember an uneasy moment in my sleep. I know now that is the moment Greg died.
Fred, my ex, woke me up and I saw a nurse standing there, not the doctor. I already knew. She said there had been complications and the surgeons were doing everything they could. She took us to a private room to wait for the doctor. As soon as Dr. Leonard came in, he started talking medical mumbo jumbo. I interrupted him and just asked, is Greg dead. I needed to know, to have my worst fears confirmed. He said yes, and we all fell apart. Evelyn, Lowell, Fred and myself. That was the first time in some two years I'd touched my ex husband, but we both crumpled in each others arms. We tried to comfort Evelyn and Lowell as best we could. Dr. Leonard explained how the tumor was growing into his heart, and a piece broke off and stopped his heart. A cardiologist tried his best, but Greg was dead.
I wanted to see him, and they finally said we could look at his body. Lowell didn't go, but Evelyn, Fred and I did. He looked asleep, except he was bluish, and cool to the touch already. I looked at his chest, to see his new scars. I can still see him lying there in my mind, and it will haunt me till my dying day. I remembered Lowell alone with a nurse and we said our final goodbyes to Greg's body. I kissed his forehead and left the room. I was still crying and it was at least half an hour before we composed ourselves enough to deal with the new realities.
As long as I live I will never forget how what Lowell said broke my heart even more. Through the tears, I said there were probably some people I needed to phone and tell them what happened. Fred said, yeah, he had some calls to make. So did Evelyn. But Lowell said, I have no one to call, Greg was my only friend. I hugged him but I'm sure he felt so totally lost without his big brother. I know he still does.
Evelyn and I went up to the hospital room Greg spent his last days on earth in, and gathered up his belongings. The tapes, his clothes, and one plant, leaving the others. I took the toothbrush I made him brush his teeth with that morning. I have it here with me. Lowell and Fred went home in Fred's car, and Evelyn and I drove home in what we still call Greg's car. We cried, we screamed, we cursed. We remembered another time we'd left in the same state of mind, when our Care Partner Christine died.
At 12:30 or so today, it will be the time when Greg's soul left this earth. I still firmly believe it was his decision to let go, to end the suffering and pain he tried to hide from us. That's the only thing that consoles me is that he is painfree. My pain, and I'm certain my ex's and my other two children's pain, can't be erased that simply, nor would we want it that way. We each deal with it our own style. My way is to write about Greg. He lived less than eighteen years, but he touched so many lives, that I want to share him with everyone. I love you, and I miss you, Greg.
I can't seem to shake the mental pictures of Greg dead, and I needed to cry and hold one of Greg's most prized possessions.
He's just a beat up grey stuffed elephant that Greg named Spud. I'm holding him, because he was my son's. The inside picture on the card distributed at his memorial service shows a four year old Greg holding him, dressed in some old clothes of Greg's. The clothes are gone, and all that remains on Spud is the hospital nametag, that states, "Spud-I belong to Greg". I forget which time they put the tag on Spud, since he went with Greg each time to the hospital. He was there in the operating room when Greg died. And now I have him. I let Lowell, my youngest have him for a while, but he never treated Spud with respect. So Lowell let me take him home with me. Whenever Lowell needs to be in Greg's presence, he can go into his bedroom. My ex cleaned it up a bit, but otherwise, Greg's room is pretty much the same as it was.
I keep Spud in my bedroom, on the top shelf of a bookcase, so I can look at him. I guess that's my little shrine dedicated to Greg's memory. There is also a painting of me that he did in school, probably in 5th grade. The mug I had made for him when he was maybe 3 is up there, and the hospital issue toothbrush I made him use that morning. I have a few of his hospital bracelets, too. I've slept holding Spud a few times, and I can't tell you how many times I've soaked his body with my tears. Today is one of those days.
On Spud's left foot, he still has the threads that mark his toes. Same thing on his left hand, while the right just has on string left. His right ear is coming loose, and if had a mouth originally, it's gone. From the picture of a young, healthy Greg, it doesn't appear that Spud did have a mouth. He's got a big pulled spot on his back, but he's not losing any of his stuffing. I would state without a doubt this is my most prized possession. He would be the first thing I'd take if my house were on fire.
When Greg had his first surgery for cancer, he was 14. He never acted scared, though I'm certain he must have been. Spud went with Greg to the hospital and while Greg would never admit it, he needed Spud with him. So Spud accompanied Greg each subsequent stay at the hospital. It was a year ago Greg had his fourth surgery, the brain tumor one. Spud was there. Greg was a pro at being in the hospital, but no one wants their child to be a pro at that. Spud was with Greg during his fatal surgery, when his heart stopped. I think when we went to look at Greg's body, Spud was with him on the gurney. I'm not positive, as I'm sure I was in shock. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still can see Greg's lifeless body, an eerie whitish blue color. Underneath the cloth covering Greg, I could see the new scars that they had inflicted on him, trying to remove his kidney. I wanted to pull the sheet down, but I suppose they just sewed him up just enough. I ran my hand over his face, feeling the coolness of his body. I kissed his forehead, and then we left the room.
Greg should be getting ready to graduate from high school. He should have just gone to his prom with date. Instead, I am reminded of a year ago, when he was recovering from the brain surgery. It was very risky and the doctor used all the modern technology to make sure he was cutting where the tumor was and nowhere else, since the tumor was in the motor strip. By that evening, Greg was alert, and complaining to me. I fed him ice chips and let him bitch at me all he wanted. Spud and I watched over Greg while he slept. At 17, Greg didn't need to sleep with a stuffed animal, but that didn't mean he didn't want Spud with him when he needed a little extra reassurance. The day before Greg died, I insisted on taking some pictures with my new digital camera. Greg didn't want me to, but I overruled him. In that last picture of my three children, Greg is holding Spud. And now I am holding Spud, and in some way, still holding Greg.
I wrote this on Greg's birthday. It should be a day for celebration, but it isn't.
Today is Greg's 18th birthday. He was born at 1:07 am, CST in Minneapolis, MN. My pregnancy with him was relatively easy, being my second. I realized i was in labor with him, when i went to the grocery store for the second time on October 1. I had done my main shopping that morning at Byerly's, but when i got home, i realized i had forgotten bread. So after lunch, i went over to Lunds, which was less than 5 minutes away. Before i left the house, i used the bathroom. When i got to Lunds, i had to use the bathroom again, and as i was waiting in line to check out, i had to use the bathroom again. I realized it was probably my water leaking. I had one loaf of bread, and i wanted to say to the people ahead of me, excuse me, but i think i'm in labor. But i didn't. The checkout girl and the woman in front of me were discussing some story in a tabloid magazine. I went home and called my doctor, who said to come on in. So i took Evelyn over to my girl friend Susan's house, as had been prearanged, and Fred and i went off to the doctor's office. And yes, i was in labor. I checked into the hospital and was put in a very nice birthing room. Unlike Evelyn's birth, my doctor was there for Greg's delivery. I had switched obstetricians after her birth. At least he had warned me he might not be on call, it could be one of his partners, so i had seen them during the nine months, but i had wanted Dr. Gaziano there. Because my water was leaking, Greg had to be born soon, so they gave me pitocin. And put an internal monitor in me. Pitocin makes the contractions stronger, and i could see them peak and ebb on the monitor as i worked at breathing through each one. Fred swears that at one point during a contraction, i called my doctor "Manny Baby". His first name was Emanuel, but i never thought of him as that. Eventually, the pain became too much for me...and i asked them for something. They gave me a drug called nubane (sp) and Greg was born about an hour later. I never really thought i was having a boy; i was certain i was carrying a girl, who would be named Caroline Susannah. Of course, Fred and i had discussed boys names, and we had agreed on Gregory and Kendall... only we hadn't decided which for the first name, which for the middle name till after Greg was born. He was 8 pounds, 4 ounces, and 20 inches. He had big blue eyes and light sandy colored hair. And i fell in love with him immediately, just like i had with Evelyn.... all the pain i had just gone through completely erased from my mind.
Greg felt sort of forgotten, being the middle child. But that was never the case. He had a sweet disposition and every one liked him. He never was without a friend, always invited to play with someone. Today, he should be having a birthday party with his friends, maybe playing some frisbee golf, or music, or just hanging around. He should be in his senior year of high school, thinking about where to apply to college. He so much was looking forward to voting in the next election. It hurts too much to think about his potential.... what he could have been, what he should have gotten a chance to do or try in his life. The places he will never go. Greg taught me just about everything i know about computers. Music became his main interest after computers, and he was a very talented musician. He loved the meat ball sandwiches at Joey D's, meat lovers skillets at Denny's. He hated scalloped potatoes. He was content with simple things He never complained, though he had plenty of reason to. He was just an ordinary teenager, and yet he was so very special. He was never embarrassed to kiss me in front of his friends, or hold my hand in public. He and i fought bitterly over some things, usually involving him staying out at night. He had a way of trying to break down my resistance, but it never worked. Yet he knew i loved him, and i know he loved me. The last words we heard him speak were i love you.... as he was wheeled away for surgery. He died in a different Minneapolis hospital on July 7, 1999. Today he should have been 18 years old.
© 2 October, 1999This is a story about a family adventure we all had, but it quite an impact on Greg. Brian Propp should be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame, if you ask me.
Ever since I was figuratively dragged kicking and screaming to a professional hockey game, where I fell in love with the game, hockey has been a part of my family's life. But this isn't about hockey, really. It's about a charity auction and what we bid on and won. Going to a North Stars practice and having breakfast with Brian Propp.
I can't recall what year this was, but it had to be 1990 or 91. The Mall of America hadn't been built yet, which would have made Evelyn 12, Greg 10 and Lowell 6. The benefit was for Children's Cancer Research Fund (CCRF). I'd been a volunteer worker on most of them the years I lived in Minneapolis. Long before I ever imagined how much they would become a part of my life.
As a fundraiser, they had a big gala event each year, usually featuring a name talent. Fred and I went, and spent a good part of the evening at the auction. There were a couple of items we were extremely interested in... one being a week at the Nesbit's cottage in Balsam Lake, Wisconsin, and the other were hockey related. We had bid on skating with Bobby Smith, but that was going too high for us. Bobby was drafted by the North Stars and had recently been traded back to them from Montreal, and people were excited to see him back in town. So we opted for trying to get attending to a practice session with Brian Propp. Brian had recently been traded to the North Stars by Philadelphia, so he wasn't as well known in Minneapolis, and his item wasn't being as fiercely bid on as the skating with Bobby. At the close of the auction, one of us stood by the cabin to make certain ours was the winning bid, and the other stood by Brian Propp. It turned out we got them both.
We called Brian and ended up exchanging phone messages for a while. I believe the tape with his messages are still up in the cabinet above the phone. He could have said, just you two parents can come, or one parent and one child, but he was happy to have all five of us come. Greg was still playing hockey then, so he was exceptionally excited. Though, he had actually skated on the Met Center ice previously, during a regular season North Star's game intermission as a mite. This time however, we got to go behind the scenes.
We met Brian at the player's entrance to the Met Center on a cold Sunday morning. We entered the arena from the "backdoor", like VIP's. The inside of the now demolished Met Center was very utilitarian. Cement walls, pipes exposed. The males of the family got to go into the player's dressing room. I guess it was a big thrill to see players like Mike Modano getting dressed. Evelyn and I wandered around the stands, where we met coach Bob Gainey's daughter. She took us to the family room, where player's families can watch the game or just socialize. We watched the practice from the player's bench or penalty box.
The highlight of the day for Greg was getting to ride over to Perkin's in Brian's Jaguar. It was British racing green and not a very appropriate car for a Minnesota winter. The boys bugged Brian about letting them ride over to Perkins with him, and he was very gracious and said, Sure. Then Greg got to sit next to Brian at the restaurant. I remember what Brian had... pigs in a blanket. I couldn't tell you what i had... or anyone else. His fiancee and some other friends met us at the restaurant, but Brian gave most of his attention of the boys. He couldn't have been nicer and more personable.
Brian was so nice to the kids and he made a big impression on them, but especially Greg. He never lost his love for the game, even after he could no longer play. During this year's Stanley Cup playoffs, Greg would call me and we would discuss the game. When I was in Minnesota for some of the games, he and I would watch together, and he would give me a very thoughtful analysis of the game.
When we bid on the auction item, we had no idea what we were really going to get. But we got much more than we paid for, and for that we will always be grateful to Brian Propp. He wasn't a big super star, and he probably won't make the Hall of Fame, but he is and was in our book.
© 30 September, 1999This one was written for a happier occasion.
My son called me today. That in itself is something to write about, because he seems to forget how to dial a phone when it comes me. He never has trouble calling his friends. But this isn't to complain about him. All in all, Greg is a great kid.
He's my middle child, and to hear him tell it, the forgotten one. He is the sweetest disposition, has the most outgoing personality and is a hard worker. He has more friends that anyone can count, and seems to attract them with such ease. He was the one who was most comfortable going with me to the nursing home, when my mom was there. He went out and found a job at 15, which circumstances forced him to give up even before he started. He showed great maturity and acceptance when he was diagnosed with cancer. He never asked why, never complained, and smiled throughout the entire ordeal.
The purpose of his call was to gloat. Well, first he had to spread the good news. His 16th birthday was on the 2nd of this month. In Minnesota, you have to make an appointment to take your road test, and since I knew I wouldn't be there to take him, I told him to work it out with his dad. I guess he put it off too long, and the soonest he could go was sometime in mid November. On his birthday, he and his dad went to every testing station in the twin cities area. They couldn't get in, and the best Greg could do was to call every day, and hope there was a cancellation the next day. Since this was important to him, he obviously did check with the different testing stations every day. Had it been something less life and death, like involving school, it never would have gotten such conscientious attention. I didn't know he was going, so it was a total surprise when he gave me the news. He had already driven one of his friends bowling last night.
He rubbed it in that he passed on the first time. That males were better drivers than females. He knew that I didn't pass the first time nor had his sister. I remember that day 30 years ago. I had taken the day off from school, and my mom and I went to DMV for me to take my test. I did everything perfectly, but the tester failed me anyways. I told my friends I hadn't taken the test. I doubt they believed me, but they said they did. They were plenty willing to ride with me when I got my license a few months later.
Greg told me he was taking his younger brother out to breakfast. I guess there will be no stopping him now. He even briefly considered my suggestion of driving out here to see me. I can't believe another one of my children has passed such a major milestone. I can't believe how fast time passes, that it has been 30 years since I first got my driver's license. Before I know it, the grandchildren I hope to have someday will be passing their driver's license tests. Though first Lowell will have to turn 16. And that will happen soon enough for me.
I wrote this story when I was living in Maine. He had been doing so well since his initial surgery, until this.
There's a song... "life is a highway...". Well, my highway just hit a major speed bump. I was cruising along at about 50, enjoying the view, when, WHAM!!!!! Major crash.
People live in their own little worlds. It's safer that way. It's hard enough dealing with our own day to day shit, without taking on anyone else's. I'm no different. I know in the back of my mind, there are people dying and sick but I don't know them, so I don't think about them.
Yesterday got up at 6 am with some stupid stuff on my mind. Wednesday is garbage day here in Portland, and I hadn't gotten mine ready or put out by the curb. Plus, I was supposed to make fudge for the women in the the fly fishing circle, and I never found the time on Tuesday. So, I got up, did those two things, checked my mail and went back to bed. Woke up when the phone rang. It was my landlord's son, wanting to get into the attic. He needs to go through my apartment to do that. I said come on over.
I packaged up the fudge and went to the post office. I do not care for this post office, but it's the only one around here. It's a bitch to get into the parking lot, but it really wasn't that bad yesterday. And for as crowded as the lot was, it wasn't terrible busy inside. I had everything ready for mailing, and headed out in just a few minutes.
Got ready to go to the Divorce Support Group. I look forward to this, because it's my only real contact with other people. Plus, often the meetings are very informative and helpful. Tonight's program however, was just small groups, so I decided I wouldn't stay. I have been one of the greeters since my second meeting, as I am shy and I like having something to do. Makes me feel useful. So I get there early, and feel like I belong. I get to say hello to everyone, and don't have to sit in a corner somewhere. After the announcements, I grabbed my coat and headed home.
I checked my answering machine. To my surprise, there was a message on it. It was from some lady from the Junior League here, who has called me a few times. I decided to fix a salad, and write some emails. I had started the first email, to a friend on the fly fishing list, when the phone rang. It was my soon to be ex. My first thought, was, oh shit, Lowell got expelled from school. How I wish that had been the news he had to pass on.
My middle son, Greg, had a bone tumor removed almost 2 years ago. To remove it without cutting the cancerous tumor, they took his whole left shoulder. But they were pretty sure they got the tumor in tact. Since I moved here, I'd been bugging Greg to see his cancer doctor. They finally went on Tuesday morning. They found spots on his lungs. Cancer was back. I was in shock. I was furious. I wanted to scream... to break something. But nothing would make Greg better. I knew I was crying. I called my best friend. I wanted her to share my misery. When I hung up the phone, I went back to the computer, because I only have 2 chairs in here anyway. I looked at the email I had started to Mike, and through my tears, I just typed some gibberish and sent it off. I knew he would understand. Friends understand, even though they don't know what to say. Shit, I don't know what to say. I sent off a few more emails, and then went on irc. I find it helps to talk to people, to share my problems with my friends. I messaged my irc son, the person I have known longer than anyone from there. I asked for hugs, and I got them. That's what's nice about having friends, too. They hug you without asking why.
So, I'm calmer now. Thinking somewhat rationally. Waiting for the results of the bone scan he is having today, to see if there are any tumors, anything else bad. You see, if that same cancer comes back, it's fatal. I'm hoping it's a different kind of cancer. It's sick to be hoping for this. It's wrong and it's not fair. They should have a treatment plan by tomorrow. I've already decided I'm moving back to Minneapolis. Been trying to figure out the most logical way to do it. I've decided to drive out now, with my cat. Then fly back, get my stuff and drive back in a u-haul. He might need surgery. He might need chemo or radiation. He might need a combination of them. But the one thing he needs is his mother near by.
Just a speed bump in the highway of life. Dusting myself off, and getting back in the driver's seat. But I'm going to feel these bruises for a long long time.
©29 January, 1998I wrote this story after a phone call from my ex, when I was living in North Carolina. I didn't sleep at all that night, and looking back, I now realize this was the beginning of the end of Greg's life. I wonder if he knew it, too.
seems like i wrote this exact story a year ago.....about life's bumps in the road. i thought about posting it in memory of Duke... but decided against it.... well... tonight, the phone rang. it was my ex. i knew it wasn't good news.. he never calls with good news.. never did when we were married.. only to tell me he was going out of town.. .or he wanted me to do something for him. i could tell by the tone of his voice... it was about greg. he should have been going in to see his cancer doctor sometime this month.... i even mentioned it to my ex in an email... well... he said greg was in ICU... with a blood clot in his brain. another piece of my heart broke... and the tears started falling immediately. you see... when greg was born.. i was convinced he was gonna die... he was a 2nd child.. a boy.. low birth weight.. and my mom's sister lost a baby to crib death. at the time.. there was a dr at children's hospital in minneapolis who was testing babies for symptoms of crib death... i wanted my pediatrician to give us a referral to go to that program.. he looked at me like i was crazy... and i switched drs... and greg went through the testing.. .and he didn't have any of the symptoms they were testing for... and obviously he didn't die of crib death... but i always had this feeling about him. he's such a sweet boy.. everyone likes him..he has tons of friends.. always has. sure he fights with his brother and sister... but he's a great kid. not brilliant like his sister... more like me... smart enough.. but why put out the extra effort? i listened to fred... and started thinking of all the things i had to do in the next few hours..
i made flight reservations to minnesota.. even though i just left there 10 days ago... i have a cab coming to take me to the airport.. im packed.. more or less.. though i have no idea what i threw in my suitcase... i have some money... my medication... some phone numbers i'll need.. .like to cancel the drs appointment i have on thursday... i emailed my friend to come look in on my cat... i set myself no mail on the fly fishing list... i filled out the hold mail notice and put it in my mailbox... and all i want to do is be with my son. i talked to all 3 of my kids tonight... evelyn. up in duluth.. who can't leave till after she has an exam tomorrow morning.. lowell.. who's home alone as usual....well.. not alone.. but not with any one in the family... and i called the hospital and they put me through to greg. i was surprised... i was just hoping to talk to a nurse on duty.... greg sounded good... it's not his first time in the hospital... though ICU must be pretty scary... i joked with him... and told him i'd be there in the morning.. probably when he's getting his MRI. i called a few of my girlfriends...i just have to talk things out... it calms me down.
i hate going to that hospital. that's where evelyn's and my first care partner was treated. it's almost 3 years since her death... 3 years when greg was first diagnosed with cancer. all my volunteering was supposed to protect my kids... and yet.. not 4 months after i sat hugging chris' mom while she was undergoing surgery... even though it was obvious she was dying.... i sat there with my soon to be ex... but i couldn't hug him. it was too late for our marriage...to remove a tumor in his shoulder... they took out his whole left shoulder and his breast bone.... he has such big scars from the surgery.. not to mention the missing shoulder ... and then i went back there again.. when greg had 2 tumors removed from his lung last feb...i didn't go back for the subsequent surgery on his other lung... since he recovered from that in a matter of days. but tomorrow.. i'll be taking that all too familiar drive back to the U of M... going thru the same tunnel from the parking lot... because again.. it will be bitter cold... and getting in the elevator.. at least greg is on a different floor.. or will be... but i'll have to sit in the same damn waiting room... and relive it all...because undoubtably greg will need surgery... one doesn't just stop bleeding in one's brain on one's own... and i pray there is no cancer in his brain... oh how i wish i could trade places with him.... let him at 17 with his life ahead of him be whole and healthy.
i talked again to my ex... i knew he wouldn't be sleeping either... he's in NYC on business.. and he's taking the first flight out too... we decided i would go to the house first.. get lowell. and then drive out to the hospital.. assuming greg's car is there.. if not.. i'll have the cab wait.. or have my girlfriend roberta drive me... until i see greg .. hold him.. i won't be breathing right... and even after i see him... skinny kid with my side of the family's nose and ears.... i won't be able to breathe.
i'll have to put on a smile for him... and cry later... when he's not around. last year when greg got sick again.. i wondered if i would have to move back to MN to be with him... it's not what i want to do... but i will if it's what i have to do. i don't like the feeling i have in my gut... the feeling that this isn't going to turn out well. that my fears for when greg he was a baby are grounded.... but i won't know for a while longer yet.. and damn but i hate to wait.
Today I updated parts of the web site I created in my son Greg's memory. I added some pictures (finally!!) and little bits of copy here and there. It's a labor of love that whenever I work on it, I can't help but cry. I got an email from a lady who had gone to his site this morning and took the time to write me about how it touched her. I used to get those more often, and I always add them to the comments page. It means so much to me that a total stranger would take the time to send me a note and that Greg has affected another person's life.
When I returned to Arizona from Minnesota after Greg's death, I was at a total loss of what to do, how to cope. If I hadn't bought the house I'm living in, I'm sure I'd be somewhere else. I'd only been here for four months when he died. The urge to run was never stronger than at that time. Greg never was here in person. He's here in spirit though, through little mementos I have of his and my memories of him. I have pictures of him and Evelyn and Lowell, too, surrounding my computer and in other rooms of the house. I keep a lock of his hair in my purse so he is always with me. Sometimes, I reach into my purse and touch his hair, if I need to feel his presence more strongly and it is comforting. I don't care if people think it's weird.
So creating a web site in his memory seemed the logical thing to do once I got back up here. After all, it was Greg who taught me most of what I know about computers. Plus, it gave me something constructive to do. I had to find backgrounds and other graphics, look up sites to be linked, and create the different pages. I'm so glad I did it, because I would have forgotten much of what the memorial service was like. There wouldn't be a way to tell the world what he meant to me. I wouldn't have known what song Greg used to wake up to every morning if not for the speech his best friend Tony Rosen wrote for the memorial service and sent to me. I found a copy of To Live and Die in LBI on line once, and on the evening of the night before the fourth anniversary of his death, I listened to that song over and over again at full volume and begged Greg to wake up. I tried to get his father, brother, sister and other friends to send me some special memory of Greg without any success.
As with all web sites, this too is a work in progress. I need to rework the linkage from the different pages on his site. I couldn't find the one where other people had sent me their thoughts of him at first, because it's hidden in the memorial pages. Sometimes it's difficult to go to his site, to read what I've written, just as it is to know what a void he has made in my life. I am often told to get over it, to stop grieving for my son by well meaning people who just don't understand what a loss it has been. Had I lost an arm, would they tell me to get over that? Probably, but that would at least be something they could see, that there was a physical loss. A part of me is gone and no one can see it, but I try to keep it alive with Greg's web site.
©26 February 2004Such a nice round number. In French, vingt-cinq. Five times five. It's the chemical number for manganese. Five squared. A quarter of a century. A quarter of a dollar. Halfway to fifty. If my marriage had lasted that long, it would have been the silver anniversary. 25 even looks symmetrical. It is the age my son Greg would be in a few days, if only he were still alive.
Think about how different the world was then, when he was born. It was 1981. If you look up the major events of that year, there will be no mention of Greg's birth. No internet or cell phones. Cable television was still fairly new. Gas prices well under a dollar a gallon. Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as president. The Minnesota North Stars went to the Stanley Cup finals for the first time in their history. Sandra Day O'Connor was named first female Supreme Court Justice. Princess Diana married Prince Charles. Chariots of Fire won the Oscar for Best Picture. I had my whole life ahead of me, full of promise. And pretty much all of the promises were broken.
When I was twenty-five, I was still basically a newlywed. I had just graduated college. It was 1976, the bicentennial year. Fred and I took our second cross-country trip. I went to Washington, D. C., New York City and Boston for the first time in my life. Upon returning to California, my ex went to work managing pizza restaurants and I decided he should go to graduate school. He did, got a great job in Minneapolis, Evelyn was born there and when she was around a year old it was time to start thinking about having our second child. Fred and I always knew we wanted two kids, as we were both from that size family.
We lived in a big old Victorian house in Uptown, and I used to walk Evelyn up and down Lake Street and Hennepin Avenue in her stroller. Before long, I was pregnant again. I just knew I was having another girl. It never occurred to me that it would be a boy. I picked a different obstetrician this time and shortly after 1 am on October 2, 1981, my baby was born. I was handed a beautiful baby boy. He was blond and had big blue eyes. While we had no trouble picking girls names, it was another story when it came to boy's names. Every name I liked, Fred didn't and vice versa. Finally we agreed on two names, Gregory and Kendall, and it was a toss up which would be his first name and which would be his middle name. There was no way he was going to be named after a family member, as tradition required. I was already fearful of his future on this earth. Evelyn was already named after my father. So Greg was his own person, with no ties to any dead relatives.
I was convinced early on Greg would die young. Actually, I was sure he was going to die from crib death, or SIDS. There was a doctor in Minneapolis who was testing babies and I changed pediatricians till I found one who understood my need to have him undergo these tests. My mother's sister had lost her second boy to crib death, and second babies and boys were more susceptible to SIDS. He had a low birth weight and was jaundiced. When he was three months old, he went into the hospital to be tested and it was determined he did not have the symptoms or signs they were looking for. I could breathe a little easier, especially after his first birthday.
Then a year later, at Christmas time, he was bitten in the face by our friend's dog. He had surgery on his eye and forehead. He lost a tear duct in his right eye so when he would get congested his eye would run same as his nose. A tube for drainage was put in his eye for a few months, and then he had another surgery to have it removed. Maybe this is why he never overreacted to his later surgeries. He was always such a brave boy. Even that April day in 1996 when he went to the emergency room because of his shoulder, and it was the beginning of the end of his short life. He faced all of his challenges with a positive outlook and optimism that went well beyond his years.
If Greg were around to celebrate his twenty fifth birthday, his car insurance rates would go down. He would be old enough to run for Congress. He would have graduated from college and might even be married. He would have voted in at least one presidential election, something he very much wanted to do. He would have his whole life ahead of him too, and it hurts to think of what he has missed out on already.
Lowell and I are going to have a birthday party for him. It will be the two of us and Spud. We're going to get chow fun from the Golden Gate Chinese restaurant and a chocolate cake. Maybe we'll watch the video of his band or listen to some of his favorite music. I might wear one of his old t-shirts that day. We'll talk about him and cry and try to find comfort in something that is beyond comprehension, the loss of our beloved Greg. It's not likely it will rain, at least not here, but it will somewhere, and to those people who are lucky enough to see a rainbow on October 2, please wish Greg a happy birthday from those of us who love him and miss him the most.
©25 September 2006Please send any comments or suggestions to me. To
read more of my stories, please check out my Random Thoughts. Thank you.
