Out of the mouths of Baxters

Yesterday, right before naptime, Baxter said the following:

"Mama, there are three things that make me sad thinking about Daddy Mike.

1. when people talk about him.
2. when I look at the moon.
3. when I hear about any guys dying."

Then he asked what makes me sad thinking about him. I replied honestly,

"Sometimes, when I look at you and you look so much like him. But mostly, when I spend time with friends of ours who were close friends with Daddy Mike. It makes me feel warm and loved, but also makes me miss him."

Then I asked, " Does it make you sad when I say stuff like how you're a great dancer because daddy mike was? Or when I talk about things he liked to do? Like bake or perform on stage?"

"No. That doesn't make me sad. I get sad thinking about Brain Tumors and when he was sick at the hospital and stuff."

... now THIS is weird, cause I never talk about that with him. Ever. Once a long time ago he asked about how daddy mike died and I told him. But I never talk about it - or the hospital. There's an ad on NPR about Gamma Knife technology at a local hospital for brain tumors and brain disorders. I wonder if that jogs his memory. I don't know.

I asked Bax "Are you sure you're not just thinking about when you went to the hospital to see him? Do you remember going?"

"I don't think I ever went." he said. "Did I?"

"Yes you did - with me."

"When?"

"Well, every weekend."

"Every Weekend?" his eyes got big.

"Yeah. He was sick for a long time, so we went every weekend."

"Was he happy in the hospital?"

pause.

"He was happy when we were there and when friends visited. I think he was happy. Mostly he slept a lot, so I don't think he was thinking about it."

He rolled over in his bed.

"Bax, we don't have to talk about it anymore. If you ever don't want to talk about it, we don't have to talk about it. You just tell me."

quiet for a moment.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

*********
And then we moved on to chat about the big show we were about to see later on last night: White Christmas at the Academy of Music with PJ's folks. Which, by the way, was a hit with Bax. 2 and a half hours of live theater and Bax was in heaven. The best part? When the little girl (like 7 or 8 years old) sang and danced solo towards the end of the show.

Wide-eyed baxter: "HOW did she DO that?"

"Lots of practice and singing and dancing lessons."

"I want to do THAT!"

Anything you want, bax.

Big changes, same battles...

May 29, 2009. Danna and PJ tied the knot...

Life has been quite amazing. PJ and I were married in May, surrounded by family and friends, including Mike's family. We honeymooned in New Hampshire in a beautiful tiny cottage on Newfound Lake.


In July we made the decision to try to grow our family and have a baby. So... in September, I learned I was pregnant (due May 19th, placing me at almost 12 weeks). We are thrilled! Baxter is over the moon about it. PJ and I just feel so lucky to have had such luck so fast.

Unfortunately, what has accompanied the pregnancy are many unbridled emotions that I feel ill-equipped to handle, hence my writing here. Unlike my relatively uneventful pregnancy with Bax, this pregnancy has me feeling seriously ill (nauseous) all the time, fatigued, vomiting, and generally miserable. Those factors have rendered me a bit raw - never mind the sheer volatility of hormonal emotions...

The most recent realization is how far I had been keeping PJ from me. For several weeks , I had been emotionally disconnected from him, except for the moments when I criticized him for one random thing after another. When he hugged me, instead of extending my arms around him, I folded them in front of me, hoping to be enveloped, but not left feeling exposed or vulnerable.

After weeks of this, I finally brought the subject up with David (the beloved therapist who I continue to see every 2 weeks to work through lingering issues of trauma and grief). I explained how I am with PJ, and, tears streaming, said, "you and I both know why I'm closing myself off from him."

To which David replied, "I think I know why, but why don't you tell me..."

I couldn't open my mouth. I couldn't just say it.

Like a minute of silenced passed between us with me shaking my head.

Finally he said, "You're scared."

I nodded.

"Can you say that?"

I shook my head. I couldn't say it. If I said it, maybe it would make it real. Maybe it would make something happen to PJ.

After several minutes of heaving sobs, I sputtered out , "I'm afraid He's going to disappear and I'm going to have to do this all by myself. and I don't want to need him. I don't want to be left alone again."

The fucked up thing about this is that thinking PJ is going to die is technically an "irrational" thought. But, based on my experience, the only thing my mind and body know is that getting married and having a baby is followed by acute terminal illness and the death of my spouse.

So, how "irrational" is it really?

If the brain is constantly storing constructs, emotions, events, senses, cognitions and physiological responses in long term memory, and stores them together when they are experienced together, then doesn't it make sense that the thought of early motherhood is hardwired in the same mental model as trauma, death, anxiety, and grief? Absolutely.

The answer? What the answer always is: Time.

Time and communication, honesty, open reflection, and sharing with PJ, which I'm trying to get better at these days. The more I tell Peej, the better it gets, so we're on the right path.

My subconscious is certainly not helping me in this regard though. The vivid dreams that accompany pregnancy should be about puppies and rainbows. I, on the other hand, dreamt last night that Mike returned from the dead, was not quite fully functional, but thought he was. He came back to live in "our house" and raise "our son," unaware that I had remarried, that Baxter knew only PJ as his daddy, and that I was expecting a baby. In the dream, I had to figure out how to integrate Mike into our home and into our lives. I was refitting the basement, finishing it, adding a full bath, getting a separate entrance for Mike. I was trying to figure out if he could get a job at DiscMakers. The feelings I had for him were purely maternal - the dynamic of a care-giver and patient. And my joy at seeing his smiling face was coupled with a dread and a sense of being trapped. After "figuring out" that PJ and I would take care of him here in our house, I said to Mike, "You know what I think we should do?"

And he said, going in to hug me, "Smoosh all day long?"

I couldn't breathe. How do you tell your dead husband that you're not his anymore? It was like that awful scene in castaway where Tom Hanks returns to his house only to find that his wife has moved on to be with someone else.

In the dream, Mike tried to snuggle with Baxter, but Baxter recoiled, grabbing PJ's legs and looking so scared. In his mind, Mike's return meant PJ's departure, and the hurt in Mike's eyes at his son's response ripped me apart.

I have cried on and off all day at this dream. PJ consoled me for about a half hour this morning as I went into all the reasons this dream was fucked up. "I'm not doing anything wrong, right?" i sobbed into PJ's chest.

"No, babe.," he said, trying to hold me close, "Your subconscious is playing some nasty tricks on you. Its asking you to reconcile the irreconcilable."

And finally, "I didn't know him, but I know that someone as practical as Mike would think that you have done exactly what you should have done."

He's right. In 2000, Mike and I watched one of his favorite movies, Truly Madly, Deeply. I loved the film, but hated how it ended.

At the beginning of the movie, Alan Rickman (Jamie) dies, leaving his girlfriend Nina alone, paralyzed with grief, unable to function. Jamie returns as a ghost, to be with Nina - perhaps to help her cope - but slowly becomes a nuisance, with his ghost friends intruding in her home and his constant self-centered actions frustrating Nina more and more over time.

In the end (immediately following the scene below), Jamie leaves Nina, hence setting her free and allowing her to move forward with her own life - and we get a glimpse of a budding relationship forming between Nina and a new man.

Mike tried to explain to me that it had to end the way it did; that we should be glad for Nina; that Jamie was setting her free. But I didn't like it. Because I didn't get it.

And now, I get it. Because I am Nina.



The poem that Nina translates word for word in this clip is by Pabl0 Neruda - the same poet who authored a poem (Your Laughter) read and my wedding to Mike in 2003.

Pablo Neruda (the dead woman)

"No, forgive me.
If you no longer live,
if you, beloved, my love,
if you have died,
all the leaves will fall in my breast,
it will rain on my soul night and day,
the snow will burn my heart,
I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but
I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable,
and, my love, because you know that I am not only a man
but all mankind."

Our cat, Maggie, needs a loving home...

Wonderful 7 year old Female Tabby Needs Home Our wonderful and loving 7 year old female tabby needs a home. Our son has developed asthma and a severe cat allergy. So, sadly, the kitty must go. Our kitty, ... DomesticSale classifieds

I have asked everyone we know if they could take Maggie, and thus far, she's still at our house. As much as I do NOT want to do a public campaign to the masses, we must get Maggie a new home Asap. Baxter wakes up sneezing and wheezing. We don't let him snuggle on the couches. And in the meantime, Maggie gets no lovin' at all..

My hope is that friends and acquaintances will see this and help us spread the word. x0

Mike Young playing ComedySportz Circa 2002 or so.

Mike Young playing ComedySportz Circa 2002 or so.

My favorite moment on stage with Mike: Him using my "kidneystone" as an oar.

Wedding Day!

PJ and I are getting married this afternoon at 5:30 pm.

Bax is giving me away and is the ring bearer. He's so excited that mom and dad are getting married.

PJ's giant family, my family, and our friends are here in town. Lonia (Mike's mom) has been staying here at the house since Sunday and is a wonderful help as things have gotten nutty over the past few days! I feel so supported by Mike's family. His mom, sister, and brother in law are going to be in attendance today.

Here's to new beginnings, to the amazing partner and best friend I've found and to the exceptional dad that Baxter is so blessed to have in PJ.

May 11.

At left: Picture from Mike's friend Michele Kellemen from Penn circa 1986 or so... She just came upon it and sent it my way. He looks so young without his beard!

This morning:

Out of nowhere. Driving down 295 on my way to UDel like every Mon, Wed, and Friday. And there it is. A big Pile of Terd. I'm crying. Images of Mike juxtaposed like a sloppy mess in my mind. Us in love in Hawaii on a hike in 2000. Him firmly and confidently critiquing comedysportz rehearsal. Us driving around Tahoe on the honeymoon on June 2003.

Then him in a hospital gown in a chair, eyes drooping, feigning a polite smile. Speaking only when spoken to.

I had a dream last night that echoes the dream I have various iterations of every few months. He's in the hospital. He's not quite right. But he's right "enough" for them to continue with therapy and to keep him in rehab. Sort of the way he was right before the July 7th "Hail Mary" surgery from which he temporarily returned and then quickly vanished in swelling, cardiac arrest, and organ failure.

In my dream he was loving and smiling... faintly. He was quiet and childlike. He would respond to things sarcastically when the context was appropriate. But I felt a sense of dread and sadness. Knowing this was not the life he deserved to live.

Knowing that if he could see his "new self" through the eyes of his "old self," he would wish for death above this.

After about 25 minutes of crying in the car this morning, I turn off the music, and decide to reorient myself to the present moment with a little NPR. I tune in to whyy at the beginning of a story from the health/science desk about the lack of palliative care options for people who are dying.

http://whyy.org/cms/news/health-science/2009/05/11/a-bereaved-moms-story/8327

The concern here (one that I think about and talk about often) is that the medical system is so "cure-oriented" that it tends to prioritize length of physical life over quality of life. I often reminded Dr. Andrews or our main goal: for Mike to have a life of dignity and autonomy. Or none at all. It was this set of goals that set the stage for the high-risk final surgery on July 7th. High risk with slim possibility of high reward. And even as late as July 13-14, I kept reminding Andrews that Mike "alive" was not the goal. He totally understood and explained to me that because Mike was so young and otherwise in wonderful health, if we could "weather" the storm caused by the swelling in the brain from the tumor and the final surgery, we might be able to have Mike back.

"It's not time to hang up the kleats, Danna. I promise you. I'll tell you when it's time. But it's not time yet."

And he did tell me when that day came... 3 days later when Mike's brain was in the constant state of seizure, inevitably rendering him brain dead.

I feel grateful that Mike's hell ended. I sometimes wish it had ended sooner. I often wonder if his reluctance to move forward with radiation therapy in the winter ... and his desperate need to go to Charleston, SC in March instead of rushing into radiation treatment then - was his attempt to reclaim control of his life. To knowingly reduce the likelihood of his living a longer - yet less dignified- life. I don't know if he made these choices deliberately and willingly, but I like to think so. I am grateful that I am not in the place where I have to visit my husband at an adult daycare facility. I am grateful that Baxter does not have to grow up in a world steeped in gravity and the profound pain that would accompany such a situation. I am grateful that Dr. Andrews did listen to me. I do wish that we would have gotten off of the fucking gerbil wheel earlier. I wish that we had taken him back home in May or June. I wish he had died in his own house. I wish he had seen baxter again.

But, I am grateful that his hell ended and yet his legacy continues.

Where we were three years ago. May 11, 2006.
Mike’s having a good day. Not a great day, but a good one. I was there from about 1 until 4 pm. I washed his hair and face and gave him a nice shave. He ate half of his lunch. His sodium is still too low: 130. They’re working on getting that closer to 140. The low sodium might be responsible for his extreme fatigue. In spite of it, he was sweet and smooshy and pretty content. Always knows who I am. We listened to Rufus Wainwright and he tapped his fingers to the music.

I told him it was Nurse Appreciation Week while nurse Nicole was there in the room. He looked up at her face and said with a nod, "Well Ok then. I appreciate you." We laughed.

I think today I figured out some of Mike’s vision issues. It seems that not only does he have no peripheral vision, but he also has no vision down low either. Anything below the plane of his nose disappears. Put it this way - I put my face right in front of his, just 2 feet away and told him to tell me when he could see my fingers wiggling. I then brought my hand (with fingers wiggling) up from my lap in front of my face. He couldn’t see them until they were in front of my own eyes – basically right in front of him.

I think this black hole that exists down in his lap contributes to his confusion with what’s going around him. He often tries to place things down around his knees when he’s sitting in a chair, as though he things there are compartments or drawers or something down there. He also refers to objects that he thinks are there that are not (books, cats, etc), often reaching down low for random things. I talked to him today about how it might be helpful to “look” with his head and neck instead of just his eyes. He started doing it and it seemed to help a bit.

I also told his nurse Nicole about my observation regarding Mike’s visual fields. It proved useful for her when giving him pills to take. Usually she’d go to put a pill in his hand (down in his lap) and say, “Here Mike. Here’s a pill for you to take.” And he would reach randomly out move his arm all over, unable to find her hand. Instead, today, she said, “Mike, put out your hand. Lift it up.” And she put the pill into his hand when it was right in front of his face. It was much better. No guessing, no reaching, no random movements like before. As much as Mike has to learn new ways to do things, we need to learn how to best help him accomplish these tasks.

Oh... the humor. the sick sick humor

On Friday, PJ and I had a guilty moment of awkward laughter at the sight of this envelope that came in the mail.

From Newsweek: FINAL NOTICE. Addressed to Mike Young. Something tells me he's not renewing his subscription. Call me crazy... but it's just this hunch I have.

Then today... I got THIS one (below). This one made me at once laugh and then furrow my brow in a "HUH?" kind of moment.

"Mike Young: for your recent purchase, Please enjoy this offer on your next visit. $10 off at Pep Boys."

So, several logical questions have arisen.

a) Mike Young made a "recent purchase" at Pep Boys?
b) Assuming, for a moment, that Mike did pass through town... Why didn't he stop in to say hi?
c) What the f*ck could he possibly be purchasing at Pep Boys? I sold Harvey (his 96 Saturn) in August 2006...

A bird's eye view

Here is a wordle (www.wordle.net) i created of all the content of the blog. it bases the size of the words in the graphic on their frequency in the text.

It's funny - i think that as time goes on, the size of "PJ" will get bigger as the size of "Mike" will get smaller. And that's ok.

Things have been quite wonderful lately. Such a feeling of "normal life" going on around us. We're about 6 weeks away from PJ and my wedding, so naturally there are emotional moments here and there. I still worry that my marrying PJ is the equivalent of asking the cosmos to come sabotage me once again - but I'm working on that. But the details are worked out. We're having a church wedding - at an Episcopal Church, followed by a decent sized reception at a country club. PJ's family is sooo giant that we have ended up with a pretty big list of attendees. I have been spending my free time working on lil' crafts, trinkets, the wedding program, and other fun details. I LOVE this stuff.

And to make the day quite distict from my wedding to Mike, there are a lot of intentional differences.

a) mike and I had a small outdoor wedding, officiated by a Unitarian Minister. PJ and I are having a big church wedding, officiated by a female Episcopalian priest.
b) mike and I had a casual cocktail reception outside under a big tent. PJ and I are having a formal sit-down dinner inside a country club.
c) mike and I each had one attendant. Liz was my maid of honor and Kevin was his best man. PJ and I each have SEVEN attendants. ???? nuts, right!
d) When I married Mike, my dad walked me down the aisle. When I marry PJ, Baxter will walk me down the aisle. And I (and everyone else in the place) will surely fall to pieces.

I love planning this wedding. And even more - i love the idea of marrying PJ. He is an exceptional partner - and he's getting better all the time. He is also an amazing dad. Baxter is a lucky lucky boy.

I still have major fears that I will face for a long time. I fear PJ falling ill. I fear Baxter being abandoned again - either from my death or PJ's. I have physical and emotional reactions to some things that I cannot control. Certain sounds, smells, sights... throw me back. But it happens less and less frequently now.

I just found a lump on my thyroid that I need to have an ultrasound on... and that threw me back for a bit. Thyroid issues are prevalent in the women in my family - and the statistics surrounding thyroid issues suggest no real need for concern. However, when your husband is diagnosed with a brain tumor that has a 95% survival rate of five years or more... and then in 8 months he's dead... it messes with your ability to interpret risk and statistics properly.

So, I continue to struggle, but I try to be mindful. When I panic or react emotionally, I try to "get Meta" - "Why am I freaking out? What is the real source of this emotional response?"

But all in all, life is going on and it's going well. I wish the same for you.

Oh... so THAT's how i did it.

[Looking Back: July 2006 - Baxter and Titi Dee]

PJ and I often marvel at the enormous task of single-parenting. Particularly when Bax is so BIG for his britches. Granted, Bax was younger then so the challenges were different, but I don't really remember how I did it. I remember being tired --- running to catch up --- and savoring my time blogging... those rare moments after Bax went to sleep when I felt the company of friends as I typed my every thought into the keyboard.

The entire time period when Mike was ill is a blur in terms of how I managed to take care of Baxter. Mike's mom was here for a few weeks in April. My parents came for a couple of weeks in May. But Mike was hospitalized from March 17th until July 19th. Most days were simple: drop baxter at daycare, take the train to Jefferson and arrive late morning, leave the hospital at 4 to pick up baxter by 5. Weekends were a challenge. One of the days I'd bring baxter with me for a brief visit to Daddy Michael. Perhaps the other weekend day, someone would step in to help so I could make a quick visit into the city.

[At Right: That same pool trip in July 2006. Bax with his juicy cup]

That is a time that...I do. not. visit. It's a time that doesn't bring me feelings of warm grief and connection to Michael, but rather feelings of anxiety and trauma and spiraling out-of-control. If anything, that time period makes me feel much farther away from Michael than I do on a regular basis - because the person I remember as my husband Michael is NOT the person who I visited at Jefferson.

So, today, I'm here on the computer, paying some bills, and I actually take a second to look at some of these jpg files on my desktop. This is Mike's iMac that I don't really use much outside of paying bills... so I don't really browse around here too much. But here on the desktop there are two pictures of Baxter, taken the weekend of July 1st 2005, by our friends Sasha and Dee.

I remember this weekend because it was the last weekend that Mike was at Magee rehab hospital before being taken back to Jefferson for the July 7th Hail Mary Pass surgery.

Sash and Dee played this role many times over that spring - stepping in to play parent to Baxter in my absence. On this particular weekend, they took Bax out to our friend Steiner's mom's pool for an afternoon of swimming.

I remember when Sash emailed me the photos a few days later. How grateful I was that Baxter was finding love and joy during this complicated time - and how sad I was at the intense disconnect between Baxter's naive bliss and Mike's impossible illness. Mike died 17 days later.

*****

PJ, Bax and I had a wonderful weekend here at home - but it was supercharged with parenting issues with a smart and stubborn Baxter. It was oddly helpful this morning to momentarily recall how tumultuous his first two years were - and how remarkable it is that the struggles we face with Bax are the same exact struggles any parent of a 4 year old is going through. Defiance - Sassiness - Always trying to make you laugh, even when he's being wicked naughty - Not wanting to pick up his toys - Taking like 37 hours to get on his shoes and coat - Always wanting to eat something sugary.

What a blessing to have a child who is so freaking annoying in a very typical and normal way.

***

Yesterday afternoon, we watched the Eagles game at Heide and Daniel's. Bax played with Hazel and we sat with their chubby happy twins, Winter and Simone, to watch the game. PJ sat with Simone for most of the game - it was the cutest thing to see. Anyway, before bed, I told Baxter, "You know, holding the babies reminded me of holding you when you were a baby."

"Why?"

"Because you were so tiny and cute and you made little noises..."

"What did I say?"

"I think you said 'buh buh buh' a lot."

"Did I say Da-da?"

"Yes."

"Did I say Ma-ma?"

"Yes.... And, I remember you learned the word 'duck' really early, too."

"Did I have my yellow shaky duck when I was a baby?" (a duck with a rattle inside)

"You bet... Liz and Scott gave that to you before you were born. It was you first toy!"

He seemed pleased. He was quiet for a second, looking at the shaky duck in his hand. Then he lit up...

"And then Daddy Michael would tug the duck and say 'tug tug tug'!" He said, smiling....

And no, this isn't baxter remembering this event from his infancy. It's a charming anecdote I shared with him a few months ago that he loves to revisit.

"That's right!"

"And would I would giggle and giggle?"

"yup."

It's funny that something so hyper-loaded as impermanence is simply a part of Bax's vocabulary of the world.

We try to be quite mindful of this. That for Baxter, the disappearance of another human being - one who plays an integral role in your daily life - is a reality. you can't poo-poo it away when he says, "I don't want you to die." You can't say, "I'm not going to die." Because he'll say, "Then why did Daddy Michael die?"

And yes, this conversation has happened word for world - most recently just a couple of weeks ago.

We have noticed, though, that these questions and concerns are not always present. It seems that they are mostly around when our lives are hectic or unsettled. For about 10 days, our house was a bit chaotic, prepping for a holiday party, rearranging furniture etc.... His inquiries about death jumped that week. Cheryl (it's so good to have friends with PhDs in psychology) pointed out that for Baxter, an unsettled emotional state might simply activate other constructs that are unsettling - which, unfortunately for his way-too-experienced mind - have to do with death and impermanence.

But you can imagine that when I was at ComedySportz rehearsal the other week, and Baxter turned to PJ and said, "I love you dad. I don't want you to die." It tore PJ's heart out. I think his response was something along the lines of "I love you, too, Baxter."

*******

And finally, another great Mike dream. (He's all over the place in my mind right now - which is quite cool because PJ and I are feeling really smitten and connected these days ... so to have that in real life and a healthy connection with Mike in my subconscious is helping me feel quite grounded.)

In my dream, we had rented a big house. I think lots of Comedysportz folks were there. I was cooking breakfast - ham steaks and other yummies sauteeing in olive oil, garlic, and onions. Now, remember, cooking is something I did NOT do at all until after Mike died and I had to fend for my damn self. So, in the dream, I reduce the heat on the burners, and go to the bathroom. When I get back in the kitchen - there's Mike - in front of the stove, collar-shirt, sleeves rolled up, black and white pin-stripe apron on. He has literally taken all of my dishes OFF the stove and placed them on the counter. he's started cooking his OWN thing.

"Smoosher!" I laugh, "What are you doing? I'm in the middle of making brunch?"

He laughs a little condescending laugh, and gestures with his left hand to "shush" me out of the kitchen, like saying, "oh, little girl, your ham steaks are so quaint. I'll take over now."

"Smoosher, I'm serious! I know what I'm doing. I'm cooking."

He doesn't even look at me. Instead, laughs a little more, staying put right where he is.

I was so annoyed with his cockiness. And it felt fun and wonderful.

So, (cut back to real life) - later in the day yesterday, I cooked a yummy vegetarian chili from Mike's favorite "Cook's Illustrated" Cookbook. PJ and I were quite impressed with the results. So, PJ, having been told about the "Mike boots danna from the kichen dream" says playfully,

"Tell 'Dream Mike' to Step Off. This chili is amazing!"

Four... three... two... one...

I was thinking of creating one of those Christmas Card inserts – you know, the kind with updates about the year’s events for the whole family… I’m not going to, but if I did, it would read like this:

House of Young and Gallagher 2008 Recap

Broad trends through 2008:

• Transition from the House of the Widow Young to the house of Young and Gallagher.
• Baxter is addicted to superheroes, fictional stories told by his dad, and the art of Kung Fu (which PJ claims to know). Bax also started digging phonics and sounding out words this fall…
• Baxter now calls PJ “dad.”

2008 Timeline of events:

• May 23: PJ Gallagher proposes. Danna accepts. They’ll marry next Spring.
• June: Lonia (Mike’s mom) spends a lovely week visiting with us and has a family dinner with the Gallagher clan.
• June: Family vacation at a beautiful lakeside cabin in NH. Canoeing and swimming ensue.
• July: Big family house in Sea Isle with the whole Gallagher clan for a week of sun and fun.
• August: Danna starts rehearsing with ComedySportz again - with the love and encouragement of one PJ Gallagher.
  
• 3^rd Annual Laughtastic Sketchopalooza raises another $2000 for the Mike Young Fund at Jefferson Hospital. PJ’s entire family is in attendance. The Fund is now up to approximately $10,000.
• Autumn: PJ (an asst prosecutor for Atlantic County) argues before the 1^st Appellate Court of the Superior Court of NJ (again, with the whole family in attendance) and wins. The decision is going to be published… aw yeah.
• October: Danna, PJ, Baxter, and PJ’s parents spend a weekend together in Ocean City, NJ.
• Also in October: Danna decides that the two cigarettes a day she's been smoking since Mike unravelled in March 2005 are no longer a necessary part of her life. Resolves to not buy another pack. As of Dec 18th, we're at 8 weeks of smoke-free living... and counting.
  
• October 12: Philadelphia Theater Company plaque is unveiled: Mike “Egg Foo” Young, Funniest Man in Philadelphia, 1967-2006. Almost $5000 have been raised for PTC.
• October 25: Danna returns to the Saturday night ComedySportz Stage for the first time since 2004.
  
• Danna feels that the sun shines brighter since Obama won.
• Late November: Realizing she’s starting to forget the essence of mindful detachment, Danna starts paying more attention to mindfulness and resumes her yoga practice.

*******

Bridging the Past and Present... through Musical.

So, last night, I had the urge to watch one of Mike’s favorite campy classics, “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” from 1954. Mike LOVED this film. Check out the email he sent in 2003 organizing an outing to watch the film on the big screen:

From: Mike Young

Subject: Greatest Musical Ever Made

Sent: 8/11/2003 12:38 PM

This Sunday at 7PM, you have a rare opportunity to see perhaps the greatest musical ever made on the big screen. The Prince Musical Theater at 1412 Chestnut Street is showing Seven Brides For Seven Brothers in a 35mm, Cinemascope presentation. (Cinemascope, in case you're not familiar with it, is a super-widescreen format popular in the 50s.)

Seven Brides (1953) stars Howard Keel, Jane Powell, and a very young Russ Tamblyn, who later went on to star as Riff in West Side Story. It's colorful, corny, campy, and a time-capsule of sexist Americana. Seeing this film will remind you how much progress the women's movement has made. It's genius, I tell you.

Danna and I will be going, and you owe it to yourself to go if you've never seen it. Tickets are $8.50.

Mike Young

************

The film is priceless for its un-ironic misogyny. I knew PJ would get a kick out of it for its insanity. I told him how much Mike loved the film, and PJ eagerly expressed interest in watching it.

That's the thing about Peej. He doesn't get caught up in the emotional baggage of it all. "Mike liked it? Cool. I'll watch it."

The premise of the film is that the protagonist, Adam, a frontiersman, goes into “town,” takes a wife, Millie, and brings her back home. Only upon arrival at the ranch does Millie realize that she’ll not only be living with Adam, but with his 6 unkempt, unruly brothers. Millie takes it upon herself to groom the brothers and teach them how to “go a’courtin.” The brothers try to court the townswomen as Millie taught them, but they soon become frustrated and heartsick with the lack of response.

Like any good older brother would, Adam, finding his brotherly brood … brooding… gives them an instructional and horrifying pep talk in the form of a song. He suggests that the brothers should borrow the approach used by the Romans on the Sabine Women (as in … the “Rape of the Sabine Women”). He suggests that the brothers should kidnap their lady friends… and that eventually the girls would fall in love with them. It’s a classic tale of “No means yes!” … in a very catchy tune:

"Sabine women"

Needless to say, the mantra of our house right now is “On her face she seems annoyed, but secretly she's OVERjoyed!” …nice.

So, we watched the movie last night and laughed our way through the film. PJ acknowledged several times how priceless it was and how he agreed with Mike in his assessment that it is quite the cultural artifact.

It’s funny. PJ and I have our own life together, our own relationship, our own dynamic… But it was so wonderful to feel like – for a brief moment – we were all three sharing something. You’d think that with PJ raising Baxter (Mike’s biological son) as his own child (he is currently working out the adoption process), that I’d feel that sense of togetherness all the time --- but I don’t. Baxter is so different from the toddler he was when Mike was alive and home. As a result, the role that PJ and I play as Bax’s parents now is cognitively distinct from the role Mike played as father to baby Baxter.

But clearly, the feeling I had watching one of Mike’s favorite films with PJ, while sitting on the big plum colored sofa – which was Mike’s sofa from the house on American Street, resonated with me emotionally.

I know this because Mike was in my dreams last night. It felt like he was around all night – and I could see him as though he is here beside me right now. He was healthy and happy. Thin and full of life. His hair was floppy and long. He was wearing a mustard-colored button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up twice and a watch on his wrist. And he was so smiley. His eyes were smiling. I could see the smile lines around his eyes as he threw his head back in laughter – with a sentimental head tilt as if to say, “Aw…. Smoosher, you’re so cute.”

But the best part was, in the dream nothing really happened. Mike was sitting on the sofa beside me – but more importantly, beside us… PJ and me. Mike was angled a bit so that he was looking at us, but PJ and I were the ones sitting up close next to each other. Mike reached out and took my hand in one of his, and then took PJ’s hand in the other. PJ was a little surprised and awkward at first, but he didn’t pull away. We just all sat there for a moment, with Mike holding our hands, head tilted, sentimental and smiling at us.

Two nights ago, I confessed something to PJ. He and I were snuggling up after Baxter was asleep, and we were listening to the new Ben Folds album, Way to Normal. There’s a song called “Cologne,” that’s about a break up and letting go of someone. The chorus is haunting. The last few times I’ve heard it, I have felt a powerful sense that my heart is opening – like when I do a warrior pose in yoga. My eyes get warm and glassy and I feel a complicated combined sense of loss and growth. When I hear that chorus, I feel a compelling urge to look upwards as sing it to Michael.

“Four, three, two, one… I’m letting you go.

I, will, let, go… If you will let go.”

That’s it. That’s what I confessed to PJ. - that I sing that chorus up to the sky - to Mike. And that I feel guilty about it. Guilty for feeling an urge to move forward, but knowing that it's the right thing to do.

For those of you who may be horrified by this little confession, please know that this urge is not about forgetting Michael. He is a part of our lives. His pictures hang in the house. We talk about him with Baxter. Baxter sleeps under a quilt that has pictures of Mike scanned in onto the fabric. For gosh sakes, Mike's ashes still reside in our closet on top of the bureau where PJ and I keep our clothes. So no - this is not about forgetting. It's about allowing myself to move forward.

The thing is – Mike isn’t holding on to me. I get that. But I feel like my asking him to let go of me is my mind’s way of reconciling the convoluted feelings of guilt I have as the wedding to PJ approaches. I feel like if I ask him to let go of me, then I can move forward without feeling like I’m turning my back on him.

Cologne and Ben Folds

(this video is all whacky, but the chorus starts at 2:37 min)

This whole thing is so fucking complicated.

I am glad to say that throughout this process, PJ and I have grown closer. But, I am definitely superstitious – like if the universe learns how much I love him – then shit will hit the fan. So, I don’t write love letters and get all gushy like I have done in past relationships. In fact, I remember taking weeks with Michael to write our own heartfelt wedding vows. I want no part of that when PJ and I have our ceremony. I want Mother Anne to perform the ceremony using simple traditional vows – but without references to “until death do us part.” I’m not going to do some crazy fancy personal disclosure of our courtship and love. A simple: “I do.” “I do, too.” Done. I realize this may sound cold or crass --- But it’s not about my not feeling strongly towards PJ. It’s about not wanting to draw too much attention to the wonderful second chance that I have found here.

Perhaps if we do it quickly, we’ll slip under the radar… and not tempt the hands of fate.

I know, Mike, "it's not fate. It's randomness." I'm still keeping it all on the D.L. - unless the big puppetmaster in the sky is reading this blog. Then I guess the cat's out of the bag, huh?

Foiled again.

Coming home.

After 8 years, I feel like I've come home.

For those of you who didn't vote for Obama, first, this entire entry isn't about the election, so fret not; and second, I sincerely hope that, in spite of your reservations, that you give him a chance to be your president. I hope that, regardless of your doubts or fears, you at least recognize last night and today for the momentous moment in American history that they constitute.

And as I wrote to a dear non-Obama supporting relative who emailed this morning to ask "What now," I simply say:

Just wait and see... and - i beg you - don't be cynical. Give him a chance - maybe he will make you proud.

And recognize that in 2000 and 2004 50% and 49% of us (respectively) had to contend with a similar feeling to that which you now have - unsettled and nervous. But we got through it, and you will to. That's the beauty of our system. The pendulum swings one way and then it swings back. It's self-correcting and peaceful. Regimes change and hands are shaken and through our differences, we can all be respectful and appreciative that our system is solid enough to endure dramatic shifts like this without imploding.

I voted for Obama because of his environmental views, foreign policy views, abortion stance, tax plan, energy policy, and most of all because he is a scholar of politics, economics, and history - and not one stymied by his knowledge, but a pragmatic one who understands the US as part of a delicate global infrastructure...

I understand that for many people, America's "reputation" or "image" in the world is of little importance or concern, but for me, the knowledge that people around the world are watching and saying, "Holy Shit. The American people voted for change," makes me feel proud and optimistic.

And though I didn't vote for him because of his race, i think it is crucial to recognize this win as a victory for our nation - especially for an entire segment of the population that has - until now - been *told* they have equal rights - but perhaps have never had reason to truly and deeply believe it...

I hope that you all share in at least some aspect of this prideful moment.

I just wish that Mike were here to share it.

********

The night before the election I dreamt of Mike all night. Just normal healthy mike, hanging out, laughing, wearing his blue comedysportz jacket and his fannypack (that freaking fannypack). So waking up yesterday morning was bittersweet. As PJ said, at least the dream was happy and peaceful.

Last week I had a gruesome dream that stayed with me for days. It was eating me up. I got more and more stressed and angry - ornery towards PJ and impatient with Baxter. Finally, days after the dream, I told PJ about it. As I heard the first sentence of the dream spilling out of my mouth, I lost my breath and sobbed - that hard uncontrollable shaking sobbing that reminds me of being in the Jefferson Hospital elevator with my sister, collapsing to the floor and just wishing I could vanish.

The dream was simple. Mike had died - but his body was in Europe. We needed to get him home. I was watching as they drained his head of these horrible substances. They manipulated his pale lifeless body and began to fill him with embalming fluid. Then he sat up, pipes sticking out of his head, and looked at me with pleading but naive eyes, "Smoosher, what are they doing to me?" he asked.

I think that's all there was to the dream. But it haunted me for days. It still does.

It's interesting - my sister emailed me to share an observation - that October was the first month since Mike got sick that I didn't blog at all. She framed it in terms of the renewed stability I have in my life, the progress I've made, and the joy that PJ brings to us. I would add that now I have someone to whom I tell all this stuff: PJ. I work my baggage out just by talking with him. I also believe that it's fair to say I've been swamped with work and have not taken adequate time to explore my unresolved issues in the past 2 months. I think my lack of blogging and lack of communication is at least somewhat responsible for that awful dream. I think my subconscious just wanted to get it out of there - and without a regular practice of blogging, the dream was the only place for it to go.

So, I'm going to catch up for some lost time:

Mike, I miss you so much.

It continues to be incomprehensible to me: time goes by and goes by and you're still not here. and you're never coming back.

You've missed a lot. That young big-eared guy who talked at the 2004 DNC about how there's no red America and Blue America? Just the United States of America? He's our president? Crazy right?

Remember how we protested the war in Iraq before the invasion in early 2003? The US is still there. Still.

Remember how in Queen Village there were all those new homes and rehabbed homes and developments and $600,000 plus homes and we were like "Who's gonna buy these? Who has that kinda money?" Remember those interest only and subprime loans that you would tell me HAD to be a bad idea? Well - they were. The bubble burst. Home values then began to drop. People who bought houses with those interest only loans, whose home values had dropped, have become totally F*cked. Those shitty mortgages were sold off as securities in which lots of financial institutions - and foreign banks - invested... but with all the foreclosures, those mortgage-backed securities have turned to shit. So Wall St has taken a major nose dive. Major.

On a positive note, Baxter is doing great. He is so big - he looks like such a boy now. And he's learning stuff so quickly. PJ and I took him to Dunkin Donuts before we went to the kids' museum on Sunday morning and he stared at the men's room door. It was the first word I think he actually read: "Men." PJ asked how the heck he knew that and Baxter replied, "M" says "muh." "E" says "eh." "N" says "nuh." "Muh-eh-nuh. meh-nuh. men. Men!"

Then he went around the corner saying, "I bet the other door says 'girls'?" I said, "Go check!" and he ran back yelling, "No!!! It says WOMEN! I know because it starts with a "W"!"

And ComedySportz.... Wow. You would LOVE how the company is doing. Not financially, of course... But artistically. Jadico has the whole show so tight and organized. The space has been totally revamped, too. Last weekend I performed for the first time since Baxter was born. It was amazing fun. It's hard, though, without you there. I try to put you out of my mind in that space. Which is a little easier because of the renovations - and because the company has all these new and amazing younger players who have taken the stage since you were here. They are EFFing awesome. And some of the players who were just taking off a few years ago have totally come into their own - they have grown so much as improvisers, I know you would be so proud.

On your birthday this year, it was also (coincidentally) the unveiling of the seat plaque that your friends and I donated towards at Philadelphia Theater Company. We raised almost $5000 towards the plaque. It is located on the aisle, in the orchestra section, about 8 or 9 rows up. You'd like it. Actually, as Cara pointed out to me, you'd probably give the seat to me since it's on the aisle and my legs are like 2 feet longer than yours... You're sweet like that.

Side note: I asked PJ yesterday if it's weird that I refer to you in the present tense sometimes, "Mike is the kind of person who..." He said an unequivocal, "no. It's not weird."

The plaque reads "Mike (Egg Foo) Young, Funniest Man in Philadelphia, 1967-2006." Cheryl joked that Kevin and Don are probably going to buy plaques for themselves to put next to you, also reading "Funniest Man in Philadelphia." She's funny that Cheryl.

I still have a really hard time reconciling my life with PJ and my loss of you. He is a true gift to Baxter and me. He is sweet, kind, funny, playful, and tolerant of my bratty shenanigans. And I recognize that your death ultimately brought about the circumstances that allowed him into our lives. David, the still-beloved therapist, always reminds me that I never would have chosen to lose you - but that given the hand I was dealt, I did the healthiest thing I could do. I worked on my grief (which I continue to do) and Ihave tried to rebuild.

Today, with the feelings of optimism and pride that come with last night's election results, I miss you terribly. I spent some of Monday and Tuesday canvassing for Obama right near our old neighborhood. It was lifetimes ago that we lived there and walked those streets together - but it wasn't. It was just 4 years. 4 years ago I was preggers, we were getting ready for the next chapter with our baby. Four years and a lifetime ago.

I love and miss you, Mike Young. But you're not here.

There is someone here now who I love - and he is moving our family in a wonderful direction. PJ is youthful, vibrant, carefree, and is marrying me and raising our son as his own. He is an exceptional person, Mike. And everytime I tell PJ that he would have liked you - or if I think, "Mike, you'd really love PJ," I have to laugh at the absurdity of the premise.

How f*cked up this all is.

But, I'm doing the best I can - and amazingly, the "best I can" is usually pretty darned good.

love,
danna
ps: I wish I believed in a concrete notion of heaven. Days like this would be so much easier. You up there with all those old dead people, watching the election returns on a giant screen in the sky... ah well.

When two major moments collide

So, I've noticed, in my ranting to PJ about everything-election 2008, that my conversation often turns to Mike. And, when talking about Mike, everything turns to the election. I'm going to use this space to try - try... to clear my head.

The tie between the election and Mike: For me, I think there are a lot of highly salient and emotional things at play.


1) Mike stayed up with me during the nights after September 11th, 2001 as I cried, not out of fear of another attack, but out of a fear of my country's response.

2) Mike and I protested the Iraq war in March 2003 in Philadelphia. That war is still being fought and Mike has been dead for over 2 years.

3) Mike and I sat together on July 27, 2004 and watched as Senator Barack Obama addressed the DNC. Mike and I were giddy with excitement and Mike announced that he couldn't wait for this man to run for president:





And as much as I am trying to keep my perspective in this election, I am feeling the same sense of powerlessness that I did while serving as Mike's advocate in the hospital day after day. It started with a sense of confidence - unflappable faith in our ability to overcome this thing. And suddenly, something rendered me weary. In Spring 2006, it was the one surgery that shook my footing in early April and changed the entire picture. And then, last week, with the announcement of Palin and the *excitement* surrounding her, I started to feel similarly weak in the knees.

I realize it may seem crass to make this comparison - but when I think about what is ultimately important, I feel very little distance between the health of my domestic family and the health of my world. I have always felt this way. I was raised being told that it would be disappointing to try to help outside your own family, that you can really "only take care of your own," but that just didn't sit right with me.

Among the things that I just don't feel the capacity to understand:

• Fear of a "dangerous" world.
  
• Prioritizing self over the health and well-being of the global community.
• Why "sitting down" and engaging in a discussions with with leaders of "unfavorable" nations is a bad thing.
• Disbelief in science that indicates man accounts for the vast majority of the rise in global temperatures.
• Any line of reasoning or faith that results in the belief that being gay is morally problematic or unnatural.
• Any line of reasoning or faith that suggests that gay couples cannot/should not be able to marry or adopt children.
• Why being a community organizer is something worthy of contempt.
• Why "taxes" are such a bad thing when they pay for our schools, infrastructure, and even our roads.
  

So, since Palin's nomination, I'm obsessed.

First, I feat that the media have tied their own hands because of the Bullsh*t in their coverage of Hillary over the past 15-16 years.

How so?

It goes like this: Hillary tries to work on healthcare behind closed doors and has a contentious relationship with the press. from 92 until 98, the Clintons develop a notorious and well-documention TENSE relationship with journalists.

2007-08: Hillary runs for the democratic nomination. Press is hard on her. I really think they just don't like her. I don't, on the other hand, think it was about her gender - but rather - a sincere lack of affection.

However, the charges are of sexism. So now, the media are confronted with Gov Palin. They now have another woman candidate, an outsider new to Washington. And so the kids gloves come on. NOT because the media are biased against liberals or anything like that - but because journalists LOVE: a) Novelty, b) A surprise, unexpected narrative, c) an interesting biography. And because d) they don't want to look like sexist assholes once again.

My request: Please oh please ask her about the issues (see NYT issue position comparison). Please. McCain's O.L.D. Need I say more?

I originally started writing this because I have been losing sleep this week, staying up to watch the RNC, and then lying paralyzed with too much anxiety post-convention-viewing to fall asleep.

Some more things rattling around in my mind here:

I am told that to think about Sarah Palin's family and children - or to talk about them is sexist.

The issue of the 5 month old baby is one that I can't get my head around and don't want to go near - because, for gosh sakes - I still want to run for office someday! But suffice it to say, watching her speech and that baby in the arms of Cindy McCain and then its father... there were a lot of questions in my mind about how that whole situation is going to work. I have no answers, just questions. (and remember, I AM a working mom, one who returned to her research when bax was 6 months old...).

However, we are also told that to discuss her daughter Bristol's pregnancy is off-limits.

If you are a candidate who does not support abortion rights - even in cases of rape or incest (see AP article) - and you are a candidate whose position on sex-education is less than clear (see LA Times article), I think it is fair to explore your policy positions in light of the relevant circumstances in which your family currently finds itself.

The McCain platform is strongly and clearly supportive only of abstinence-only education. And yet here - Bristol Palin - who, ostensibly was raised in a loving, supporting, Christian, abstinence-until-marriage-urging household, is pregnant.

For Bristol, the consequences of having unsafe sex is that she will birth a child, who will be raised by her and likely with the help of the family around her.

However, what if we're talking about sex-education to avoid more than mere teen-pregnancy? What if we're talking about AIDS in Africa? Sure, the highly inefficacious abstinence-only campaign might result in young American women saddled with babies for which they are utterly unprepared - but in the case of sexually transmitted diseases - particularly AIDS, we're not just talking about pregnancy - we're talking about an epidemic.

When Laura Bush introduced the President the other night, touting his increased spending on AIDS programs in Africa over the last 8 years, PJ piped up: "Ignoring the fact that a ton of it is dedicated to abstinence-only programs." The President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) does provide much needed drugs to the region, but the prevention program is centered around Churches, and does not support condom distribution OR needle exchange programs. More here


_______________

Enough. For now. I will leave you with a couple anecdotes, beautiful and lovely.

Two things, actually.

The other night, PJ had plans and was scheduled to get home after bax fell asleep. At bedtime, Baxter said, "I miss my dad. I wish he was here to say goodnight."

And for the first time in a very long time, I could say, with all honesty, "He'll be back. You'll see him in the morning."

The second one: PJ is a huge phillies fan. Big time. And loves teaching Baxter about the game. Bax asks some great questions, too. Last night, out at a restaurant, the two sat opposite me in a booth, where they could watch the game. Bax was wearing his new Phillies jersey I just bought him, and he was snuggled up to PJ asking him tons of questions. PJ loved it! He was all Fatherly, instructing Bax in the rules to the sport.

At one point, Baxter sneaked under the table over to me to say hi, and then sneaked back to ask PJ another baseball question. Once bax got back up on the seat snuggled in next to his dad, PJ looked at me thoughtfully and simply said, "Thank you." I didn't push him to say "thank you for what." I got it.

And I leave you with this photo - Bax and PJ checking out a comic book at the restaurant last night.

Laughtastic 2008: Success

Left: Dr. Andrews and me at last year's Laughtastic Event.
******************
The verdict: Last night's show was phenomenal.

Stats are in: 208 tickets sold, $511 in donations and raffle tickets. All told, this probably means about $2000 to the Mike Young Fund. As soon as I find out our most current total in the fund, I'll post it.

And the 50/50 raffle? Well, the winner of the drawing, Mike's friend from Penn, Mike Welch, gave his winnings back to the fund. Thanks again, Mike.

To see so many CSzers old and new, Nathan in the role that Mike wrote for himself back in 86... along with stand up comedians Doogie Horner and Steve Gerben (both of whom Host Don Montrey said I would LOVE and Holy ISH was he right)...

The Firing Sketch: "Too bad, Bob!"

The dedication to the "Ladies of N. P. R!"

Rowan and Hastings brought down the house yet again.

And ComedySportz? ComedySportz' 35 minute set for the Laughtastic show was once again SO high-energy, so filled with risk-taking offers and random crazy shit. A Kung-Fu Musical featuring Mary Carpenter doing cartwheels? need i say more?

I think since we included performers like Doogie and Steve (who never knew Mike) it took that heavy "memorial" feel out of the show... And that is a good thing, not a bad thing. It felt lighter, happier, quicker...

And PJ's entire giant family was there along with his friends. And (thank god) they had a BLAST! Let's be honest here... this could be really Effing WEIRD, right?

Like right now,shouldn't I be planning our May 2009 wedding? Instead, I have been too busy planning this tribute to my dead husband to have enough time to plan my wedding to my soon-to-be husband. (...It's so wrong, isn't it? Don't worry. They're both laughing.)

Mike's nurse practitioner Judy from Jefferson was there, along with his occupational therapist, Ellen... both of whom worked with us day in and day out through the hell that was spring/summer 2006. SO many people that I love and who loved or cared for Mike - or who didn't know mike at all but wanted to support the event.

It is a lot work putting this event together... NOT the content of the show (the performers show up and make magic happen onstage), but the PR, marketing (anyone out there see one of my FaceBook Ads for the show? Ask PJ how nerdily excited I was about tracking the "impressions" and "clicks" on those puppies), assembling info for programs and publicity stuff, nailing down performers and their acts..

But somehow... after all the work and the madness that is our ONE (yes, one) and only tech run-through (one hour prior to curtain), it all just comes together. Right there on stage.

So, Next year? Will we do it again? How can we NOT?

I am, however, toying with a show date in late September instead of late August. POST-Fringe, POST-school-back-in-session. Pre-holiday push. Thoughts on that? performers? Show-goers?

I got a great note from Mike's old college buddy Andy's wife, Barb. She said that after every act she turned to her husband and said, "THAT one was my favorite... no no... now THAT one was my favorite."

And... what was YOUR favorite part of the show?

For those of you who have been concerned, Mike's tree is beautiful and in full bloom (See photo).

Random pics and vids from the house of Young and Gallagher

Laughtastic Sketchopalooza - coming up in less than two weeks... Check out the Stellar program that Amy from DiscMakers designed for us! As Susan said, "Hot Diggity!"

Show's going to kick booty. Get Tix HERE.

Speaking of Mike... his friend and longtime colleague, Jim, from Discmakers just uploaded a super extensive photo album of Discmakers photos dating back to 1996, including some of Mike. These shots are sooo great.

Seeing new footage or photos of Mike is such a gift. It's the rare opportunity to have a new memory of him, or a new experience with him.

At left: LONG haired Mike, circa 1998-99

At right: Mike hosts DMpalooza with Dre. Mike LOVED this event. He thought Dre was the coolest guy he would ever have the opportunity to know. As he put it, "He wears COWBOY boots... and still looks cool. Who does that?"

Below: Mike dressed up as a pregnant king for Halloween - probably 96 or 97. When this photo was taken, I was probably a 21 year old, studying abroad in france, chain smoking while eating brie. Crazy stuff.

And now... cause we haven't seen him in a while: Baxter Newland Young.

Cracking up PJ and me... like usual.

First: Bax's Jingoism comes out as he sings a patriotic lil' ditty -learned at daycare - in "Spanish"... his label, not mine.



Second: Baxter masters the concept of narrative structure. And superheroes kicking ass.



Finally: This lil video speaks for itself. Enjoy our gifted son.

3rd Annual Laughtastic Sketchopalooza. A Comedy Benefit Event. Sun Aug 24th. 7:30 pm. World Cafe Live Philly.

It's that time of year once again - time for the 3rd Annual Laughtastic Sketchopalooza, a Comedy Show to Benefit Jefferson Hospital for Neuroscience - a tribute to the comedic stylings of Comedysportz Philadelphia co-founder and artistic director, Mike Young.

Sunday, August 24, 2008
7:30 pm. Doors open at 6:00 pm
World Cafe Live, Philadelphia
Tickets $15

Click HERE to purchase tickets

The Laughtastic Sketchopalooza is a celebration of Mike's favorite artform with some of his favorite performers. The show will kick off with a sketch that Mike wrote for Mask and Wig at Penn circa 1986 and the remainder of the event features some fantastic talent from the philly sketch and improv circuit (incl. ComedySportz, Bad Hair, Rowan and Hastings, Stand up comedians Steve Gerben and Doogie Horner) and all proceeds will go to the Mike Young fund at Jefferson Hospital.

This year, I will be co-hosting this event along with Don Montrey.

Come. Celebrate. Laugh.

For more show info, visit our website: http://dgoldyoung.googlepages.com/2ndannualworldcafelivecomedyfestival2

LaUGH-TaSTiC SKeTCH-O-PaLOOZa
Sunday August 24th
7:30 pm@ World Cafe Live Philadelphia to benefit Jefferson Hospital for Neuroscience
Tix $15 available through world cafe live: http://tickets.worldcafelive.com/eventperformances.asp?evt=2582

Featuring:
Hosts Don Montrey and Danna Young of ComedySportz Philadelphia

Performers include:
Comedysportz Philadelphia
Bad Hair Sketch
Rowan and Hastings

Stand up Comedy by:
Steve Gerben
Doogie Horner

And that week comes again...

It's July 14th. On July 18th we will have been without Mike for two years. Two entire years. How can that be? I feel like he was just here. I also feel like it was another planet... a lifetime ago.

I have a new life. A very different life. A new love. A new job. A new sense of who I am and how strong I am.

But it seems impossible that this man, whose energy informed the world and everything around him so much... could have been gone from us for two entire years.

I have been "in it" since yesterday. Not awfully like debilitatingly in it, mind you. Just sitting with an aching hole in my heart, still going about my business, laughing with PJ and Bax, getting work done... but aching and crying at everything and nothing.

Yesterday, PJ, Bax and I went to see the new Pixar movie, Wall-e. In the movie, Wall-e is a trash compacting robot who lives on an uninhabited earth 700 years in the future. His only friend is a little cockroach. Wall-e spends his off hours collecting odds and ends of human society and watching an old video of a musical in which two people fall in love. Then, one day, a spaceship comes to earth and out pops Eve... a white, streamlined flying robot sent with a "directive" to find something to bring back to the "mother ship."

Eve and Wall-e become friends. He shows her all his odds n ends and introduces her to the musical. He falls in love with eve. And then he shows her the latest addition to his collection of junk, a small green plant. At the sight of the plant, Eve's alarms go off, and her belly opens up and she puts the plant inside. It turns out that gathering the plant was her directive.

Once the plant is found, her entire system shuts down. Her head and wings close in and she becomes a hovering egg-shaped capsule, with a small green light indicating the contents contained within.

Wall-e is heartbroken. He says her name over and over. he tries to get inside. He takes care of her. Thinking that exposure to the sun with recharge her, as it does him, he wraps a Christmas light string around her and drags her outside into the sun, day after day. When it rains, he holds an umbrella over her. He drags her to the edge of an overlook where he watches the sunset next to her, still trying to reconnect. He tries to pry her wing apart from her body to just get the feel for holding her hand - but the wing snaps back and pinches his hand.

For days and weeks and months, I was Wall-e.

So, there in the theater, I tried to swallow my nausea and hold in my tears.

Soon, Eve's mother ship returned. it sucked her up and started to take off. Wall-e panicked... took off after the ship and latched onto it as it took off. And there, on top of the many piles of junk left on earth, was Wall-e's one little friend, the cockroach. Watching as Wall-e disappeared into the stratosphere.

From in between PJ and me, I hear a sob coming from the seat. It's Baxter. He's a wreck. He's crying so hard.

"What is it, beaner?" i ask, thinking that he dropped some popcorn or something.

"The bug is going to miss Wall-e! I don't want him to go! I want him to come back down! I don't want him to Goooooo!"

Fucking hell. Now Pixar has successfully ripped open two grief wounds in the Young household.

PJ and I console bax and explain that Wall-e will return. We explain that he is in love with eve and so he's following her into space. Finally Baxter calms down.

Later in the film, when Wall-e is almost entirely destroyed up in space, Eve, who has been reconstituted, remembers that Wall-e's spare chips and other parts are back on earth. She flies him back home, puts him back together, and he comes "back to life."

But for a good 1-2 minutes, Wall-e the robot is back, but his soul is still gone. He starts functioning again, rolling around to crunch up trash, but not acknowledging Eve, who's trying to reconnect with the person she loves. Wall-e looks through her, disconnected, until finally she holds his "hand." His binocular eyes begin to dilate and finally he says her name.

Even writing it now, I'm crying. Here are two inanimate (sort of) objects who engage in dialog that consists of no more than 3 words each. And I feel like I've been ripped open. I don't think I have felt such a gut -wrenching sense of what it felt like to sit in a room hour after hour with a man who's not there.

After we got home and put Bax to bed, I sat on the porch with PJ and told him the full, detailed unabridged version of the hell that was 2006.

The unresponsive face, the blank stare, the slumped head, the torso and hands strapped down to the his side. Then at Magee, coming into the hall to see the man I loved sloppily dressed, his clothes falling off of his slumped shoulders, sitting in a wheelchair across from the nurses station gazing at the floor... knowing he had probably been there for hours. Wanting to throw up every day, but just trying again and again to find him in there, to reconnect, to find a glimpse of this person whose spirit made life brighter for everyone around him.

Bringing Baxter in and just wanting to curl up and die as the father to my son was, in many ways, more of a child than the 18 month old in my arms.

Then the last day. that awful last day. Watching his blood pressure drop point by point, until the nurse asked if we could shut off the monitors. Taking down things that I had posted on his hospital wall, but this time not to move them to a new room - just to take them home (which I never did). That fucked up feeling leaving the hospital that day. The hospital that had been the center of my universe every day... and now it was a big empty crater in the middle of philadelphia.

Going to daycare that afternoon, opening the door to see the tear stained faces of the women who worked there to care for Bax. Entering the room to see Bax in the teachers arms. He was smiling and happy. Unaware.

I told PJ all this sitting on the front porch last night and he held my hand and stayed with me as I cried. Speechless.

I have come so far. Things in my life are so very good. But there is a hole in my heart that will be here until the day that I die. It will be there on my wedding day. It will be there when PJ and I have another child. I will not subtract from the beauty of these moments... in fact, it will make me feel them even deeper. But it will be there, nonetheless.

Fucking Pixar.

My latest Mike dream: Jamie Lee Curtis, Cartoon animals and Asian Inspired Quilts

So, I blogged for the first time in a month last night about our wonderful vacation in NH and Cape Cod (see down below in next blog post for photos)…

But I’m writing this morning because I HAVE to share this dream. One of the best, craziest, smartest dreams I’ve ever had.

Literally just woke up in this hotel bed with Baxter (in Cape Cod) and feel like I was just hanging out with mike… but I have to share this amazing narrative that my mind constructed to “give me permission” to me to be with PJ.

I dreamt that 2 years ago, Mike, me and all of our friends were on a huge trip to Australia with a stop-over in some jungle land. Mike never got the second flight. All he had on him was his wallet. He had stopped to use the restroom and never came back. Local authorities claimed he was murdered, so we all went about our lives as though he was dead. Got it? No brain tumor. In my dream he died due to some civil war jungle fight.

BUT, after some digging in the UD library, I found some indications that perhaps he was being held hostage by a militia – led by Jamie Lee Curtis – and he wasn’t dead at all.

So, with the help of a team of cartoon woodland animals – inspired, I believe, by the team of Kung Fu students in the film Kung Fu Panda – I went to this jungle land, battled the local security force, and found, deep in the jungle: Mike and about 12 other hostages.

We hugged and kissed and next thing I know, I had brought him back to the US. We were all at some craft fair where they were selling Asian inspired quilts. I knew that PJ was on his way with Baxter and I told Mike really quickly all about PJ:

“I thought you were dead. I’m in love with PJ and he asked me to marry him. He is an excellent father to Baxter… But I love you and loved being your wife, so I have no idea what to do here. We need a plan, Mike.”

Mike looked right at me, “I don’t know. I love you, smoosher, but you really want to still be married? I've changed a lot. We've both moved forward. It feels like it would be too much.”

Basically, I learned that, in the jungle, Mike was the leader who kept all the hostages happy, strong, entertained, and optimistic. Apparently, he had also had some wonderful flings with the young female hostages and was feeling attractive and invincible – ready to take on the world… and women.

“Really???!!” I said with a smile, “For reals? You’d be ok if we just stayed best friends and I married PJ?”

“Where is this alleged ‘PJ’” he asked with his air quotes and a smile.

PJ was inside, holding Baxter. Bax ran to me and asked to use the bathroom. So, I left PJ and Mike to chat, and was trying to help bax in the bathroom, meanwhile trying to explain that Daddy Michael was back. He was all kinds of confused.

When I came out of the restroom, Baxter ran right to PJ. Mike slapped PJ’s arm as they were joking about something. Mike chatted with Baxter a little bit, nothing huge or dramatic.

I noticed that Mike had put in his earrings again… but they weren’t the gold hoops. Instead, they were big diamonds.

“What are THOSE,” I asked, pointing at the earrings, as he pulled out a ridiculous pimpish hat from behind his back,

“Hey honey, I have things to do,” he said in a fake condescending voice and then laughed, “I think they’re kind of cool!” He put on the hat, I gave him a huge huge hug, and then he was off…

PJ looked at me, waiting for the verdict, with an expression that said, ‘will my fiance’s dead husband be taking back my fiancé and son? Or will my life go as planned.’

I hugged and kissed PJ with Baxter sandwiched in between.

“Mike said he loves me, but he doesn’t want to be married. I think he has a lot he wants to do now that he’s back and he feels like he wouldn’t know how to start where he left off. We’re ok. We’re a family.”

And we looked over as Mike was joking and laughing with the entire ComedySportz crew (who, I guess, were also interested in this big Asian quilting show…), reveling in the love and attention of the many friends who had missed him so much.

So, it took cartoon animals, Jamie Lee Curtis, and an Asian quilting exhibition, but my mind found a way to rescue Mike, get him back to his life and his friends, and still be able to move ahead with PJ and Bax.

As I used to say to Mike after I did something I found to be particularly smart,

“Awwww yeah… Who’s your genius?”

World's longest vacation

Been on vacation since June 13th up here in New Hampshire. I'm renting a small lakefront cottage about 12 minutes from my parents' house. The cottage is adorable. rustic, small, amazing views of the lake. The house is literally about 20 feet from the water. There's a screened in porch that runs the length of the cottage, and two cute lil' bedrooms. Baxter is LOVING it here.

PJ drove up here with us on June 14th. (Fortunately, the sting of Mike and my wedding anniversary was countered by the fun of the first day of a great vacation...). He spent the whole week here with us and departed last Sunday, June 22nd. We spent each day just hanging out with Bax, canoing, attempting hikes (that we had to bail on because of INSANE mosquitoes), picnicking streamside, playing baseball in the Hebron village square. PJ loved it up here.

Functioning without him this past week was interesting. For about 7 months now, I have not been living the life of a single parent. I have come to rely on the energy he brings to the house as my partner and best friend and on the integral role he plays with baxter, as his dad. This is the first time we've been apart, really. We fell in love fast, saw each other daily from like week #2, and by month 3 we were cohabitating.

PJ and I have both been a lil' nervous about the "missing father" thing since he returned to NJ - wondering if it would stir memories or fears about a dad that leaves and does not return.

Related incident: On thursday, Bax and I had a lil date night, saw Kung Fu Panda, went out to dinner, and went shopping.

On the way back to the cottage we saw a beautiful sunset and I hear from the back seat in a happy voice..."Ohh.... look mama, at the beautiful sunset! PJ is up there, in heaven!"

I almost passed out...

"What, bax?" I said, as we stopped at a traffic light and I turned around to look at him.

He squinched up his eyes and nose, smiling, "I'm just joking! My PJ dad is on Melrose Avenue with Maggie cat!"

Freaking comedian.

I can feel my appreciation and love for PJ growing each day we're apart. The difference between being up here this summer and last is HUGE. I do not have that subtle sadness that clouded my every experience. I don't feel like the poster child of widow like I used to. I don't feel old and worn. I feel really young. I feel in love, too - which is such a fantastic feeling - and probably the driving force behind what's making me feel so young.

While he was up here, Mimi and Poppy took baxter from 5-8 pm on a couple of nights so PJ and I could get an actual "date." We went out to dinner at this local Irish pub, saw Irish music, sat at the local bar that overlooks the lake and watched the sunset... and by ourselves! Dreamy.

And we laughed... a lot. Each night - giggle fits. like WAY past our bedtime. laughing our asses off - so loud that I can't understand how we didn't wake up Baxter.

Since PJ left, it's been mostly rainy each day. I'm speaking literally here, not figuratively. Baxter spends a couple hours with Mimi in the morning so I can get a lil' research done at the cottage. We've also gotten a lot of time with Jae and Kylee. The 3.5 year old and the almost 7 year old play together better than ever. It's a riot to just sit and watch and listen to the exchanges between them. (Photo at R, Kylee reading Dr. Seuss to Baxter).

Right now Mimi, Poppy, Bax and I are on Cape Cod, in Falmouth, MA. My mom spent every summer here from the time she was a kid in the 1940s. Her sister, Debbie is out here from Wisconsin with her kids and grandkids. I hadn't seen Aunt Debbie since our wedding. Uncle Bob, her husband died in the winter after Mike died. It's so weird that my Aunt Debbie, 76, and I can talk heart to heart about what it's like being a widow. It's so so weird. But it's also so wonderful to feel everyone's love and encouragement about my engagement to PJ, or Peter, as they all like to call him - and to watch as Baxter plays with his cousins and relatives that he has never met before.

We'll go back up to the lake together tomorrow morning. Tuesday, July 1, Crazy Susan arrives from Philly!! Hurray! I love watching as Crazy Susan transforms into Chillin' Susan before my eyes up here in this lake and mountain paradise.

And now, if you don't already hate us here at the house of Young and Gallagher for our extensive vacation... you will in a second:

After we drive back home on Saturday, July 5th, Bax, PJ and I head right down to Sea Isle City for a WEEK at the Jersey Shore with the whole Gallagher clan. It feels nice to be the person that others might be jealous of... instead of the person who people might look at and say, "Thank effing GOD that's not me."

It's funny. I always thought that the summer when I was 14 would go down in history as the best summer ever... no job, beach every day, crush on a boy i met at day camp...But this one is coming in to be a close second.

Yes, I have shitloads of research to do.
Yes, I have 2 revise and resubmits to complete and a paper to prepare for presentation at the end of August in Boston.
Yes, I'm teaching an intensive 5-week summer course July 14-Aug 15th.

But, I also have two summer scholars who are kicking ass at UD on a couple of projects for me, and I feel like this time maxin and relaxin is going to make me into one focused cat.

Oh right, there's also the BIG BIG EVENT OF THE SUMMAH:


Mark your calendars for the 3rd Annual LaUGHTaSTIC SKETCH-o-PaLOOZa
Comedy Show to benefit Jefferson Hospital for Neuroscience

Sunday, August 24, 2008
World Cafe Live
Doors open at 6 pm
Show at 7:30
Tix $15 available NOW at:
http://tickets.worldcafelive.com/eventperformances.asp?evt=2582


Hosted by:
Don Montrey and Danna Young

Featuring:

• ComedySportz Philly
• Bad Hair Sketch
• Masters of mic and powerpoint, Rowan & Hastings
• Stand up comedy by: Steve Gerben and Doogie Horner

"Picnic Balloons"

What a crazy amazing fantastic weekend we here at the house of Young and Gallagher have had.

It was full of THREE different BBQs, the May Fair, Aquarium with Susan and her new beau... and it all started with a wonderful surprise on Friday night.

I had talked about picnicing in Saddler Woods (in Haddon Township) for dinner, but after a day of work on friday, I lost my motivation... so stepped it down to - first - picnicing in the backyard and then... just picnicing on the floor in the front room.

All this time, my indecisiveness and laziness were giving poor PJ agida. But I didn't know it...

So, I make tacos, we start our lil' friday night picnic, sharing - each in turn - our "favorite part of our day"... and then PJ says he has to go get the special "picnic balloons" out of his car. WTF are "picnic balloons?" No idea. I think they are actually a made up construct... however,

Cut back to this recent Mother's Day:

Bax and PJ had brought me breakfast in bed along with a bunch of balloons anchored down with a mini-gift bag with a little weight inside.

Now, as whacky as it may seem given our timeline here, PJ and I have known we're going to get hitched for a few months. We've been together for six months, and I think it's safe to say that for at least 5 of those months, I've known that this is my guy. Bold? Sure... but true.

So, anyhow, when they came in to my bedroom mother's day morning with this, I held the lil' weighted bag at the bottom of the balloon strings and it felt just about the right size and shape for a ring box. My eyes lit up... and PJ looked at me. Perplexed. Then processing what I was thinking, then downtrodden.

"No, babe. it's just a balloon weight. That's all."

We all had a good lil' chuckle out of that one.

SO... let us return to friday May 23rd here... he and Bax go out to his car to get these so-called "picnic balloons" and it's not until he's inside the door, handing me the lil' weighted gift bag at the bottom that it hits me that he's actually about to propose. Cause THIS lil' gift bag has a ring box in it.

Him: Down on one knee.

Me: lots of tears.

Baxter: giddy with the excited energy of the moment.

He asked if I'd marry him. I said yes. Bax opened the box and put this beautiful tanzanite (pale lavender stone) and platinum ring on my finger.

It's all very simple, really. We're a family - and we're getting hitched. If I think too hard about the contrast of the feeling of loss and how my sense of present and future had turned upside down in early 2006 - with the feeling of gratitude and optimism I have in my current life, it's just a little too overwhelming. Suffice it to say that this feels right. It feels easy and it feels so so freaking nice.

We're probably not going to have the wedding until next Spring or Summer... and we'll likely do something quite small and low-key (but with his Irish Catholic family, "small" is a relative term)... but for now, we've made the promise to each other and will be reveling in the beauty of this engagement period for the next year or so.

Same Daddy

Yesterday, as I was picking Bax up from school, we crossed paths with one of his classmate's dads in the lobby.

"Are you Nora's Daddy?" he asked.

"Why yes I am." the dad smiled.

Friendly words were exchanged and then we parted ways as Bax and I exited the building and got in the car. After we had left the parking lot and started driving down the street, a pensive Baxter inquired,

"Why does Nora have the same daddy?"

"Same as who?" I asked (or "As whom?" I suppose would be the proper phrasing - but that level of grammatical attention wasn't warranted at the time)

"No, mama. Why does Nora have the same daddy?"

"Bax, I don't get what you're asking. Does she have the same daddy as somebody else?"

"NO mama." Clearly I'm frustrating him at this point, "Why does Nora still have the same old Daddy?"

click click click. Ah-ha.

"You mean, why does Nora still have the same Daddy she used to have when she was a baby?" I asked, recalling now that Bax and Nora have been in daycare together since they were in the baby room there at 6 months old.

"Yeah." he stopped gazing out the window and looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"Well," I'm trying to figure out how to spell this out without making him feel like a freak, "Most people continue to have the same daddies or mommies as they get older. For most people, your mommy or daddy stays same from the time you're a baby and as you grow into a big boy or girl."

"But not everyone has that." He pointed out.

Translation: "I don't have the same daddy, mama-dumb-dumb."

"That's true. Not everyone does. But, Baxter, you still have your daddy. He's just not here on earth."

"Yeah. But my PJ Dad is here. And he's new."

The whole "PJ as dad" thing has been taking off in recent weeks - particularly as PJ occasionally drops off or picks up Bax from school and all the kids call "Hey! Baxter's Dad! hey! Look what I made!" (pointing to a drawing or a lego-tower) So, it seems that Bax has begun to realize that PJ's in it for the long haul - is here on a daily basis, and is a stable father figure in his world. All amazing, heart-warming, and wonderful realizations.

But it still always throws me when he puts pieces together like this in such an unexpected way.

"Yes, you have both a PJ dad here on earth and a Daddy in Heaven on the moon."

...and then I panicked. What if Bax doesn't remember Mike? What if I'm not doing enough to keep his memory alive?

"Baxter, you remember your daddy, right?"

"Yeah."

"What do you remember about him?" I must be a f*cking masochist. Baxter is 3 and a half. Mike died when he was 18 months old. His dad has been gone for more of his life than he was alive during his life. Oy. There's a thought for ya.

Then Baxter reports the first thing that comes to mind when asked, "what do you remember about him?"

"He had something in his brain. He had to leave. That's what I remember," he said with a matter-of-fact hand gesture and head shake.

"That's all? You remember other stuff! Stuff he enjoyed. Stuff he was good at... come on..."

"Oh yeah! He was good at juggling!" Bax said with a proud smile.

Phew.

"And he was good at tap dancing!" He continued.

Thank God.

"And he was silly." He stated.

Amen to that.

"What color was his hair?" I asked.

"Orange - like mine!" he said excitedly.

This conversation had gone from bad to ok in a split second. And then it was over.

"Is my PJ going to be home when we get home?"

I smiled and reached back for Bax's hand to rub his little fingers. "Probably not, but he'll be home in a few minutes, and we'll have dinner and play with your Iron Men toys."

...then Bax got that devilish twinkle in his eye, "Yeah. And then, I'll take off in that rocket ship with PJ and we'll go see the planets and Sticky Spidey will come with us and we'll web Doctor Octopus and then Crimson Dynamo will have a party and we'll see Titanium Man there and Venom and we'll shoot beams up in the air..."

... all concepts and gifts recently acquired from one PJ Gallagher.

Brightening up your already bright Wednesday

Baxter singing Ben Kweller's "Falling"




I was in a bad place when I last wrote... and as usual, my silence over the past couple weeks indicates that I'm doing ok.

Lonia was here for a few days - from last Thursday night until Sunday. I was nervous about her meeting PJ - but it was fantastic. She had a lovely time with Baxter - enjoyed meeting PJ and welcomed him with open arms. She'll be back in June and again in late July for more visits - and that makes me happy.

Being with her is always so nice and sad at the same time. I get gripped momentarily when I look at her and think that Mike's not here anymore. It's just a profound feeling - of sadness and grief - and appreciation for having her to connect me to him.

And you know what? My dear friend Michelle was right: I underestimate Lonia. Lonia is a strong woman who is open minded and open hearted. She is not resentful or sad that I am moving forward with PJ. She is not angry that Baxter has a father-figure in his life who is not Michael. She told me explicitly on this visit that she believes we can love more than one person. She said she knows I was - and continue to be - in love with Mike and she watched as I cared for him throughout his illness. She knows I wanted more than anything for him to get well and spend his life with me. But that didn't happen. So, given the hand I was dealt, moving forward is the right thing - for me and for Baxter.

I feel lucky that she feels this way.

I feel lucky to have PJ in my life.

I feel lucky to have such a cute and funny lil' kid singing to me from the back seat.

PS: The Tree is ok! The leave are growing back. Heide was right: it's a late bloomer!

In it.

I'm stuck. I'm in it. I must be. I'm blogging from my office at UD - which I don't do.

I think it's the time of year. It's a little bit paralyzing.

I'm sleeping a lot. An awful lot. I can't seem to sink my teeth into anything work-wise. I'm napping every chance I get. Still feel tired. Not really patient - with Bax or PJ. Yesterday I realized that my heart was beating so hard and fast that I almost felt a subtle sense of rage in my bones. I wanted to break something. Not fun.

Why now? Well - let's see... April 11, 2008... two years ago where were we? In hell. Total hell. I don't need to write about it again. See for yourself in the archives of this blog from April 2006.

But that was two fucking years ago... why am I still in it?

When I let my mind wander, you know where it goes? Directly to the hospital. The sights, the smells, the anticipation of what I'd find as I rode the elevator up to the NICU to see Mike. The stupid little gestures to make him feel better - putting up photos, bringing him strawberries or Dr. Pepper. For what? For me more than for him.

This time of year is certainly a trigger.

Also, my uncle and his girlfriend were just here this week for an otherwise lovely visit... But the last time I saw them was my graduation from Annenberg in May 2006. What a emotional minefield that was.

Don't know if I ever posted my graduation speech, but here it is. I'm not going to watch it, but you can:

http://media.asc.upenn.edu/media/graduation2006/grad2006_07.html

So, there's all that shit. Plus one of my most amazing and talented students is working his way through the rocky and impossible process of coming to terms with the suicide of his friend/roommate that happened two weeks ago. It saddens me so much to think of someone so young, bright, and happy dealing with such grave and insensible events, that I can't make heads or tails of it.

Then there's the process of moving ahead in my relationship with this wonderful man who is most certainly becoming a father to Baxter - all the while, making efforts to respect the memory of Michael - and maintain ties to his family. Trying to be a good daughter-in-law to Lonia... making sure that she knows that in spite of my moving forward with PJ, she will ALWAYS be Baxter's grandmother and will always have a place in our lives.

And then there's the tree. Mike's tree. Jalena posted a comment asking how his tree is doing. The truth is I don't know. I can't tell if it survived the winter or not. And if it died, I think I'll be on bedrest for a week or so. I already asked PJ if he'd be there to catch me if I learn that Mike's tree died over the winter. He keeps assuring me that it's not dead, just taking a while to show its buds.

Who the fuck knows.

This morning, though, Dr. Diana called. At a very welcome time. She's in Florida in the hospital. Her husband, Richard, had his gall bladder removed and she's waiting for them to get him settled in recovery.

She said that this time in the hospital makes her think of me - and mike - and how awful it must have been to do this job as patient advocate day in and day out for so long. Managing medications, talking to nurses, getting people on the same page, getting people to understand that YOU actually know what the fuck is going on - often better than the docs.

She also said that when she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she had a panic attack. A short one. But a real one. Sparked from the realization that she hadn't been in a hospital since Mike.

So, I'm not crazy. It's real. This physiological response that creeps in and takes over. It's real.

So, here we are. Again. In it. I usually am quite good. I usually feel that my feet are firmly on the ground. I feel appreciative for a wonderful son, and a phenomenal partner who makes me laugh and keeps me feeling alive.

But the unpredictability of that time period from March through July (particularly when our lives turned upside down in Mid-April) just haunts me sometimes. It's like PTSD. The sights, the smells, the sounds. My heart races and I want to throw up. I want to run away. I want to go to sleep. It's fucking awful.

But I survived it when it was actually happening, so I'll trudge my through it yet again.

Thanks for listening. Now off to teach.

A 3 year old's impersonation of Bob Dylan

And here, to make your Tuesday bright, we present Baxter - singing his new favorite (thanks to PJ): Mr. Tamborine Man... complete with droning nasal vocals in tribute to our folk hero, Bob "Diwwen" aka: Bob Dylan.

This impersonation was Bax's own creation that we heard for the first time this weekend. And because it makes us laugh until we pee, he does it all the time.





Seriously - compare it to the original... not too shabby!

It's that time of year again...

...the time of year when the air warms up, the flowering trees begin to bloom, I start my spring gardening... and each deep breath brings me back to this season two years ago when everything began to unravel.

I can't stop thinking about that one weekend we had. Lonia was here. Mike fought with me to support his discharge from the hospital for a three day stint in advance of his April 3 surgery. I hesitantly agreed. Thank god I did. April fool's day weekend, he was home, in his own clothes, out in the sunshine, snuggling with Baxter and enjoying the beautiful spring in our new neighborhood. It was the last time he was home.

April Fool's Day. How F*cking Perfect.

In spite of this, I find myself grief-stricken and angry - yet at the same time so so thankful for the love and warmth and laughter and comfort we have found in PJ. He is amazing. We spent Easter dinner with his family. We walked into his parents' house, and his sister motioned for me to come into the living room where, on top of the piano, there sat a picture frame with two 3X5 photos adjacent to one another. One was of Mrs. G's (PJ's Mom's) grandsons posing together (PJ's nephews) Tommy, 4, and Colin, 2, and the other photo was the one I had given her several days prior. Baxter. In his shirt and tie, posing for his school photo about a month ago.

Her grandsons in one frame, and Baxter in the other.

They love him and us so much it sometimes feels like, "where did this guy come from?" It's all so overwhelming. In the most wonderful way.

Yesterday, Baxter decided that he wanted to throw a "PJ party." PJ as in Peter Joseph... not as in pajamas. PJ as in Baxter's friend who he "loves so much." I picked him up at daycare and the first words from his mouth? "Yay! PJ Party! Can we go to the party store to buy PJ balloons?" sure! PJ arrived home to find a balloon tied to the front steps and the playroom filled with balloons, including the must-have "Spidey" balloon.

When I see Bax with him, I feel like I love him for the love he has for my son.

When I'm with his family, I think I love him for the fun, crazy family he has brought into my life.

And then, when we're alone, just us, I love him for him. For his terrible Woody Allen impersonation that sounds like John Travolta in Welcome Back Kotter, for his wickedly smart brain that can tell me about planets or wasp survival mechanisms in one breath and criminal law in the next, for his nasally droning Bob Dylan impressions, for his non-stop giggles that seem to arrive at about 10 pm each night, for his insatiable need to beat a joke into the g.r.o.u.n.d, for his willingness to listen to stories of Michael and to laugh at Mike's jokes even though he's not here, for his affection and sweet words, and for his desire to be the best person he can be each day. He is a gift.

My mom thinks that Mike sent him to Bax and me. Like he gave PJ a seal of approval and orchestrated our partnership...

Well... unless Mike is working with the mechanisms of match.com, I can't totally buy that explanation - but I do feel like Mike would LOVE him. He would love hanging out with him just because he's so goofy and sweet.

But Mike on the moon? Well, if he is watching, I know it breaks his heart that he himself is not the one reading bedtime stories to baxter and helping him learn how to throw and catch a ball - but I also know that he thinks PJ is doing an amazing job.

Baxter asked PJ the other morning: "PJ, did you know my daddy?" And before I could butt in to rescue PJ from what I perceived to be a potentially awkward moment, PJ responded, "No, Bax, I didn't know him, but I wish I did. From what you and your mom have told me, he seems like a great guy."

Bax seemed quite satisfied with that response. As did I.

Meaningfulness and Insight

Some big thoughts on this lil' Easter weekend.

I just wrote the following letter to a professor at Penn State, Mary Beth Oliver, who studies the psychological effects of media and the nature of our attraction to various forms of media content. She was an advisee of my mentor, Joe Cappella, back when he was a professor at the University of Wisconsin.

Backstory: Joe introduced me to Mary Beth at a cocktail party at the Annual Meeting of the National Communication Association in November 2002, in New Orleans. Mike was there with me.

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Hi Mary Beth,

I just received the latest issue of JoC (Journal of Communication) and was excited to see your piece - a piece that is bound to expand the conceptualization of the various forms of media gratifications outside of the limited concepts of entertainment or enjoyment.

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Oliver, M. B. (2008) Tender Affective States as Predictors of Entertainment Preference, Journal of Communication

ABSTRACT

Four studies were conducted to explore how tender affective states (e.g., warmth, sympathy, understanding) predict attraction to entertainment that features poignant, dramatic, or tragic portrayals. … Results are discussed in terms of how these forms of entertainment may provide viewers the opportunity to contemplate the poignancies of human life—an activity that may reflect motivations of media use related to meaningfulness or insight rather than only the experience of pleasure.
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It also brought me back to a conversation between you, my husband Michael, and me at the Annenberg reception at NCA 2002 in New Orleans. Joe Cappella had just introduced us to you and had told us a bit about your research interests. And then Joe headed off to chat with other folks. Well, the three of us (you, Mike, and me) had a brief conversation - no longer than 10 minutes in length, that has brought me much comfort over the last 2 years.

You were sharing that your most recent research was trying to understand why people seek out artistic representations of tragedy -- sad movies etc. What are the gratifications obtained through witnessing media portrayals of devastating events, illnesses and death? Well, my husband Mike, an artist, improvisational comedian, and graphic designer, had been polite and friendly for the previous hour of the "meet and greet other scholars" event, but I knew he was bored to tears - UNTIL this conversation with you.

I remember him being really passionate about the subject. He said, " To feel pain is a reminder that we are truly alive. Tragedy is the essence of the human condition. It makes us feel that we are part of something bigger than ourselves and bigger than this very moment."

As you may know, my husband Mike passed away in July 2006 after a grueling 8 month battle with a "benign" brain tumor. Five of those months were spent in the hospital. Over that period of time, during which he underwent 13 brain surgeries, he lost all short-term memory functions, his vision, any sense of meta-cognition, and his ability to care for himself.

Throughout that time, his exceedingly large circle of friends was constantly present. At each surgery, the waiting room contained no fewer than 15 of our friends... waiting, joking, crying, eating. Using my blog, I was able to tell everyone the username and password for a google calendar, so people could just go in and schedule their visits with Mike. That way he always had someone to help feed him dinner when I had to leave to pick up my son from daycare. People used the blog to post comments about their most recent visit with Mike, memories of him when he was well, and other reflections.

It was a period of 8 months during which many of us close to the situation survived on pure adrenaline. There was little sleep, little rest. Many tears, many deep hearty and dark laughs.

But I have never felt so alive as I did during those months.

Many of our friends still talk about it. I think that what Mike gave us during that time was the gift he was referencing in that conversation we had at NCA many years prior. His death and the slow process leading up to it gave us the opportunity to experience the essence of the human condition - and subsequently, to feel truly alive.

One of my newer research interests concerns emotional responses to conjugal bereavement (death of a spouse), particularly after a prolonged illness. My colleague, Scott caplan, and I examined user profiles on match.com of people who where young (under 40 years old) widows and widowers looking to repartner. Using content analysis rooted in the literature on bereavement and self-discovery, we coded profiles for expressions of meaning-finding, sense-making, and priority shift as function of their tragic experience. You would think this would be a depressing exercise, but the sentiments expressed in these profiles are inspiring. They reflect growth, appreciation for life, shifting in priorities, living in the moment, and a sort of spiritual awakening among the surviving spouses.

All of these outcomes are consistent with the concepts of "meaningfulness" or "insight" people obtain vicariously through sad or dramatic media content - as found in your recent work.

I wanted to share this because I think your research is tapping into something real - a hunger for opportunities to feel the "essence of the human condition." But without having to pay the price of actually losing someone or something.

Thanks for listening - and thank you for giving me that conversation in 2002 to which I often return.

It helps me find some peace in the whole situation to know that Mike understood the human thirst for purpose and meaning. It helps me feel like he would be proud of his role as a catalyst of self-discovery and insight among those closest to him.

Have a wonderful weekend. I look forward to your future work.
Best,
Danna

... he's so going to kick my arse

But, for those of you who have been asking, here are some photos of Pj. The ones outside were taken in early January by my friend Rosa, mom to Rowan (pictured in the wagon with Bax).

Busy times on campus. Next week is the week when my students we be abruptly disillusioned as their otherwise fun and perky professor administers some damn challenging exams in two different classes.

They have made me so proud these past few weeks. I was observed by the chair of my department, teaching my upper-level seminar of 25 students and they were so on the ball it was fantastic. Then, my class of 200 was the scene of a guest appearance by a UD alum who is now a big time tv producer in Hollywood. They were attentive, friendly, engaged and responsive. Warmed my little heart, I tell you. Sometimes I wonder if they understand how much I get from them - how gratifying it is to see their eyes light up as I tell them something they've never thought about before. It is a truly amazing job.

What a week.

[(At right) Oh... what a seemingly innocuous little toy...]


It's now Saturday morning. Thank the lord above that this week is over.

It started last Saturday night as Bax began waking in the night and feeling warm to the touch. Sunday morning as the clock approached noon, his fever approached 102.

I was all set to attend PJ's sister's bridal shower at his folks' house in Mount Laurel. PJ, Bax, and I had spent Saturday over there, organizing things at the house and I was loving my self-assigned task of arranging the flowers. So, Sunday I get all dressed up - pearls and all - and after taking Bax's temp, I feel sick at the prospect of leaving Baxter for the afternoon. Instead, PJ and I put him down for nap and I left for his folks' house to drop off my gift, say a quick hello and then duck out fast to get back home to Baxter.

EXCEPT... this isn't just any ordinary bridal shower. This isn't like 25 women who I already know just eating finger sandwiches. Oh no. This is SEVENTY... yes, count them... SEVENTY women - friends of Shannon, plus relatives... and more relatives... Irish relatives... aunts, great aunts, grandmothers, cousins. PJ's mom is one of 8. His dad is one of 8. You do the math! There were a LOT of 'em. And most of them had heard tales of PJ's girlfriend. PJ's first really serious significant girlfriend since college... PJ's older widowed girlfriend who's a mom to a little boy.

It was like a coming out party for me. And it felt so warm and fuzzy. PJ's mom is wonderful and was proud to introduce me to all the extended family. She just about died when her mother, "Gram" embraced me in a hug and spilled orange-creamsicle-like punch down the back of my black coat - which I hadn't even had a chance to take off when I got in the door. As PJ's mom was trying to pat me down inconspicuously and wipe off the frothy punch from my ass, Gram was gushing about her wonderful Grandson PJ and telling me that she had heard that we were "getting serious." J

ust then, PJ's other sister, Meg, scooted by and said with dismay, "DANNA! Did somebody spill their drink all OVER your back?" At which point, PJ's mom promptly shushed her, motioning towards Gram. And - surprising us all... Gram winked and motioned to Meg to shut her trap. Gram KNEW she spilled her frothy beverage down my back! What a freaking riot.

So I spent the next 10 minutes dodging Gram's attempt to disrobe me to clean off my coat. And all this in the middle of a crazy packed crowd of people.

Then I met PJ's great aunt Grace who suggested that PJ hurry up and propose already because she's 90 and not getting any younger. I told her I'd be sure to get on him about it.

It's funny. I hadn't been to a bridal shower since mike got sick. I haven't been to a wedding since Don and Kathleen's back on October 2005 - when Mike revealed his diagnosis to our closest friends. I have thought this entire time that I might never want to be a part of a wedding celebration again. But... now I know that's not true.

There are two weddings coming up in the next two months. One of a dear friend I've known now for about 7 years and the other is PJ's sister's wedding in early May. And you know what? I'm looking forward to them both.

It's such a slow process, but now that I'm about 20 months past Mike's death I have more and more opportunities to see how far I've come.

So, why the shitty week? Well, Monday Baxter just got worse. Woke up with a fever. I canceled my classes at Univ of Delaware. I stayed home with him and watched as - in the presence of motrin in his system - his fever spiked to 103.4 in the afternoon.
Holy Shit, right?

[Photo: Baxter on Monday afternoon, sleeping in my bed... as sick as I've ever seen him. What better time to take a picture right? I'm terrible!]Doctor's verdict: 2 ear infections, virus affective respiratory tract.

I stayed home with him again on Tuesday, too. Now all this would be fine and I would have been able to multi-task had Baxter been his usual self. But he wasn't. He was angry, sad, whiny, in pain and generally oppositional and needy. So, anything beyond domestic tasks and caring for Bax just didn't happen on Monday and Tuesday.

His fever didn't go above 100 from Tuesday on, so he was back at school for the rest of the week - but whiny, crying alot, sad... which of course makes me feel like a TOTAL asshole dropping him off to go to work.

But, I am happy to say that we've got our Baxter back. This morning the fog has lifted and the ol' happy boy is BACK in action. Thank god.

So, now we need to go back in time a lil' bit. Cut back to Tuesday, February 26th.

Baxter was still refusing - about 75% of the time - to go on the damn potty. I had decided in January that Pull-Ups were a freaking marketing trap-racket... so I had put him back in generic, plain crappy diapers. But still, he insisted on stopping play to go on the potty.

So, Miss Elizabeth (who owns the daycare) suggested that we just get rid of the diapers altogether. Go straight to underwear - and when he wets through, make him get undressed and redressed himself. Her hypothesis? that he'd be potty trained in like 48 hours.

And dare I say: She is a freaking Genius. Tuesday night (2/26) we started in underwear for the first time. He wet through them twice and was soooo mad when we said he needed to change them himself. As PJ said, "It's like he's realizing that this is the last weapon in his arsenal and he's NOT letting go." Totally.

So, we did diapers that night as he slept, and in the morning put him right into underwear. He wet through once in the morning. And then.... that was IT. On the potty every time since then. Victory!

So, part of the plan here is engaging in SUPER-POSITIVE feedback every time he uses the potty. You know, Pavlov's dogs? Food and bell at the same time... eventually just the bell alone makes them drool... So, my goal is to pair pee-pee and anything that will illicit positive feelings, so that eventually peeing alone will illicit the positive feelings... So, everytime he pees it's like insane clapping and celebration...

More Background info: Bax's new favorite toys are all his matchbox cars. He loves them. He makes them talk. They all have names.

And, one of them - appropriately named "Racecar," has spawned a series of other cars to "rule in the name of Caesar" so-to-speak. They are, in order: 1) "Other Racecar," 2) "Other Other racecar," and 3) "Other Other Other Racecar." I shit you not.

Thursday night, February 28th - he's been successful in undies for about a day. Right before bathtime - Baxter pee-pees on the potty.

To indicate my bliss and associate the act of peeing with positive emotions... I held "Other Other Other Racecar" in my hand and made it "jump" up and down and shout "YAY BAXTER! HURRAY!!!"

But as I was doing this... Baxter flushed the toilet.

At that same exact moment, "Other Other Other Racecar" slipped from my hand.

As the fucking toilet was flushing...

In that one instant, my attempt to employ Pavlovian psychology to associate positive feelings with urination in the toilet totally backfired. "Other Other Other Racecar" disappeared down the chute.

As my friend Scott said, "Now every time he pees he's going to feel like he's losing a piece of his soul."

great.

Abandoning all dignity, I reached in after "Other Other Other Racecar." But he was gone. And Baxter sobbed. Naked Baxter was sobbing real tears at the loss of this "third in line to the throne" racecar.

What an asshole I am, I think.

So, I run into my "gift" bin in my office and thank the freaking lord I had a set of 4 cheapy matchbox cars to give baxter to alleviate his feelings of pain and loss. He seemed satisfied with my offering.

But the story does not end here. Oh no. On Sunday morning (March 2), as Bax was just starting to get sick, I noticed a puddle in the basement. A puddle that appeared to be coming from an old pipe. I got the name and number of a plummer from PJ's parents and he came over late Sunday night.

"Looks like some kind of blockage in the drainage system," he said.

"Like... for example... a matchbox car?"

"Well," he says with a smile, "Yes, that could certainly do it. Especially if it got caught up in one of the bends in the pipes."

But, nothing urgent... just a slow leak that he would take care of when his schedule opened up later in the week.

Cut to Tuesday morning. Bax still sick. Low fever. Me staying home with him. I figure I'll use the time to get ahead with household duties... like laundry.

I place a load of laundry in the washing machine. It goes about its business...gets to the rinse and spin cycles... and then.

There is a flood coming from my downstairs bathroom... flowing over the threshold into the hallway. The toilet is overflowing with grey sudsy water. It is clearly the residue from the washing machine.

I shut the valve on the toilet and take a deep yoga breath. I call the plummer. His wife says he'll be over in the next two hours.

In the meantime, Bax and I have to use Michelle's house for all matters bathroom oriented. The plummer comes around 10:00 am. He snakes the drain and gets the system all flushed out. $300 later, we were back in working order.

I think of it as "Other Other Other Racecar's" big "fuck you" back to me.

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If you've read my blog for a while you know that I am prone to positive spin. So, in the spirit of all things happy, let's recap all the positive things that came about throughout all this mayhem:

1) Baxter is now in underwear - potty trained for real.

2) Baxter is healthy again - and happy.

3) Other Other Other Racecar has left the building and our plumbing is all fixed and in working order

4) I had my coming out to PJ's family and feel warm and welcomed by them all.

5) My relationship with PJ is keeping me grounded, calm, and laughing - a lot.

Hugs, everyone. Have a great weekend. Oh... and If "Other Other Other Racecar" happens to pop up in your toilet sometime, tell him we say, "fuck you, too."

More Baxter Antics

Baxter has taken to rapping... often in gibberish. But he is often fond of rapping the words of existing songs - adding some soul to some old favorites.

Tonight, I started to sing his lullaby, "twinkle twinkle little star," and he stopped me abruptly to ask if he could sing it first one time. When he launched into Jay-Z meets Twinkle Twinkle, I had to get it on video.



Then, per his request... I let him use my video phone to record me singing my lame-ass version. He's not exactly the steadiest camera man... but it's decent.



Then, per his request... I let him use my video phone to record me singing my lame-ass version. He's not exactly the steadiest camera man... but it's decent.

32, baby.

So, today is SUPER TUESDAY! And... my 32nd birthday. Baxter charmed me with a rousing version of "Happy Birthday." Then, I wanted him to tell the camera we were about to go vote... but he put it in his own words which you can hear for yourself...

"We going to write ... not for a bad guy... but for...."

Choose Your Own F*cking Adventure

I’ve been feeling a bit jumbled up… so here are some ramblings from this unsettled mind

Sunday night I had a really difficult dream that has been hanging on in this mind of mine. I dreamt that I had taken Mike’s very ill body from the hospital and just kept it with me, hidden for 6 weeks. It was in those last stages, and I got so annoyed with doctors coming in and trying to propose insane procedures as he was dying (remember when they wanted to remove his intestine as he was like 10 hours from death?) …so in my dream, I just took him. He wasn’t conscious, but I liked knowing he was not in the hospital. I took him..in like a body bag with the top opened up… in the car, then to NH, and then to our house. Finally Dr. Evans – after 6 weeks convinced me to bring him in for tests.

So I brought him in and Evans said there was something they could do to relieve the brain swelling. Given that he had had limited brain activity for so long, I asked, “Why…why would we do that? We know he'll never function properly again. Why would we do that?"

To which he replied, “That is a very good question.”

So, I said no, zipped him up, detached him from everything, and carried him back to the car.

There was another dream with a similar theme about a month ago… but in that one, it was earlier in the process. It was after Mike’s first surgery. He had “successfully recovered.” Still had his beautiful floppy hair. We had resumed ComedySportz rehearsals. And then we went in for a check up with Evans and Andrews. We learned that it was growing again. (This whole thing is consistent with what actually happened – exactly two years ago. It was January when we learned that the freaking thing was growing some large cystic components… and it was the last week of January and first week of February when he underwent three surgeries to implant the stubborn catheter (shunt) in his head to drain the cyst.).

So, in the dream, we were in Harvey (his 96 Saturn), driving home from the city, just following this meeting with the surgeons. He announced clear as day to me (in the dream) that he was done “dealing with this brain tumor.” He was finished making accommodations for it and losing time from his life to treat it and corral it.

He was wearing his black jeans and blue comedysportz jacket. He looked a little pissed off, but unshakably confident. He turned to me and said, “I’m not going to have them take it out again. I’m not going to spend anymore time in the hospital. If it’s going to kill me, then let it kill me on my time.”

And that was that.

I woke up full of regrets. Why did we go forward with the surgery in early April? Why didn’t we think to just let him live with it until he died – giving him an ending that would have maintained his dignity in a way that his actual death did not allow?

Had we opted to just let it run its course, I thought, I would have had him for longer. He would have had more time with friends. He would have had more time with Baxter. And his death would have been less horrifying that the five-month long death scene we all lived through in spring 2006.

But then my logical brain kicked in. Thank god. I started actually playing out the scenario that would have transpired had he refused treatment starting in January. First, he would have died in like a day without medication… so living a truly autonomous life completely free from medical intervention was out of the question.

Ok, so what if he agreed to take the medication, but refused all surgeries (including the implanted catheter etc)? Well, the reality is – the thing would have continued to grow. Fast. And all the bullshit from March through July that played out in fast forward in the hospital… all that shit would have played out anyway. The bigger the tumor got, the greater the pressure and swelling, the more we would have had all that bullshit:

• Blindness
• No short term memory
• Erratic behavior
• Delusions
• Confabulation (making shit up that never happened)
• Dehydration (which would have exacerbated all the above)
• Incontinence

And all of these things would have once again precluded him from living an autonomous life. He wouldn’t have been able to be alone. He would have had to be cared for.

But, at least he’d still be alive, I thought. Right?

Wrong again, silly Danna subconscious.

The location of the tumor and its rapid regrowth would have likely resulted in the same consequences as the post-operative swelling that ultimately killed him. There’s only so much room in there – and whether that space had been taken up quickly by swelling after his July 7^th surgery (as happened in real life), or if it had been taken up by the tumor itself as it grew and grew and grew uncontrolled over time… It would still have affected the same part of his brain. The midbrain. The central nervous system. Body temperature. Heart Rate. At some point, all this would have caused tachycardia (rapid heart rate) anyway. And that is what caused a heart attack – which it probably would in the face of an uncontrolled tumor left alone to wreak havoc. Ultimately, the heart attack stopped blood flow to the major organs. His organs began to fail. His kidneys stopped working. His body retained fluids – and all the 1000 medications being pumped into his blood had nowhere to go. Nowhere. Except to make him swollen and to cause further pressure inside his ailing body.

But, thinks the manic hamster on a wheel in my overactive brain, BUT - maybe if he hadn’t under gone all these surgeries, he wouldn’t have gotten DIC (that fucked up blood clotting illness that prevented us from being able to give him certain treatments or remedies). And maybe some little change in all of these various factors would have meant that he wouldn’t have entered Status Epilepticus - the constant seizing of the brain that renders a person brain dead… which was the final straw in our vicious storm.

I keep trying to play this out as though it’s a "choose your own adventure book." And had we just chosen to take the purple door instead of the red one, everything would be different. But it wouldn’t be. No matter what, Mike would have lost control, independence, and time at home.

And - Mike hated being dependent on anyone for anything.

And - more than that... Mike hated the fucking hospital:

February 6, 2006 in an email Mike sent to friends after his series of three surgeries to put the fucking shunt in:

“I am thankfully back at work today, having been released from the hospital last Friday. And since I’m not in the hospital, today is a good day.”

I hate that I revisit this shit. I hate that my brain even allows me down this road, thinking about the various things we COULD have done. But I think the moral of this story and the moral of these dreams is that no matter how much we could have tried to foresee what was coming, there would have been no real way to get Mike’s life back to what he would have wanted it to be. Once the tumor was there and saying its big “fuck you” to all of us, it was a done deal.

In fact, after months of my dragging my freaking feet, I finally emailed Mike's dear friend (and diligent dutiful lawyer), Mike's autopsy report. He had asked to see it for it for months, just to ease his mind that Mike did not die from substandard medical care. I had a hard time even allowing my mind to introduce that possibility, so I kept putting off the request. Finally I sent him the 25 page hellish document (which included dreadful references to the color of Mike's eyes and hair... in addition to downright hysterical reference to random organs. Such as the following statement: "The right adrenal weighs 8 g. and the left adrenal weighs 9 g. They are unremarkable.") Mike, you have a lot of reasons to be pissed off, but whatever dude called your adrenals "unremarkable" is a douchebag!

So, our friend then sent the report to several lawyer folks he knows - just to be certain that everything played out as best it could have...

And his reply basically said that given the information everyone had at the time and given the various options chosen, it is quite fair to say that Mike did NOT die from substandard care. However, he wrote,

"We concluded that a lawsuit against the tumor would be successful, but that the tumor probably didn’t have insurance and had few assets. Damn deadbeat tumors."

So, once in motion - perhaps the whole fucking thing was a done deal. And perhaps, in spite of how horrifying it all was and how terrible and undignified and ugly and haunting those last days were… Maybe that ending at least hastened the slow downward spiral that could have gone on for weeks or months. Maybe the way his actual death played out was the only way that it could be in his own control.

I think about when I told him he could go. When I told him that we didn’t want him to go, but that if he couldn’t fight anymore and if he had to go, that we’d be ok. That Bax and I would make it ok. And I remember knowing he heard me as he looked right at me. And that was the last day we heard from Mike Young. That was Thursday. Tuesday morning he was gone.

[Cut to last night]

I went to see M. Butterfly at PTC’s new beautiful theater last night with Cara. It’s an amazing space. I had to leave at intermission when I learned the show ran almost 3 hours (ADHD danna + young child + tired mama), but in the lobby on my out, I met some of the people who work in the development office of PTC. They love the outpouring of support for Mike's seat there. They were so sweet and kind. And it's true - everyone seems to have known Mike somehow.

I left the theater and walked towards my car. Suddenly I was short of breath and felt like sobbing for the first time in a long while.

I just wanted to see him and be with him for a minute. As I was walking on Locust from Broad St. towards 15^th, I had a strange compelling urge to run to the Gibbon building at Jefferson – as though he’d be there. I got to the parking garage, got in the car and drove. My car took me to 18^th and Sansom. I parked, got out of the car and ran. I ran down past my old apartment building at 19^th street. I ran past O'Sheas where we spent so many nights post-ComedySportz performances joking and playing. I ran across 20^th street and right to The Playground theater at the Adrienne (the space where ComedySportz performs every Saturday). Tuesday is rehearsal night for Comedysportz. Last night was Tuesday night. Rehearsals run from 7 -10 pm. It was 9:45. I haven’t really been back to ComedySportz since Mike's death. I haven’t performed since summer of 2005. I attended one rehearsal after Mike died, but it was just to weird. Too hard.

When I heard the sound of the theater door opening, it all came flooding back. I just wanted to be with him for a minute. I thought that maybe I would find him there at the theater.

And I did.

The faces – old and new. The games. The laughs. The friends who knew Mike Young before I even knew he existed. The conversations about how to make scenes better and funnier. The arguments. The direction. Jadico is directing the group now. His style is similar to Mike’s. He’s stern. He’s a little OCD. He’s a perfectionist. And he’s really really good at what he does. It was a little like coming home.

So, all I wanted was to be with Mike for a moment. And there, in the presence of friends, and the improv comedy troupe that he directed for so long, I think I got exactly what I wanted.