A Homemade Life: Hoosier Pie

 Molly's Hoosier Pie is a tribute to her aunt, who made the pie yearly for Thanksgiving meals.  The introduction to the chapter is one of loss.  The loss of her uncle to AIDS, the loss of her aunt to cancer.  Both taken far too young.  It seemed a fitting recipe to share in discussion of my own recent loss.

My first cousins and I are "stepping stones."  I don't know if that's an actual term, but it's how I always thought of us.  I'm the eldest.  My mother's sister had a daughter the year after I was born.  Thatbrother was born the following year.  My mother's sister had a son the year after that.  And the year after that, China was born.   We were bookends.

China and I were both named to honor our grandmother.  After high school, she decided to go by her middle name.  "I can't call you that,"  I once told her.  "If I call you that, it ignores the special connection only you and I share."  And I got special dispensation to use the name that united us.

The age difference seemed so vast at first.  In truth, growing up, Thatbrother was always closer to China than I was.  They were "the kids" to me.   But 4 years isn't such a difference as a grownup, and we grew closer when she wasn't a pigtailed munchkin.  Especially after she moved to California to attend college.

My family is small.  My father's side of the family especially so.  It consisted of his sister and China.  So when she moved to California, China got enveloped in my mother's side of the family.  Which was small enough that they were happy to include another.  And so China became a staple at Passover, Thanksgiving, and other family gatherings. 

She delighted in the "other" with a fascination for Mormonism and anything Chinese.  She studied and taught in China, a passion which earned her the moniker used here, but also created a bond she shared with Thatdad.  But China's number one interest was children.  Every avenue she desired to pursue involved kids.  And she couldn't wait to have children of her own.  Until then she took such delight in Thatkid and Baby B. 

Just last month, China flew out for my grandmother's memorial.  Even though it wasn't her grandmother.  Because, like I said, our family is small.   We talked about her upcoming 30th birthday and how she wasn't exactly looking forward to it.  Like most of us before such a big milestone.  Her birthday was a special one, since she turned 30 on the 30th. Thatkid sent her a special birthday video and we laughed over his insistence on wearing a mask.

Last Wednesday I got a weird text from my mom, asking me to call her at my earliest opportunity.  I knew something was up, but I wasn't expecting what awaited me at the other end of that call.  China, less than a week after her 30th birthday, had passed away. 

We traveled to Arizona last weekend to attend the funeral, one of the hardest things I've had to do. 
Our family still hasn't gotten over the loss.  It's hard to rationalize the death of someone so young, and the future she will miss out on.  And our future without her.  And I feel not only the loss of my cousin, but also the loss of another part of my father.  I am devastated not only for myself, but for my aunt, who has already lost so much.

Like I said, this seemed a fitting time to share a recipe that is in memory of someone.  Reading this chapter after the death of my cousin seemed to come at just the right time.  Because food can evoke such memories of people. 

 Hoosier Pie (From A Homemade Life)

4 Tbsp ice water

3/4 tsp apple cider vinegar

1 1/2 cups flour

1 Tbsp sugar

3/4 tsp salt

1 stick + 1 Tbsp cold butter, cut into cubes

 4 Tbsp butter, room temp

1 cup sugar

3 eggs

3/4 cup light corn syrup

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/4 tsp salt

2 Tbsp bourbon

1/2 cup chocolate chips

1 cup pecan halves

1. In a small bowl combine the ice water and cider vinegar.
2. Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in a food processor and pulse to blend.
3. Add the cold butter and pulse until mixture resembles a coarse meal.
4. With the motor running, slowly add the water-vinegar mixture, processing until moist clumps form.
5. Turn the dough out onto a wooden board and gather it until it holds together.  Shape into a ball and press into a 1 1/2 inch thick disk. Wrap the disc in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 days.
6. Allow the dough to soften slightly at room temperature.  Preheat the oven to 375.  
7. Roll the dough into a circle wide enough to fit a 9 inch pie plate.  Transfer the dough gently into the pie plate, fold and crimp the edges to form a high fluted rim.  Put the prepared pie plate in the refrigerator.
8. In a medium bowl, beat the room temperature butter on medium-low speed until soft and creamy. 
9. Gradually add the sugar, beating all the while.  
10. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.
11. Add the corn syrup, vanilla, and salt.  Beat well.
12. Beat in the bourbon.
13. Remove the pie plate from the refrigerator.  Scatter the chocolate chips and nutes evenly over the base of the crust.
14. Pour in the batter.  Bake for 35-40 minutes, until the eddges are firm, the top is a deep brown, and the center seems set but jiggles ever so slightly.
15. Transfer the pie to a wire rack to cool to room temperature.

3 years

It's always hard to believe it's been 3 years since Thatdad died.  Sometimes it seems like just yesterday we were speaking on the phone.  Other times it seems like we've been living this life with a missing piece forever. 

This past year has been an especially big year for us, and although it has been filled with a great many joys, each comes with it's own painful reminder.

Thatdad missed so much this year that he would have loved to see.  His son getting engaged to a beautiful woman, who Thatdad adored.  The birth of his first grandchild.

I don't know if Thatbrother feels the same way, but part of me does feel like Thatdad is a part of these events, even though he obviously isn't.  The night before we took a home pregnancy test, I had a dream.  I was in the bathroom taking the test while Thatdad waited outside for the results.  It was positive.  I woke up feeling like I knew what the test would say, and that Thatdad also knew.

Following the brit milah, we took Thatbaby to the cemetery to "meet" his grandfather.  I wonder how that's going to play out when he gets older.  I don't looking forward to explaining, or trying to explain to Thatbaby why we visit and why grandpa lives there.

Even now, I sing Billy Joel's Lullaby to Thatbaby during naptime.  The lyrics are on Thatdad's grave, and as I sing, it never fails to bring tears to my eyes.  Thatbaby laughs at me when I cry.  I'm hoping that's a phase he grows out of and I'm not raising a serial killer.   I imagine how my dad would interact with him, how he would spoil him, how he'd react to the smiles, the talking, the outfits.

At the same time, as I said before, not having Thatdad around seems less of a foreign concept.  What they must mean by "the new normal."  We've all moved on in our own way.  There are less moments when I reach for the phone to call him, or expect him to answer the phone when I call Thatmom.  It's become natural to refer to "my mom" instead of "my parents."  And for the most part, we've all returned to our regularly scheduled programming. 

Part of me feels like my dad would be happy we're all moving on with our lives, healing.  Part of me feels like he'd be sad that he was "forgotten" so easily - he was like that.  Hurt when you chose not to go to the supermarket with him. 

But whether he'd like it or not, we've all made it through another year.

What a dfference a year makes

Today marks 2 years since Thatdad's death. Last weekend Thatmom and I were talking about this anniversary. She asked if I had any feelings related to the date. I didn't. I told her that it could have been any day, I didn't tie any significance to February 20.

And then I looked back to my entry related to last year. I was a mess. The entire month of February I was a mess, all the days leading up to the actual anniversary. And I wrote about how grief wasn't linear, and it doesn't get better with time passing.

But to compare my feelings this year, with my feelings from last year, is like reading the thoughts of two entirely different people. It's hard to have perspective when you're knee deep in grief, but being able to look back, you can see the change.

And although Thatmom still has her rough days, I think she has also come a far way from last year too. This year she chose to spend the day alone, at home, which is unusual since she normally wants to be surrounded by family on these harder days. And I know it's been a hard month for her in general. I'm expecting it to be a hard couple of months, given that her birthday and anniversary are next month. February and March are reminders of loss.

But for us, life has returned to near normal. I don't know that it will ever really be "normal" normal, but it has become the new normal. There are still moments I want to settle a debate by asking the only person I know will KNOW the answer. I reach for the phone thinking "Thatdad will know who sings the song" only to remember it doesn't work that way anymore. The past few months have brought a lot of times when I've thought about things Thatdad is missing out on. But in general, I'm able to live a life without him.

We spent the day doing very normal things - breakfast in bed, a trip to the outlets, lunch at a taco shop, and then home for a nap. I know you're jealous of how productive we were. I couldn't even be bothered with a very complicated dinner, which means I let my oven do all the work. To be fair, that lazy bum sat around all day doing nothing.

Tenderloin is easy, be it pork or beef. It's obviously the very best part of the animal since you don't have to worry about pesky bones or a thick layer of fat, but it's still incredibly tender (which is probably why it's called the tenderloin). It roasts beautifully, with only a little bit of oil or butter needed. Because of the size it's also a great thing to serve to company.

Roast Beef Tenderloin
1 tenderloin (allow about 1/3 lb per serving)
butter

1. Preheat oven to 450. Place the roast in a shallow pan (if it has a narrow tip, tuck it underneath so the roast is the same thickness throughout the pan.)
2. Dot the roast with butter. Roast 30-35 minutes for medium rare. Obviously cook it longer for a more well done roast. Just a note- you're going to let it sit for a bit, during which time it will continue to cook, so you may want to pull it out before it gets to complete doneness.
3. Place the tenderloin on a warm platter, tent with aluminum foil, and let rest for 15 minutes. Slice and serve.

The Rest of August

Or "The Post With (Almost) No Pictures"

Start playing your saddest music, it's pity party time! Once we got back from Mendocino and visiting little Ace, life swung right back into, well, full swing mode. We never stop going here in Thathouse. And I took TONS of pictures to document all of our adventures. And then September came rolling around and we headed to Hawaii. (Okay, so this isn't the pity party yet, but I promise it's coming REALLY soon). While we were in Hawaii, my camera died a slow and pitiful death. First the lens stopped closing right, which led to a bunch of SUPER overexposed cameras (those of you with SLRs understand what I'm talking about). And then all of a sudden, "poof" the entire thing went dead. No power. No on. No off. No picture taking. And in this "poof" moment, I think it wiped out ALL the pictures on the memory card. (Because I tried to take the memory card to one of those photo kiosks and it kept telling me there were no pictures on the card.) So I have no fun photos for you from the end of August till the middle of September. (Don't worry, I have loads of fun Hawaii pictures for you since Thatboy brings his fancy camera everywhere we go)

I'm also in the market for a new camera and taking recommendations! I'm trying to figure out if I want to stick with Olympus because I REALLY loved my camera (although I don't love the new version of my camera), or even if I want to get another waterproof (because it was super fun for snorkeling).

So my brief bullet points for what you're missing pictures of:

* The Del Mar Races. I've been trying to get Thatboy to the races since we moved to San Diego. I was finally able to get him to go because of the next bullet point. We had tons of fun, drank loads of beer, and made some new friends who explained to us novices some of the finer points of racing. We made bets and lost, picked favorites in every races, and I even wore a giant hat! (It was all I could to refrain from yelling at the horses to "MOVE [their] BLOOMIN' ARSES."

* Weezer! The reason I was able to get Thatboy to join me at the races is because Weezer was playing a concert after the last race. Which is one of the best parts of the races if you ask me. Every Friday and Saturday night after the last race is concert time. And you can pretty much get Thatboy to do anything if Weezer is involved. The concert was AMAZING. SO much better than the last Weezer concert we went to. They played all our favorite songs. Rivers was on his A-Game, complete with an awesome mash-up of MGMT's Kids and Poker Face. Rivers in a Lady Gaga wig? Fabulous. Thatboy, who also loves MGMT didn't think they would appreciate the homage. The audience sure did. I was even able to find a video of it on YouTube. (Is there ANYTHING YouTube doesn't have?)

*Thatdad's unveiling. Okay, even with the camera this wasn't something I'd have pictures of. It was hard, but we had a lot of family and friends surrounding us. And it's nice that we now have a headstone to look at when we visit the grave. We chose a quote from Billy Joel's "Lullabye" for the inscription:

I promised I would never leave you
And you should always know
Where ever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away

*Disneyland 5K! Thatmom and I signed up for this months earlier when I was debating running the half or just the 5k. But it looked like the 5k spent more time actually in the park so that was the winner. Ms. Grumble McGrumbleson wasn't happy in the days/morning leading up to the race itself. (It didn't help that we HAD to go to the expo on Friday night before 7pm. HELLO, some of us don't live in Orange County!) In fact, as we waited for the race to start, she made me promise that we'd never run this race again. And then we started. And somewhere on Main St., Ms. McGrumbleson disappeared as Ms. Iloverunning turned to me and said we should all do this race again next year. There's something magical about Disney. I took a million pictures of Thatmom racing through the castle, in front of Small World, and of course all the characters! (Both the ones that work for Disney who are strategically placed throughout the park for people to take a "race break" and get pictures and autographs, as well as the many runners dressed in crazy costumes.)

Because I hate posts that have NO pictures (because really, do any of you, other than my grandmother, read this for my scintillating writing?) I figured I'd toss a recipe your way. When we went to the Weezer concert we brought our own dinners, because WE COULD. And we wanted to spend our money on overpriced beer, not overpriced concert food. This is a sandwich that is equally delicious both hot and cold. Which is probably due to the bacon, which makes everything delicious. Honestly, I never really got the allure of a BLT, because as delicious as bacon is, I need a little more than a bacon sandwich. So add some chicken. Grilled chicken- which loves bacon almost as much as a certain blogger I know.

Grilled Chicken BLT Sandwich

2 chicken breasts
4 slices of your favorite bread
honey mustard
lettuce
sliced tomato
bacon, cooked

1) Grill chicken breasts
2) Place lettuce, tomato and bacon on bread. Top with chicken
3) Place honey mustard on top of chicken
4) Top with the remaining slice of bread.

Summer Makes Me Crabby Week: Crabmeat Casserole

My buddy Faye keeps bugging me to blog about the half marathon I ran a couple weeks back, and I promise I'll get to it - some time before she heads back to the desert, but life throws some unexpected curve balls, doesn't it?

I was recently reminded of just how selfish we all can be. And I had to put myself in check. 2 weeks ago I got devastating news. Except it shouldn't have been devastating for me (see what I mean by selfish?) My friend N awoke in the middle of the night and had to rush her husband K to the hospital. In a scene that surely must have echoed what we felt 2 years ago, her family stood at the hospital praying for a miracle, and trying to hold themselves together when it didn't come.

When Thatdad died we all agreed he was too young. Thatmom felt like she didn't have enough time with him. But Thatdad was twice as old as K. Twice as old. For those of you who aren't good at math, K was in his 20s. Too young doesn't even begin to describe the loss. And when I got the news, the first thing I did was contact N with a message of love and support. And then it became all about me. In a situation that was not about me. I called Thatboy and told him I wasn't okay. I ran a bath and waited for him to come home. We went to the beach and walked and I made him promise never to die. I called Thatmom for some support. I felt myself sinking into depression. And at a certain point I realized that this was ridiculous behavior and I gave myself a stern lecture. Just in time for the unveiling of Thatdad's headstone.

At the unveiling I went back into "protection mode" like I was after the funeral. Keeping an eye on Thatmom. Which was good, because I was able to focus on someone other than me.

It was a weekend full of sadness, memories of men taken far too soon and the rest of us left behind who try to put the pieces of our lives back together. It was the kind of weekend where even chewing seems like too much effort. So it's a good thing there isn't much chewing involved in this crabmeat casserole. Honestly, I was much more interested in the cornmeal mush - which is like a cross between grits and polenta. (Delicious) But then again, you can't be too surprised that a dish filled with mayo and heavy cream wouldn't be my thing.

Crabmeat Casserole (From the Fannie Farmer Cookbook)
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tbsp minced parsley
1 Tbsp minced onion
salt
pepper
3 1/2 cups crabmeat
6 hard cooked eggs, chopped
1 cup buttered bread crumbs

1. Preheat the oven to 350 and butter a shallow baking dish. Combine the cream, mayo, parsley, onion, salt and pepper to taste, crabmeat, and chopped egg.
2. Toss lightly, put into baking dish, and sprinkle with the breadcrumbs. Bake for 30 minutes.

Cornmeal Mush
1 cup cornmeal
1 1/2 tsp salt

1. Mix the cornmeal with 1 cup cold water.
2. In a saucepan, bring 3 cups water and the salt to a boil.
3. Add the cornmeal mixture to the boiling water and cook, stirring often, over medium heat for 7 minutes, or until thick.

After a year

As usual, I'm going a little out of order. Bear with me, eventually we'll all end up on track.

This weekend Thatboy and I attended the funeral of a local peace officer. It was the first funeral I've attended since Thatdad's death. I'd never even met the man, but I was there to support Thatboy, who was there to support a coworker.

By the time we arrived at the church, three parking lots had already been filled, and that wasn't counting the 3 rows of police cars that blocked the street for half a mile in either direction. I don't know that I've seen so many uniforms in one place before, as each row was filled by men and women in black, blue, and brown. The funeral was attended by every law enforcement department, and not just the local ones. There were officers from all over the state, and according to the priest, the nation. They sat in groups, supporting each other, and mourning the loss of a man whom many of them had also never met.

When the coffin was brought out, surrounded by guardsmen, I began having a panic attack. My heart rate increased, I became warm, and my breathing started to get shallow and labored. Luckily my years of therapy have helped me to deal with situations like this and I was able to concentrate on slowing everything down. For the rest of the service, I silently wept. I wept for the man I had never met who gave his life and probably in doing so, saved others. I wept for the officer's family and fiancee, huddled together in the first row of the church. I wept because I know the road that lies ahead of them will only get darker and harder before there is even a glimmer of light. I wept for myself and all that I have lost reliving it as though it were fresh. As painful even a year after the fact.

It has officially been over a year since Thatdad's death. And February was unbearably difficult. I know it showed, because my coworkers kept telling me how terrible I looked - sick and tired. I didn't sleep much, and during the waking hours found myself as busy as I could be. And the busyness and lack of sleep were there own kind of solace. For when I had any time to myself, when I closed my eyes, the scenes would start.

One of the hallmarks of OCD is repetition. For some people it's physical repetition, turning the doorknob x numbers of times, or knocking on a counter between bites of food. For me, it's mental repetition - both the repetition of phrases as well as images played on a loop. I don't think I realized this wasn't normal until I saw the movie "The Aviator." Leonardo DiCaprio, playing Howard Hughes, would repeat the same phrase over and over and over again. After the movie I mentioned something about it to Thatboy about how the difference between Hughes and the average person, is that the average person manages to not verbalize this constant repetition - which is when I was informed that your average person doesn't repeat the same sentence in their head 20-30 times.

Last month, in the days leading up to the anniversary of Thatdad's death, when my brain wasn't occupied, it found a way to occupy itself. I would replay the drive up to Orange County on the day Thatdad died. Over and over, as if on a loop, Thatboy and I sitting side by side in the car, silently, as I clenched my jaw and repeated over and over in my head "Today will not be the day my dad dies." (Even in my repetitions I have OCD tendencies.) Each time I was filled with the same sense of fear that I had on that day, mingled with unbearable grief, because I knew how it would end.

You would think it would get easier as time passed, but grief is not linear. It doesn't keep track of days, weeks, years. It sits, virus like, laying dormant in the system until it can find an opening. The actually anniversary of the death was easier than I had expected. It was a day like any other. But there are some images that will forever be burned into my memory, and one of those was seeing his memorial plaque at the synagogue. Complete with dates marking the beginning and end of his life. To see them there, like bookends, was another reminder of how real the whole thing is.

I try to take solace in the fact that we have made it through the year, and therefore will continue to survive. But I know the emotions aren't something that will ever completely go away, as I was reminded this weekend. In times of joy and times of sorrow there will always be a tinge of sadness, coloring the occasion along the edges.

Yahrzeit

Yahrzeit is the commemoration of a death of family member. Today is Thatdad's Yahrzeit. It's based on the Jewish (lunar) calendar, which is why it's a little earlier than the date of his death. Which means I get a little taste of how I'm going to feel next week.

Yahrzeit is commemorated by lighting a candle and reciting a prayer. The candle burns for 24 hours. Thatdog didn't quite understand what was going on, but he saw the candle, and heard us praying and figured it must be Channukah. He sat patiently beside us waiting for us to finish so he could get his treat.

I'm dreading next week. I've actually been dreading this entire month. Last month was really hard on Thatmom. She characterized it as feeling like she was losing him all over again, because starting in February she wouldn't be able to say "Last year at this time Thatdad and I were....." I didn't really get it. I didn't feel the same way. But this month I'm overcome with emotion. I'm crying at the drop of a hat. Simple things that wouldn't normally set me off send me into hysterics. Thatboy has threatened to call Kay Jewelers and ask them to stop showing commercials of little old men and women. In truth, I don't think he really knows what to do with me. Other than watch and worry.

I can only imagine it's going to get worse over the next week. Valentine's Day weekend was the last weekend Thatparents had together. Thatmom can give details of the day almost minute by minute, not realizing at the time it would be the last weekend they spent together. This weekend is going to be hard. Even though we're spending it together, I'm pretty sure it's going to be difficult for all of us.

Where I'm At

Yesterday was Thatdad's birthday - almost 8 months since his death. I thought it would be a good time to reflect on my current state of being.

It's so cliche to say that when someone dies, a part of them stays with you - but it's true. I feel as though I carry an extra burden, something which sets me apart from everyone else. It's a selfish and self-centered feeling I bring to every conversation, every relationship - where I feel like no one has it as bad as they think they do, no one is as bad as I. Every time I'm with someone there's always a part of me which screams "poor me!" Because of this I still have a hard time being truly sympathetic to anyone else. While the rest of my generation bemoans the loss of Michael Jackson, John Hughes, and Patrick Swayze, I feel completely emotionless. "Really? Who cares? These aren't actual people in your life." I likewise just can't involve myself in relationships the way I used to. I always tend to be the person in a relationship who makes all the effort - does the calling, emailing, planning. And now, I just can't bring myself to do all the work. I'm incredibly fortunate to have some truly fabulous people in my life who make the effort to do the reaching out, and those tend to be the people I spend the most time with.

Thatdad is part of every thought I have, and because I am so mind-body connected, he has also become a very physical part of me. Shortly after Thatdad died, back when I had just moved back home from Thatmom's house, I awoke one morning with a sore back. As the day went on, my back got stiffer and sorer, until I wasn't able to stand without getting nauseuous and almost passing out. It's obviously gotten better since then, but a week and a half ago, while I was running at 10k (more on that on a later post) it started spasming. It's been off and on bad ever since. Usually it feels okay in the morning until I get into the car on the way to work. It's all downhill from there. Thatmom is pretty convinced this is my new "stress point" and related to Thatdad's death, but now it's just a constant, painful reminder. Don't worry - I'm going to see Dr. Boyfriend tomorrow, and I'm pretty sure he's going to fix me up all better, just like he always does.

Thatfamily is all coping in different ways. Whenever we get together, as we did last night, we try to picture Thatdad there with us. We talk about him, and what he'd be doing if he was there with us. Last night we discussed what he would think of the restaurant we ate at (and decided it was too dark for him.) Thatboy suggested we get a pocket on his headstone so that we can bring him souveniers from our trips. Thatdad loved to collect crap.

On a brighter note - my crying jags have become far less frequent. I still cry on "occasions" when I miss having him with us, miss being the family we were. And Thatmom started blogging after Thatdad died - each one of her entries brings me to tears over her loss, and how she struggles to define life on her own. I'm now able to watch movies and television without collapsing into hysterics at the sight of a hospital. I was always a little emotional with movies and television (Thatboy became my hero when we first dated when he almost got into a fight with a guy who got really upset with my wailing sobs during Gladiator) but after Thatdad's death, it was taken to the extreme. I now only cry when appropriate - like episodes of Grey's Anatomy.

Has a lot changed in the past 8 months? I guess it depends. In a way my grieving is less intense, it's become almost a constant part of my life, like an extra appendage I've learned to live with. On the other hand, it's still there, as present as ever.

The worst part of having a pet

When I was a little girl I was always fishing for pets. Once a year I would come to my parents with a science fair project that inevitably included some kind of animal. Whether it was betta fish and music, or rats in a Skinner maze. And since it was for "science" my wishes were usually granted.

More than once a year I would come to my parents with another kind of plan. The plan went something like this:
"If I had a _____ I would name it _____ and I would teach it to ____ and it would be my best friend forever." (Note - I continued to do this with Thatboy once we were married, and by that time my repertoire had expanded to include a song that went something like "Thatgirl and Ringo...best friends forever...singing and dancing...playing together.....") Usually this ploy was unsuccessful. But when I was in 6th grade, I finally hit the right note - or name. I came home from school one day right before my birthday to find the tiniest little ball of fluff in a box waiting for me.

Because of his beautiful caramel color, I suggested naming him "Caramel" - but Thatdad informed me that he only got the cat for me because of the name I had said I would name him if I was given a kitten. (And for the record, I was going to teach him to dance and we were going to be best friends forever - obviously)

From the start, Thatcat and I were inseparable. As soon as I'd come home from school, he'd plant himself on my lap, or my homework, or wherever he could get a bite of my hair if I had just returned from swim practice. At night, he would curl up beside me on my pillow (quickly learning that curling up beside my body meant he'd get rolled on when I tossed and turned). He let me do just about anything to him - our favorite tricks were "Cat hat" where I'd put him on my head, with his arms hanging off one side, and his legs off the other, and "Cat scarf" where I'd wrap him around my neck.

Due partly to his name I'd imagine, Thatcat had some very uncatlike behaviors. In fact, he was much more like a puppy. He was completely dependent, following me around the house, coming when he was called, playing fetch, and even wagging his tail with happiness. Once, when my bird figured out how to get out of his cage, Thatcat followed the bird around the house meowing until I came and found the two of them and put Thatbird back where he belonged.

Perhaps Thatcat's uncatlike behavior is why Thatdad fell in love with him. As a rule, Thatdad was not a cat person. And he's never liked either of my brother's cats. But he LOVED Thatcat so much, that when I went away to college, he refused to let me take Thatcat with me. He insisted that he couldn't lose both of us - it would be too much. So Thatcat stayed with my parents for the past ten years. Which probably suited him just as well since he and Thatdog DO NOT get along, and Thatboy is allergic to cats.

In April, Thatcat turned 16, and it was shortly after that we noticed him beginning to have some issues. I noticed he was having difficulty eating his kibble, mostly just pushing it around the bowl. Thatmom thought maybe he was having teeth pain, so she brought him in to the vet for a cleaning and exam. The vet determined he'd need a couple teeth extracted, but by the time of the cleaning, one of his teeth had already fallen out on its own, and the vet was too worried about the stability of his jaw to pull out any more. So they did a quick biopsy of a lesion in his mouth, cleaned him up, and sent him home.

It got worse from there. Soon after Thatcat stopped eating. We spent a couple weeks trying to find a wet food he would eat - we tried everyone on the market. When we finally found one he liked, we thought that was the end of our issues. It wasn't.

Right before we left for Kauai, I noticed that Thatcat's jaw was swollen. He couldn't even close his mouth and was drooling a lot. We brought him back into the vet. Although the biopsy had come back negative, the vet was convinced that Thatcat had cancer, which was causing his entire jaw to be "reconstructed." Based on his symptoms, it was surmised the cancer was pretty far progressed, and at his age, not much could be done. So we took Thatcat home and put him on "hospice" - twice daily doses of pain medication (the Michael Jackson drug) to alleviate his pain and help him stay with us a little longer.

But Thatcat's health continued to deteriorate. The drooling from the mouth became bleeding from the mouth, and even with the pain medication Thatcat was finding it more difficult to eat. He spent most of the time in "his room" - the guest bathroom, lying on the tile behind the door. And so this weekend we made the decision to let him go. We brought him to the vet who let me hold him as she administered the medication. He was gone in seconds. The vet assured us that we had done what was best for him, and how lucky he was to have people in his life that loved him so much - but we all knew we were the lucky ones to have him in our lives.

Thatcat (April 12, 1993-September 12, 2009)

What dreams may come

Thatdad's latest book was just released. As usual, the publishers sent us a box. My favorite part of my dad's publications was always searching for myself somewhere in the book, since he loved to include stories of Thatbrother and I. This one is a latest edition of an earlier work, so I already know exactly where (what I lovingly refer to as) "my chapter" lies. Instead, I turned to the acknowledgements, which don't remain exact throughout the editions.

It was like reading a message from him, from wherever he is now. Obviously it was written long before he died, but reading about how the support of his family helped him survive his heart attack and quadruple bypass all those years ago seemed almost prophetic and dissolved me into a mess of tears. I cried on Thatboy's shoulder - "it's not true, because he didn't...he didn't survive." But Thatboy reminded me that he did survive his first heart attack, and he did survive the bypass. And now it's the same family support that will allow each of us remaining to survive. Because really, that's what his message was to us - that we will survive.

Given all that, it is no surprise that lately I've been dreaming of Thatdad. The setting is always fairly mundane, a soccer game, a vacation, an open house - and his presence there is unremarkable. Except for the fact, even in the dream I'm semi-conscious that there's something not quite right. There is usually some discussion about recooperation, or running into someone who "hasn't heard the news" as though death were just another form of illness, or as though he was recovering from some surgery. I wake up feeling sad and reflective.

This weekend was mostly filled with non-stop errands. One of those weekends where we hit the ground running around 7 and don't get home till about 12 hours later. We did take a break so Thatboy could see Star Trek since he was such a good sport about not going to see it opening weekend. I'm not as familiar with the orignal, having grown up a "Next Generation" kid, but I thought the movie was phenomenal. Very fun, and unlike the current movie trend, not too long. I loved how J.J. Abrams got a little time travel in there too. I was definitely expecting a couple of the survivors of Oceanic 815 to show up on the bridge. I think the man's a bit obsessed. If anyone's going to build a time machine, I'd put my money on him.

We also hit up the farmer's market that's a block or two from Thatmom's house. It's one of my favorites because of the size and the variety of stuff you can get there - everything from sausages to oil paintings. We stocked up on an obscene about of berries, kettle corn, produce for dinner, as well as a gift for Thatnephew who has a birthday next month.

It's been two weeks since we've had it last, so Thatmom requested her favorite chicken dish for dinner. We picked up some fresh corn from the market which I coated in some cilantro lime butter I whipped up and then grilled. And of course, I made enough for leftovers - someone has to keep Thatmom eating during the week and it certainly isn't going to be That"I eat beans straight out of the can for dinner"brother.

For those who've hung in there

Everyone kept telling me it would get worse before it got better. I was dismissive. To begin with, they were all talking about Thatmom, and my need to be there for her. The words were ominous in tone, a foreboding warning. But I also didn't believe it could get worse. How could things get any darker? How could my grief ever surpass the pain I felt at the hospital? The instant loss, the learning to be without. Things could only get easier.

And then about two weeks ago, it hit me. Unexpectedly, without warning. It was as if the curtain had risen letting the theater of my life begin. Since then, there hasn't been a day without tears. I find myself crying in public at inopportune times. Just last week the mere sound of Thatmom's voice on the phone broke me down in a matter of seconds.

I remember the days after the funeral as a blur and, with one very specific exception of a hysterical breakdown in Macys, oddly still waters. It wasn't that I didn't cry or grieve, but it was at appropriate times, or in conversations with Thatboy - remaining strong for the person who needed me most. I overheard Thatboy telling more than one of his friends that I was handling things "a little too well" and I felt frustrated. I didn't know any other way to handle them and I figured I'd get my own shot at dealing with my grief once I got Thatmom settled. But the weeks went by and although I had moments of sadness and tears, I was definitely functional - at an impaired level. I went through the motions, and did what was expected, things that had to be done. Then there was an improvement where I went above what had to be done. I went out, I cleaned the house.....and I honestly believed things were getting better. Which explains why I was so blindsided.

Thatmom sent me an article from Slate by Meghan O'Rourke: The Long Goodbye which I instantly connected with. The article was written in several installments following the death of the author's mom December 25. Although our situtations differ in that her mother lost the battle she had been facing with colorectal cancer, the feelings and emotions that she expresses are not diminished by the fact that she had weeks to say goodbye, instead of minutes with an unresponsive body.

"Since my mother's death, I have been in grief. I walk down the street; I answer my phone; I brush my hair; I manage, at times, to look like a normal person, but I don't feel normal. I am not surprised to find that it is a lonely life: After all, the person who brought me into the world is gone. But it is more than that. I feel not just that I am but that the world around me is deeply unprepared to deal with grief. Nearly every day I get e-mails from people who write: "I hope you're doing well." It's a kind sentiment, and yet sometimes it angers me. I am not OK. Nor do I find much relief in the well-meant refrain that at least my mother is "no longer suffering." Mainly, I feel one thing: My mother is dead, and I want her back. I really want her back—sometimes so intensely that I don't even want to heal. At least, not yet."

And the lit nut in me loves the analysis she does with Hamlet - a play centered around a son mourning his father. Ms. Rourke is a few months ahead of me in the grieving process and it's good to read that things will get better - although her clouds began lifting around 4 months, which means I have two more months of suffering ahead.

I mentioned in February that I wasn't exactly sure where this blog was going to be heading and I'm starting to get more of an idea. I'm going to go back to using the blog for "thoughts I feel like sharing." (I have a separate space for thoughts I don't feel like sharing) There are those who have expressed that they don't like the things I put on here when it starts getting personal, but I'm pretty sure a majority of them don't read this anymore, and I save my thoughts on them for that separate space. I will continue to post recipes and food - but probably not to the same extent I did before, which I know will lose me one reader for sure, and possibly others who aren't as vocal about the types of blogs they read. But at this time, it's useful for me to have a space for me - recounting day to day activities, feelings, thoughts, adventures (we're working on getting Thatmom to come down to San Diego next weekend if we can work something out with Thatbrother tonight at dinner). I'm hoping that I'll be able to see things in a more positive light if I'm able to take a step back from them as I write.

It's Me Again

What a weird turn these entries have taken. I know eventually I'll get back to cooking and showcasing meals from my kitchen, but I also know it won't be anytime soon. I definitely keep having that feeling that things aren't ever going to be the same, and frankly I'm not sure when things will ever be "normal" - my new schedule is so far from my normal schedule and shows no signs of ever returning that perhaps I just need a new definition of what normal is. I can't even remember what it was like to spend a weekend at home, not consumed with a million things to do for Thatmom.

In the past two weeks I've done so much better with socialization though. I even went out to lunch with H! I'm so lucky that we love the same restaurants - she suggested my favorite and I decided to take her up on it. Then I had a very short open opportunity where I was able to grab some coffee with K1 who luckily was able to deal with the incredibly short notice I'm reduced to these days. She informed me that I'm far too hard on myself and the things I'm feeling right now. She gave me permission to be passive aggressive and a mega bitch, but I'm still reluctant to follow through.

With every step forward though there is always a step back. Last weekend was not so great for my lower back and I spent most of Sunday crying and immobile as I grew faint and nauseous whenever I would stand. Muscular in nature there is very little I can do other than a consistent regiment of ibuprofen. I come home from work and the last thing I want to do is....pretty much anything. So I haven't been cooking, returning emails or phone calls, cleaning, any of the normal things people do. And this is SO not the week for ailment! We've been carpooling to work so that we can leave straight after for far reaching destinations. Thatboy has taken over driving which is a plus, but attending seders in LA and Orange County in the evening means we're spending a lot of time in the car, and not so much time sleeping. And since he's gone to his parents this weekend I got to make the drive up to OC all by myself. Well, that's not quite true. Thatdog is one heck of a navigator! I'm very much looking forward to his return this evening so he can go back to the heavy lifting and dog walking.

A brief update

So I've been back home for a few weeks now, although I'm still spending every weekend with Thatmom. When I was in college, my best friend's father killed himself. In the past few weeks, this friend has been a great support for me and kind of a mental health advisor. He told me that things would be easier for me once I got back home and back to my life. Maybe in a way it is easier - but in a way it's much much harder to be back among society. I'm feeling very isolated and disconnected and while I have been really forcing myself to return phone calls and emails, I haven't been doing any initiating. During the first couple of weeks when the phone calls and visits were frequent I promised my friends that I'd be calling them for support once I was back home, but now that I am, the last thing I want to do is call anyone.

At least I have been very active in the kitchen. As some of you may remember, Thatmom was never the cook in the family and making food isn't high on her list of priorities lately. So I spend all week making soup, soup, and more soup. Thatboy jokes we're on an "all soup all the time" diet. On the weekends I make elaborate meals with loads of leftovers for her to eat during the week - shrimp with white wine sauce, lasagna with homemade noodles, ravioli, roast chicken, five spice chicken, steak pizziola. She doesn't cook for herself at all, waiting for us to drive up on Friday nights after work so she doesn't have to eat alone.

And from the moment we arrive on Friday night there's a neverending, never shortening laundry list of things to be done. We're up at the crack of dawn and up late - so it's no wonder I'm exhausted by the time we get home Sunday night.

With all that, I do have to say that as anti-social as I'm feeling, there are a few bright spots. I told H this on the phone earlier tonight, but it's always good to broadcast how wonderful someone is on a international level. Every Sunday,without fail, H calls to check and see how my week has gone, and how I'm doing. Even when starting a new job, even while on the way to see her own mother in the hospital, H never fails to check in. Every week I promise to call her some time during the week with an update, and every week I fail her. And yet each weekend she never fails me. She is a phenomenal friend and human being.

And then there's my friend JackieO. She lives a few blocks from Thatmom and keeps offering to stop by with food, or take me out for coffee on the weekend. This weekend Thatmom's best friend flew in from across the country, finally giving me the opportunity to take JackieO up on her offer. So this morning we met for coffee and dished over each other's lives. It's been a long time since I've gone anywhere with anyone and it was a good break. She entertained me with stories of her work, family, and fabulous guy and took me out of myself for a little bit.

So thank you all for continuing to send me your thoughts, prayers, wishes, and stories - I'll keep trying to check in and eventually to break through the darkness that I'm feeling right now, I'm just not really sure when that will be.

Battered and torn still I can see the light

I've mentioned before that I am not the photographer in my marriage. Thatboy has been king of the f-stop since long before he met me, spending a great deal of time in the darkroom before finally seeing the light and going digital. (Did you get all the great wordplay in that last sentence?) On one of our first anniversaries (we just celebrated 9 dating years last week) he gave me a framed print of my favorite of his photos. Jealous, my mom requested one of his prints for herself. And that began many frequent requests for his work. According to Thatboy's framer (I have a butcher, he has a framer...that's the way our life works), once you start getting requests for your work you might want to consider taking the next step and going public. Today Thatboy and I headed home for his first art show. It was a bittersweet day since Thatdad was so excited for this show and was originally planning on attending with us.

Based on the quality of his photographic work, Thatboy had been chosen to take part in a juried art show. The show itself was mixed media and Thatboy was nervous as he set up his selections. "I think I'm the youngest one here," he told me. "Everyone else has other outlets where they sell or show their work. Some of them are already established in one medium, and are using this as an opportunity to try out a new one."

As the hours went by, Thatboy got more and more anxious. Finally the time came to get his results. The artists filed into the room. I watched as many of them filed back out again. Some with tears in their eyes. More and more came, but not Thatboy. I sent up a silent prayer. After what felt like forever Thatboy appeared with the biggest smile on his face. Not only had he received great scores, but he had earned himself a place to permanently show and sell his work. Thatdad would have been so proud. We both were crying as we thought about that on the way back to our cars.

So next time you're headed to San Diego, you'll have to drop me a line so I can tell you where to swing by and pick up a Thatboy original. And those of you who are lucky enough to already have one, they may finally be worth more than the paper they were printed on!

February Made Me Shiver*

The phone rang at 6:30 a.m.. By the time I had realized it wasn't the alarm it had already gone to voicemail. As I listened to the message, Thatboy was already calling in and taking the day off work. What followed was the longest drive of my life.

We reached the hospital just as they were about to begin surgery and we sat huddled in the waiting room. Thatmom filled in some of the gaps that had kept us so silent on our drive up. Just as they had done every morning for as long as I can remember, Thatparents awoke at 4:30 am and headed to the gym. At some point, someone ran up and told Thatmom that her husband had collapsed. By the time she reached his machine, CPR was already being performed. The paramedics were called and were able to revive Thatdad before transporting him to the nearest hospital. Because of Thatdad's ties to the police department, his close friend and coworker Sgt. G arrived to the hospital shortly after the ambulance did, trailed closely by the wife of Thatdad's closest friend, who also worked for the police department. Thatbrother was not far behind.

Another transport was necessary. This hospital didn't have a cardiac cath lab and something was going to have to be done regarding Thatdad's heart. He was moved to another hospital where the surgeons immediately got to work. The five of us sat waiting until his doctor came out. He explained that a graft that had been previously placed in Thatdad's heart had become occluded, causing the cardiac event. He was optomistic that they had solved the problem, although there was a great deal of damage to the heart wall. He told us that as soon as Thatdad was moved over to the ICU we could all come in and see him, although he was still under heavy sedation.

The minutes turned to hours during which every "Code Blue" dropped our group into silence, and although we received frequent updates from the nursing staff, we were eventually moved into a more private room with a social worker who gained us access to Thatdad's bedside. The hours passed and eventually it became clear that we would need to say our goodbyes. By that time, Thatcousin had arrived at the hospital, as well as Thatdad's best friend and our family rabbi. We were all able to gather around the bed and be there for his last moments.

The rest of the day is a blur of phone calls. What do you say after you tell someone your father died? The conversation can't really continue at that point. Especially since it was so sudden and unexpected. During the next few days arrangements were made and people started pouring in. From across the country in all directions friends and family booked the first plane ticket they could and began making their way. One couple, who had known Thatdad since high school, flew in directly from their vacation without stopping at home first.

On Tuesday, March 24, 2009, over 400 people gathered to say goodbye. He was a friend, a mentor, a teacher, a coworker. His wonder at life and joy for all things touched everyone around him, and his humor was infectious. As we gathered to remember the man, stories were told of his love for his family and friends, his adoration of his wife, his obsession with Hawaiian shirts, and his ability to make anyone smile. As we left the service we noted that the road had been closed off and the police were called in because of the sheer number of vehicles exiting and entering the parking lot. As we watched the crowd following the pallbearers at the cemetery, the cantor noted "it's as though they were leaving Egypt" in reference to the number of people. Thatdad was larger than life. You couldn't meet him without instantly losing a bit of your heart to him. Whether it was the teller at the bank, or the person in front of him at the supermarket he had a way of making friends very quickly. And no one wanted to miss their chance to say goodbye.

I write this to explain my absence, both past and future, because I'm not really sure where this blog will go from here. Thatbrother and I have temporarily moved in with Thatmom to deal with this difficult time. There is an influx of food being delivered to the house, which means there's not much cooking going on right now, although Thatboy brought up my pasta machine so we've been doing homemade sauce and fettuchine. Italian is Thatmom's comfort food.

I apologize for my lack of comments - I've started catching up on the blogs I've missed, but am having trouble coming up with anything to say, or a desire to communicate in general. So know that I'm reading, even if I'm not the frequent commenter I once was.

I'd also like to thank many of you for the phone calls, the emails, the stopping in to check on us. I know I've thanked you each individually, but you deserve a big group hug in addition.

Thatdad (October 7, 1954-February 20, 2009)

*A long, long, time ago
I can still remember
how the music, used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
that I could make those people dance
and maybe, they'd be happy for a while.

But February made me shiver
with every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.

I can't remember if I cried
when I read about his widowed bride,
but something touched me deep inside,
the day the music died.
-Don McLean, American Pie