July 3rd – The storm- Chris Ritchey

Yesterday evening, the storms started – they came in waves- clouds whipping around in the wind as if they were of rapids in the sky, lightening making the night sky bright for a few seconds at a time pulsating in intensity , thunder- a cacophony of discontent at odds with a summer evening , rain pummeling the windows , joining forces to flood the streets , swirling , beating down the plants , trees bowing their sodden branches to the earth.

A respite between storms found the earth shaking off the deluge only to be attacked again and again. There was an energy present , terrifying in its capabilities and yet hope the storm would move away.

Moonbeam – photo Chris Ritchey

Then at 2.20 am it was not the sound of another raging storm that woke me from another night of fitful sleep- it was the silence, the eerie stillness that had blanketed the night. The only sound coming through the now open window was of the little water fountain. I lay quiet myself and thought how the storm , to me, made me recall once again those horrible terrifying days of the cancer cure…. a storm that destroyed and changed forever this family leaving us with the debris from destruction. The days of respite and hope finally culminating in the crashing down to earth of hope, bowed and broken.

The quietness of the surreal world after you passed, the not knowing what to do how to get back to a place of hope-for months you had been my whole purpose – waking and sleeping, you became my vocation – every day was filled with you – driving, cooking,waiting whilst chemo was administered, watching you sleep, researching . Then the eye of the storm passed

Depths of despair – artwork Chris Ritchey

only to once again be caught up in the lightning strikes of grief coming ever closer.. the tumultuous tides that wash over my soul.

Just as the leftover rain drops cling to the plants weighing the down waiting for the sun to ease their burden before they break with the sheer weight of it all my tears are for you- The storm for you is done but I am still lost in the darkness waiting…… I love you Chris …

June 3rd – Coma – Chris Ritchey

Think I Am – Chris Ritchey

I used to love June -NOW another month that causes anguish to the soul- although life is bursting , skies blue, roses red I can’t abide the ‘happiness’- the June Brides make me cringe. I remember, the day you married and by doing so brought with it the eventual pain that was “gifted” to your family by those “people”

Lombardi (Vyka etc. )and Company

The “wedding anniversary” is also the day this year when the “Clinic” will “dispose of what was left of your life essence.
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2017/04/03/april-3rd-sample-of-life-chris-ritchey/

And here it was -the Clinic apparently had not “disposed of ” (their term) the sample upon your death as contracted . Now, I have to make the decision to call them re maintaining the samples – should I do nothing they will commence the disposal on what would ironically be your wedding anniversary !!!!

I have looked at the letter from those “other “doctors” telling me to make a legal decision otherwise they will dispose of….

I could not bring myself to ring them, or contact them – like an indecisive coward – I couldn’t bring anymore “finality ” into my being, I couldn’t make the decision, I couldn’t revisit the finality. I am not strong enough to face the reality of that. I know that by doing nothing the procedure of disposal will take place on what would have been your “wedding anniversary”. I wish I could dispose of those memories as easily but they come into being every June and with them the disgust I feel for the hypocrites of their religion. I am sickened by the controllers and “do overs”.

I wish things could have been different, that it was me that went on your last journey – not you. The memories of those last days and hours constantly being pushed away from conscious thought so I can “maintain some sort of balance”

Chris’ face book icon

Again the wondering and worrying of what was happening to you as you lay in that damned clinic like a lab rat on show. Could you hear as I sang to you, talked to you – tubes running everywhere. I asked for the Drs. to stop talking over you like a piece of meat that was cut off from “life”. I knew, as watched the stats, saw the rise in heart beats when they did that or when Sue Lombardi entered the room. (one of the reasons the head nurse expelled her as her presence aggravated you). Wanting “the invited others” by the Lombardis and co to leave the room as they did their collective death watch. I was frightened that if I did cause an issue it might effect or upset you and you unable to respond. Did you hear conversations? Did you know?

It was after you died and I was contacted by a young woman from the east coast in another June , she too was dying, going through the journey of hope with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma recurring , the trials, the chemo, the numerous hospital stays the days of dying.

Hi Lorraine, This is XXXXXXXX. I hope you still use this email. I found it in a post from Sept. Your blog is fantastic. Thank you so much for writing. It’s great to get a sense of the parents perspective. It’s a vision my parents like to keep from me. Take care.

We talked, via email, of how I felt and your dad as she was trying to help her parents and what they were feeling as they were being “brave”

She asked me if there was anything she could do to help me understand what you went through . I told her about your dad and how when he was intubated, after open heart surgery, in a induced coma and flooded with drugs as to how , although we could not see any movement , no squeezing of hands- he KNEW everything that we were saying and how awful it was to be trapped in his own mind.

http://www.jems.com/articles/print/volume-33/issue-1/patient-care/intubation-101-what-do-what-ca.html
In her case she too, numerous times had been intubated, drugged, paralized and comatose although she had managed to go through that so many times. Her Hodgkin’s came back 14 times before she eventually passed, she was still hopeful at the very end.
What she told me that email that June did help me some.

“your thoughts rush.. come in fragments .. you hear voices… see colors… , the movement is jarring yet you know you are not moving … you are between…. floating and yet tied… you struggle at times to surface as if drowning…

Assignment – Chris Ritchey-CIA

When you are brought back from the “sleep” you can’t really remember if you are waking from a bad dream , if the voices you heard are real and then you forget and move on to the next days. The doctors said I was dreaming that I couldn’t hear but I did tell one about his problem he was telling Nurse ( name given) , he was annoyed because someone had taken his parking place and he “was going to find out who”. He was very surprised.

She told me , for her, although what was happening was frightening she knew she was surrounded by her husband, mother , father and sister and they were keeping her safe. and that you drift in and out not knowing really what was or is real. ” it is all real your reality – to live with”

I have clung to her words , as a mother, hoping against hope that as you lay there those last days, never to come off that tube, you didn’t know the circus your dying was turning into – hoping that you thought you were dreaming and would awaken to sunlight not hearing the “dying words” – and you knew we loved you and still do

artwork Chris Ritchey

April 3rd – sample of life – Chris Ritchey

Breath of Life – Celtic Knot – Chris Ritchey

At first, after you died I girded myself for the arrival of the mailman – sympathy cards, notifications in your name, even the ones from the monuments people wanting us to purchase you a headstone- at least they recognized your family should have a say. As the months disappeared into years pretty much the only mail for you would be the yearly invite to a “four-wheeler” event.

Last week however, Monday , found me opening your letter calling for you to submit work created between January 2015 and December 2016 for AIGA Cleveland . My breath was only sucked out of me for just a few moments and although I was in a foul mood and very touchy for the rest of the day, causing everyone around me to tread on eggshells, I managed.

Then the mailman knocked on the door three days later with a registered letter from the Cleveland Clinic – I can’t abide that conglomerate of medical management http://my.clevelandclinic.org/ This letter was from the Andrology Laboratory and Reproductive Tissue Bank.
Apparently they were updating records and it came to their attention you had passed away “our condolences” (written as an after thought) but we need to dispose of what remains of your son’s life ( my words) hereto known as the “sample” .

I was confused, incredulous , not sure what I was reading – yes I remembered you, on doctor’s advice, had banked sperm before the chemo. I had wondered weeks after your death what would happen. I didn’t do anything because since the Lombardis and the then your wife – Angela Ritchey ( now Dr. Angela Murphy- http://my.clevelandclinic.org/staff/16147-angela-murphyespecially Sue Lombardi ,had made ALL the decisions as to what would be happening with you, my son and your mortal remains, with no input from his family – they would have seen to this as well. I hadn’t realized you had designated me in this instance.

And here it was -the Clinic apparently had not “disposed of ” (their term) the sample upon your death as contracted . Now, I have to make the decision to call them re maintaining the samples – should I do nothing they will commence the disposal on what would ironically be your wedding anniversary !!!!

I read and reread the letter , my gut churned, my mind ran amuck – this planet still holds your life essence and the cavalier Clinic wanted to tell me they were once again in disposal mode.

Angela , Sue and Tim Lombardi

I cried ,gasped for air, memories became reality once again in the ensuing hours. Everything came rushing back – emotional incontinence, anger , disbelief, pain returned full force.

Thoughts of what could be , what should have been, pulling the plug conference in that damned hospital – stony faced Lombardis – removed from the emotions of your death – sitting at that conference table looking like they were smelling bad fish and hoping against hope I would agree to your being taken off life support. Inconvenient, if I wouldn’t agree as Sue Lombardi had already picked out the “coffin clothes”. https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/10/14/an-open-letter-mama-sue-lombardi/

I wasn’t thinking straight –

I could get legal advice about maintaining the “sample” – you see to me was more than a “sample” it was my grandchildren that would never be- the life essence of my son and yet there was hope still– surrogate mother ran through my head- what would that cost? and then the darker thoughts of what did they mean by “disposal ” did they dump your “essence of life” into medical waste, the toilet , down a sink? My mind raged , bled and remembered……

Logically I know, you had signed the contract your “sample” should be “disposed of” after your death, so I believe that is what you wanted. Even if I could find a surrogate – it would be sheer selfishness on my part to bring a child into the world when I am surely heading out of it before they would be grown and finally you had a blood cancer when the “sample of life” was taken, I couldn’t take a chance that any child born would have a chance of cancer.

I haven’t responded to the Clinic as yet- although I know I will have to but it is hard to once again have to pull that plug……….

I love you ………

Artwork Chris Ritchey

March 3rd -Clutter- Chris Ritchey

It is snowing – probably more snow falling in the last 24 hours than we have had all winter. I knew the 65 degree February days were just teasing us into a false sense of spring. The wind and snow have blinded the view from the den, my eyes can only see the trees and garden, dancing white swirls blocking the ugliness of reality for just a brief while. I honestly don’t know where the hours days weeks and months have gone since you died -they seem to have disappeared or not been lived. I am constantly surprised when seeing the date or year number.

After you died I spent the days “preparing” – I cleaned out closets, threw away things that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but me. I prepared the house and my life for my death. You see, I really believed I would not be able to live with this gutting grief and yes physical pain. I was sure I would join you before 6 months was out. That didn’t happen, I am still here on yet another March the 3rd along with an aching coldness that will not pass even in summer…….

The closets have acquired more “stuff”, the house- which I had decluttered became even more cluttered when Nana came to live and I had to put 6 rooms of her “stuff” into this house. Life and clutter carried on to the point there will be more to deal with in this house than before.

Then with all the talk of “government” and “immigration” the wondering hit me-

just what did I do with my citizenship papers , passport etc

I knew I had put them safe somewhere . The strange thing about having a brain in pieces parts , divided up, one part living in 2009- the part that functions independently of my consciousness – the sleeping brain, that doesn’t -that bleeds over into mornings so another part has to decide

is that a memory , did that happen or was that the part of my brain trying to sort through the clutter?

the regular daily functions, we all experience, gets lost somewhere along with the happiness part – which sometimes does make an appearance. In all this brain clutter I couldn’t remember , for the life of me , where these very important papers ended up. The problem was neither could your father, we are both on “automatic pilot brain function” most of the time.

As we searched the probable places , I purchased a fire proof lock box for these items, your nana’s important papers and dad’s. Your dad informing me we had two lock boxes in the basement , which he couldn’t find . I had visions of us running from the upstairs to the basement and den in an emergency trying to find lock boxes and Nana’s important stuff, dads “stuff” and mine, No! I had to gather all this “stuff” together for my sake and whomever was eventually going to have to sort through them .

Finally we did find the papers and files. I started to go through them and realized I was sorting my life– my birth certificate, baptismal, marriage certificate, passport, citizenship papers ,social security, mortgage papers, Nikki’s birth certificate and then your birth certificate, baptismal, social security card, graduation … your life papers came to the top of the pile . My brain overloaded- stopped holding back the walls dividing memories, grief, happiness, laughter reality and memories, anger ,pain, loss of hope- the good and the bad and yes the ugly- lessons learned , lessons unlearned all spilling out of the “hoarding” in my mind.

I never realized how hard this “preparation” would be – it seemed so simple to transfer those items and yet I should have known, been prepared. Nana came down with her “life ” to be added to the box and I could see she also had been on a journey as she sorted through –

“Oh! Loraine don’t ask me to do that again, that was a very difficult afternoon- it was so hard as the memories wouldn’t stop coming …………….

I love you Chris and I wish I could touch your face, hear your voice, and forget the clutter that is now me………

Artwork-HARD Chris Ritchey

Feb 3rd – The Toilet Bowl – Chris Ritchey-

There are over 1,500 posts on this site now. Some are more popular than others. Searches are driven by information on particular subjects and some by images that have been uploaded to the internet. There is one post that ranks above all the rest everyday, it is the first in ranking bringing in thousands of hits in any month since it’s inclusion in 2010 . It is the photos included in the post that drives the traffic .

I am not sure how you would feel about this “still life” for classwork (?)2003 as having been interesting to so many every day since I first uploaded it . The work was not included in my collage of you or even in the “art show” . I am not sure what the message was if any – just a classwork assignment????? – but it has a following every single day and seemingly the most popular of any of the jpgs I use of yours with nearly every post.

Les toilettes comédie by Chris Ritchey

I watched a commercial for Poo- pourri and thought well maybe you were before your time

Sweet Toilet by Chris Ritchey

So many times I have wished I could ask you why or what when looking at your work and so many time each day I miss your humor as I watch this world spinning into chaos and justice fleeting. I wonder what you would say about the current political situation, how you would express visually all that I cannot put into words………..I love and miss you more each day………

the Dancing man – Chris Ritchey

Jan 3rd- Broken Heart Syndrome- Chris Ritchey

This past week has seen Carrie Fisher die and a day later her mother Debbie Reynolds die of what is being called a broken heart.

There has been much too-ing and fro-ing as to whether you can die of a broken heart or Takotsubo cardiomyopathy,

also known as transient apical ballooning syndrome, apical ballooning cardiomyopathy, stress-induced cardiomyopathy, broken-heart-syndrome and simply stress cardiomyopathy, is a type of non-ischemic cardiomyopathy in which there is a sudden temporary weakening of the myocardium (the muscle of the heart). Because this weakening can be triggered by emotional stress, such as the death of a loved one, the condition is also known as broken heart syndrome. It has also been reported in cases of partial drowning. The presence of a trigger such as emotional or physical has been reported in 33% to 100% of the cases.
Source http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Takotsubo_cardiomyopathy

Just a month and a half after you passed I wrote a post
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/01/28/dying-of-a-broken-heart/

And I have felt the pain in my chest, it is like a tight band , a crushing and tightening , it interferes with breathing, as if something has stopped my lungs from filling with air, holding ones breath too long underwater is a similar sensation . Just when you think you will drown in the pain and grief you surface , an explosion of tears and sobs pulling you back from the depths, a relief but also knowing that you have also lost an opportunity to be released from the slow suffocation of sorrow that has become your world.

And here I am “living with a broken heart”. How is that possible? Maybe my physical heart was strong, maybe because of my daughter and grandchildren acting as some sort of emotional relief valve – I am still here. If you had told me that would be the case in those first months after you passed I would have said ” not possible this gutting pain of losing you would kill me” . Every day I amazed another day has passed, week, month year and I am still walking upright .

I believe the anger kept me upright, an anger at the despicable behavior at your death and afterwards . For some people faith keeps them going but I know for me it was the combination of anger at “that” family, as well as the need to be there for my daughter and mother has continued to keep me on the planet. I also believe because I can write on this blog pouring out my heart has provided a relief valve of sorts.

What happens should I let go of the anger will my heart finally break; the anger stays because what was done I cannot undo………..

I love you Chris, with all the pieces of my broken heart.

Nov. 3rd- Restaging -Chris Ritchey

Every time I scroll down on the right side to log in to the admin section of this site I watch as the years , months, days of posting of my life on this blog slide by. The dying days still there , the crushing phone call that started all the pain, the hope, the horror and the vindictiveness of the days after your death.

Another 1st week of November – Houston – the time I dared to breathe- it is there chronicled

“Yesterday was the first restaging of my son after having 6 infusions ( one a week with one week off) for the drug SGN35. The scans have shown clear– he is responding well so far and although he is having trouble with some of the side effects – it looks like the drug is working on the Cancer. “

How untrue that was because a month later you were gone and your remains and any dignity associated with death snatched by selfishness and control by those who never really knew you.

https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/12/04/dec-4th-how-cold-is-cold-lombardi/

Each month on the third I write about you , it is my therapy, it is my way of telling your story that you lived, were loved unconditionally, made a difference. You won’t go down in any history books, you are all but forgotten and “re written” by “the others” and of those that called you “friend” but you existed- you changed our world, you were loved beyond all tears. That love grows it does not dissipate in a “do over world” of some. My anger doesn’t dissipate.

Some might think I am crazy, crazy in my grief, that could well be. I know this grief that fractures, tears at one, opens wounds daily, will not be denied, anymore than the love of my son can be denied.

I carry within me the six basic human emotions ” happiness, sadness, fear, anger, surprise and disgust.” but to those that have lost a son or daughter mere “sadness, anger ” is not adequate in its description , the fear felt as the dying days were lived through is an abomination in its simplicity.

We are changed, emotions magnified beyond all knowing, unless you have walked where we have walked, reached out helplessly to anyone, anything, any god, the stars , screamed at the enveloping darkness that comes with the terror of knowing the hope is gone you will never understand . We are undone……

And yet it is love that feeds this terrible ache of missing , a love not waning , not forgotten, you my son still have a story to be told and I am trying to find the strength to tell it, a love that transcends the veil.