Posts filed under ‘death’
Jan 3rd- No Limits- the foreword- Chris Ritchey
I start another decade, recent months have been very hard, some of the situations I have blogged about some may not ever come to light on this blog. I am waiting … I have spent most of December deciding on how to proceed . I am definitely going to “try and finish” the book NO LIMITS as it pertains to my son. Although 10 ish chapters have already been written I have had to decide how to proceed. I have made the decision to not only publish in paperback form eventually but I may start serializing each month on this blog. Here for your edification ( readers who still bear with me ) is the foreword of NO LIMITS!!!!!!
NO LIMITS
By Loraine Ritchey
“Nothing should be hidden or untouchable, if it is your truth and you stand behind it – no one should be able to silence you “
Foreword- NO LIMITS
Brave words from my son, Christopher, on a fall day, his 4th year at Cleveland Institute of Art. I had met him for a meal in Tremont, Ohio. He was so very angry, one of his projects had met with resistance and indeed censorship. His anger and frustration spilled out:
Why were his thoughts not being accepted in a very community that accepts so much more than the general population? Why would he be censored in the very open environment of an art college where nothing it seemed was untouchable?
After all, his fellow students went outside so many politically incorrect boundaries. Had he gone past where even those of his peers were feared to go? Had he come up against the self-imposed limits of a society of his peers?
I never did find out what the project was that caused the censorship and his anger that day. In true Christopher fashion, he changed his project to another, an “Anti-Political Correctness Campaign– complete with displays and posters He used the situation to “speak out” and “show” those who believed themselves to be followers of the out of the box thinking, they were still inside a box, even if the box they had made was larger than most, their walls maybe be transparent yet there were and are walls.
freedom of speech by Chris Ritchey
As I ponder the wisdom of writing the events of life ans we know it and death as we believe it to be, I know there will be questions I cannot answer, events I cannot prove.
I am opening myself, my family and my son to a world of naysayers, negativity and ridicule. I will reach the walls with this book. I will push aside and through the walls my peers in this “community” and others have erected for themselves and for me.
Ironically although I have always written the truth whenever I have sat at this keyboard and its predecessors I probably won’t be believed , explanations will abound, logic ( as we perceive things to happen)will come into play .
I have hesitated for months, even years, to tell the story from my self-imposed box. I have written millions of words on my personal blog in the 10 years since my son died. https://www.thatwoman.wordpress.com . I have written his story, I have opened myself and my innermost thoughts and feelings. I have told the tale of cruelty, searing pain and thoughts of suicide. I have exposed myself in ways not many would without fear. So then, why is it I hesitate to share all of our story, a story of continuing love, strength and astonishment?
What could be so dangerous in opening up a world of hurt to my loved ones? Why would a love that continues cause such angst and trepidation in those of my society?
Society? Oh they can’t hurt me, I am beyond their pain, their laughter The sound of laughter to one who rarely laughs is just pleasant echo of what once was. There should be laughter in the world, I do not begrudge laughter or being the source of humor. The disbelief , I don’t care whether they believe or what they believe, so many believe so many different things, worship so many gods, those slings and arrows will not penetrate my being there is an armor in “knowing” The insults and negativity that will come as the story unfolds will bring the comments-
Why not my loved one? Why them? It is the grief, she wants money, she wants her five minutes of fame, and she always was strange. , needs medication, exploiting her son. They are just consumed with grief, hallucinating.
Yes! I can hear those raucous voices, tinged with the cynicism, of organized religion or lack of religious beliefs. So why martyr my family on the pyre of society? Why open this family to those who would wound?
I HAVE to document what happened to this family and my son, for the sake of my daughter, grandsons and future generations. I have be brave, as my son was brave. I need to tell this story of a mother’s nightmare, of a love that reaches through the barriers of disbelief, of hope. I have the need to document and yet there is a fear my son will once again be negated in death as he was in life by those of “beliefs”.
Every night I see one of my son’s “projects’ from his graphic design course as it hangs framed upon the bedroom wall. It was a small project
Take three words and make the visual connection. Timid- Confidence, Aggressive- coupled with Past, Present and Future to tell a story.
It is the “future” graphic which nags at me, his future was not to be. The cartoon character of a snow boarder explaining his future and the word “aggressive”. I looked at the artwork through tears for weeks as it hung, along with other projects, on the wall. It wasn’t until I looked very carefully one day whilst dusting; I noticed written faintly on the bottom of the snowboard “No limits” and yet I too, have limited the truth by omitting a truth from my writings on my blog..
It is time to tell the story so long in waiting no matter the consequences….
To be continued … Chapter One
Dec 3rd – TIME of our Life- Chris Ritchey
Artwork Chris Ritchey
Every 3rd of the month I write a tribute to you my son , I have written , apart from the other memories of your passing over 120 posts. I write to release the pain that builds, to take the thoughts out of my mind and put them on paper, or in this case on this blog. If I didn’t they would consume me more than they do and I would not get any relief. The tears I shed as I write drop onto the desk and over these many months the varnish has all but gone – a surface worn away by my tears.
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/category/chris-ritchey/
Other self by Chris Ritchey
How can that be possible? How have 10 years passed? How can that be? You see for most of my nights and days I am back in time , to a time where life and death and selfishness have trapped me, and not only me your father is on this same journey. I dream of you but you always have cancer and I am always searching for a cure or help, then I wake there is a moment of relief that it was just a dream and then I realize I have woken to my nightmare, there was no cure no help… I am in reality……………..
The diagnostic box- self- portrait Chris Ritchey
I am reminded of H.G. Wells and The Time Machine , I feel like the lead character sitting in that machine , only the lever is not controlled by me but by a profound grief, that is stronger than any will of mine. I sit in place in my own device as I watch the world around me go from the future to the present.
photo -self -Chris Ritchey
Every now and then I leave the machine of grief and experience the world of the present, happiness comes , anger comes, passion – very rarely, duty to others is limited and they are the ones I hold most dear. That is why although it is now 10 years this December 3rd. since I last saw your face, kissed your cheek, held your hand and lost ME. No longer Loraine, but a facsimile who left this place when you did . The unbearable is borne tempered by love of your family , sisters, nephews brother in law and father. Deep breaths and the conscious and sub-conscience effort by the brain to hold back the excruciating emotions that wrack the physical body.
Anger at those that through hypocrisy and selfishness ( Tim Sue Lombardi, Angela (Lombardi – Ritchey) and now Murphy – and their family and church ( Father Daniel Divas whose wickedness ( in my opinion) perpetuated and took whatever compassion with them in their act of callousness. not to be forgiven- then or now
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2009/12/14/something-wicked-our-way-came/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/12/11/december-11th-the-beginning-of-the-beginning/
but that same anger also has kept me upright.
The 10th anniversary marked by the yearly posts of December 3rd and as the new year dawns once again to finally finish the book- NO LIMITS.
Starting a new chapter both literally and figuratively -not the regurgitating of posts- but of your life and presence in the present………..
The Touch- Chris Ritchey
Your words ring through my mind and indeed is part of the forward in the book
“Nothing should be hidden or untouchable, if it is your truth and you stand behind it – no one should be able to silence you “
freedom of speech by Chris Ritchey
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/12/04/dec-4th-how-cold-is-cold-lombardi/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/12/03/december-3rd-chris-ritchey-yesterday/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/12/03/december-3rd-the-trilogy-of-tears-christopher-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2013/12/03/december-3rd-memorial-chris-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2014/12/03/december-3rd-there-is-no-peace-chris-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2015/12/03/december-3rd-end-of-days-chris-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/12/03/dec-3rd-the-loop-chris-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2017/12/03/dec-3rd-the-waiting-chris-ritchey/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2018/12/03/dec-3rd-crumbling-walls-chris-ritchey/
My time here in this world grows shorter as the days continue – I have to finish this book and publish – as “truth is definitely the daughter of time” and time is running out…… I love you and miss you every moment of these days and oh so long nights no matter the year I find myself existing……
Nov 3rd – Museum of the Heart- Chris Ritchey
This is an old house, and I am getting old.
I am comfortable in this house because it reminds me of the homes of my family, the people I loved with whom I shared my early years growing up in England.
The fringes on lampshades , large cabbage roses in a vase on the table and on the walls and bedspreads.
Then there was always chintz in the old cottages and especially in my grandmothers’ abodes, the wealthy one especially, along with velvet winter drapes , changed to chintz in the spring I always thought of her living room with silks and overstuffed furniture, brass reflecting the firelight as a bit of an Aladdin’s cave. Yes! due to drafts and no central heating drapes and curtain were changed out from spring and autumn. I used to do that in my younger days, slipcovers going over the couch etc. when summer arrived.
When my mother had to leave her home in England , she brought with her the things she loved. When she finally had to move in with us
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/09/26/what-are-they-thinking-the-thought-process-stops-here/
We had to clear away a lot of things – six rooms did not go into the two rooms we were able to give her.
Still some of the items she could not bear to give or throw away. Those items that didn’t fit into her new living space had to be introduced to the rest of my house.
One of the reasons I have two antique cocktail cabinets, one a wedding present from my parents and one my father made.
A couple of years ago I featured in a magazine, Pulse.
The writer/photographer came to interview and as she went through the house she exclaimed
OH this is like a museum!!!
To tell the truth I was a little taken aback.
No!.this was my home, yes some of the things are antiques having come down through family, probably not worth a lot but you would find them in most “cottagey type homes” in England.
( Horse Brasses, warming pans , brass or copper kettles and fire fenders ( very useful)
Some things are old not antiques just remembrances of holidays, gifts through the years. Then there are the things my children made or purchased for my birthdays , Mother’s Day etc. and finally your artwork Chris. You work hangs along side , pride of place on the walls with the portrait of the old lady – circa 1785,
and paintings and water colours from your great – great grandfather and great great uncle.
Fairyland painting by Jack Stokes
Oil by Jack Henry Stringer
Nana’s needlework pictures . These are things I love and live with and yes! use everyday and try to dust at least once a week……….. .
Today , as I was thinking about this old house and a “museum piece” I realized that although a few years ago I had decided to de- clutter- out with the old…..life got in the way and your dying – leaving me just your work ,
Breath of Life – Celtic Knot – Chris Ritchey
and then my mum having to spend her last years here and all the things she loved coming with her,. Artwork and items made by my father came with her. The little gifts from Braedyn and Gavin, Nikki I realized in some way it is a museum – this old house– a museum of my heart.
I love you more each day that passes and I am as proud of you as I ever was…. you are still in my heart and home…………
Reaching out- art work- Christopher Ritchey
Sept 3rd – Moving On??? Chris Ritchey
“Try to remember the kind of September……….. “
I have no difficulty in remembering this Labor Day Holiday of yesteryear . You had been given another chance of a “cure”. Of course I realize now that the word “cure” was not an accurate description as given to us by the Cleveland Clinic. The “trial” of SGN 35 was just that another trial. What followed was a frenzied trip to Houston, and more of that four letter word HOPE!!!!
Septembers have come and gone and I remember the “beginning of the end of hope” with the pain that never lessens. As this blog brings to the fore writings of previous Septembers, I revisit those emotions of those times.
One such September third came to the fore today because it had been accessed by someone reading my words.
As I read what I had written in my emotional incontinence , I wonder would I have written anything similar today , you can see the anger, the hurt and the disgust I felt and I asked myself would I have felt the same or written the same today? The answer is YES! just as time has not eased your death and “taking of the memories that should have been” neither has it lessened the feelings I have toward those of self serving hypocrisy. The anger that keeps me upright is beneficial to being………… it is now part of me and who I am….
I love you my son ………. you are but a last breath away…
Chris Ritchey Source
August 3rd- Linked – Chris Ritchey
Graphics Chris Ritchey
Every street in this oldest neighborhood is designated by the signs designed by you for Lorain’s Bicentennial. It was supposed to bring a sense of pride to the residents who have continued to stay here and fight for a quality of life, the history of these oldest streets and a preservation of a neighborhood that was.
I wish I could say that those of us that banded together and set up a 501C3 30 years ago had succeeded in our endeavours but thanks to bank dumps in 2008-2009 with over 200 properties being dumped sometimes for pennies on the dollar, the unscrupulous out of town landlords and property companies, drug houses, lack of code enforcement well we have become a saturated solution of the negative.
Two things came together in my brain this week……. the news of a young man of 16 shot and killed by other young men… just two blocks away, the gun shot waking us up as the sounds of killing reverberated through the night air. I watched the news that evening and as I did the TV camera panned up to the street sign on 6th street, YOUR SIGN and my focus changed instantly as once more I was sent back to your passing and then the pain and I realized another mother , that of a 16 year old , would be weeping tears , heart pounding , trying to breathe trying to deal with the reality of the unreal.
Will she experience the tiniest interludes of happiness? You see, once in a great while, when exhaustion forces the body and mind to sleep there are moments, just between sleeping and waking. One such moment came this week the air was cool enough for the windows to be open and for a brief second as the sun kissed the morning to waken the day , the breeze picked up the peppery scent of the petunias in the window box, this body hadn’t quite realized it had aches and pains, there was for that precious second happiness and then “life” intruded once more……. and mothers weep for lost sons in this old neighborhood……..
Another August of holding my breath , fighting back the tears , holding myself ready for the trigger moments , knowing they will come and wanting
Love continues………. and memories of times much happier……..before life intruded
July 3rd- continuing – Chris Ritchey
I have written about you every month on the 3rd of the month as my memorial to you – your life and your art work. A few months ago I wrote these lines in the post https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2019/04/03/april-3rd-forgotten-chris-ritchey/
““They say you die three times – once when your body fails you – again when you are buried ( funeral) and again when you are forgotten”.
Death of the body and death of memory. When you are buried and that headstone in place is a remembrance of sorts but there’s the rub how long will that headstone last?
Most of us believe that record of our being in the places designed for such – as cemeteries and crematoriums will last forever, not so especially with the way things happen with cemeteries in recent years. This Blog https://lisanneharris.com/2013/05/12/sadly-utterly-abandoned-churches-cemeteries/ Ms. Harris has a plethora of photos from around the world of these sad places. The forlorn graves sinking into oblivion once held the tears and heartbreak of mourners who grieved over their loved ones. Even in this old neighborhood the citizens of Lorain in the past plowed under and buried the little Charleston Village Cemetery
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/tag/pioneer-cemetery-lorain/
I read once , here you can’t reclaim or take out graves until 100 years after the last burial. But that is another law that is circumvented. I know it happened to your Great Grandmother and Great Grandfather and Great- Great Grandmother, the site was moved (although other family members wouldn’t have it) but I remember visiting those graves in a totally different area of the cemetery and one was missing altogether.
You are not dead because our love of you is alive and you are in our thoughts and dreams daily.
Your Nana was not afraid to die, she was actually welcoming her demise -99 years is longer than most get on this earth.
She had out- lived her brothers , sisters, friends of her youth. She was ready but as she sipped her tea one day near the ending she look at me over the rim of the cup and said
“you won’t forget me will you, Nikki and the children will remember they had their Nana”.
There is no headstone in a “family plot” because that is not what she wanted. Her ashes will hopefully one day make it back to “her England” , time and life permitting.
Today, I received a notification from the Crematorium in England
about your Grandfather. What a mess that was when he passed , he had gone off with someone else – had a new family – although he clung still to his old one. Due to the fact he never remarried, I was still his next of kin, the arrangements were left to me although his “woman” did orchestrate some aspects.
Then a few years on, since Nana and I were home, we went to the crematorium and I asked the office where my fathers ashes were interred. Imagine my guilt when I found out no-one had ever claimed them! I had thought his fancy bit would have, she obviously was done with him after he died. I was told his ashes were scattered in a part of the crematorium I was shown the spot where his ashes had been scattered and was told
“I could have a “tablet” positioned on the walls surrounding the Willow Garden, and are ideal for those who wish to mark the position of a loved one whose ashes have been scattered below.”
It was decided, only Nana would have nothing to do with it , didn’t want her name mentioned and went and sat in the rose garden. This is truly a beautiful place. I realized, although his work of a cross ( commissioned by the Governor of Gibraltar) hopefully still adorns the altar in the Naval Chapel there ,
there was not a permanent dedication ( well as permanent as can be in this life) but one day even that small reminder will be taken from the wall
Anyway I purchased a “tablet: and every 10 years I receive an invoice to renew the dedication, a few hundred pounds. No-one goes to the crematorium anymore to pay their respects, I am not sure anyone other than I ever did but I paid this invoice today because his name is there , the fact he lived and died on those dates is still there and he is not forgotten and he did live and he loved me and I , him
My Dad and I happier times
Oh his great grandson has the look of him but only I and a photograph of old realize that :
And that is why I write about you month after month for as long as I can so you know you aren’t forgotten and that you lived…….. and are still loved with every breath in my body………..
Breath of Life – Celtic Knot – Chris Ritchey
June 3rd – archeology of sorts- Chris Ritchey
Oh! the pond, what a pain I am having with pumps , tubing and fish eating birds and animals. I have spent a small fortune on equipment this spring. The winter weeks, after your Dad was in the hospital, your brother-in law had to stop by a few times a week in the days of “polar vortex” to make sure we kept a hole in the ice. Just when I thought I had everything sorted last week , nets in place , aerators , new pump and filter system hooked up, and the waterfalls pump working and bringing at least me some peace and happiness as I watched the water cascading down the falls, of course, the waterfalls pump stopped working.
Now nothing is easy in this house, I could no longer find the same pump , the tubing was too big, too small, and this pump didn’t fit the old filter system. I tried as best I could to clean the filters every two days and that is a horrible job. Why ??? because your Ghost Koi needs air and clean water, from over forty fish we are down to 17 including “The Ghost”. Due to my diligence of filter cleaning every couple of days the water is crystal clear. The offending pump had to be taken out and replaced. Heron apparently don’t like ripples so making sure the water ripples means three pumps functioning .
I shut everything down and gingerly balanced precariously on the edge. The water was so still and clear I, for once, could see the very bottom of the pond. The Ghost Koi loomed large – 10 years of eating and being king of the pond, he has grown to a formidable size. As I teetered and wobbled trying to reach the old pump under the falls, the thought crossed my mind,
I might end up joining him… death by “pond life”,
he wasn’t actually endearing me to him in that moment and then I saw a glint of gold lying on the bottom.
I strained to see what was shining up at me and then I realized it was a pair of your aviator sunglasses, you too had been searching for the Koi that last summer ( a much smaller little fish) and had dropped your glasses and there they were still- where they had fallen. A reminder of why I need to protect and maintain the pond so my last Mother’s Day gift from you continues..the Ghost Koi…..
Those glasses and ones like them that hid you eyes from us when you would hear the bad news the Doctors would tell hiding tears and pain. Those same glasses that brought my tears flowing once more a reminder of a life too short. and a son lost.
I suppose when we are gone and he pond is filled in will someone, in a time to come, may dig the space they might wonder how a pair of aviator glasses came to be 4 foot underground and the story behind them… a curiosity for the future…… the missing of you, our love and memories that should have been can sometime cripple………
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