"Last week at our church's live auction, we won 12 homemade
cakes (one each month) baked by a wonderful friend. And since we know that Steve loved delicious food, we have given them to some of our friends who knew and loved Steve. Jim and I also dedicated the anthem "In This Very Room" that was sung by our choir today, All Saints Sunday, and in memory of Steve. We miss him and thank you for helping to keep our spirits high.
***
From Shilpa in Plano:
"Just donated some cash to a Parkinson's organization. Made
some chicken rice for kids of friends who love chicken and their mom doesn't eat non-veg. Plan to hand deliver. Hoping for at least one more before the end of the day! Love you Steve, Tyra, KT and Coop :)"
***
From Jessica:
"My friend Angela Brown tipped me to the website.
I made a donation to communities in Far Rockaway, N.Y., affected by Hurricane Sandy."
***
From Nancy in Holland:
"The kids and I started our acts yesterday, since so many
places are closed on Sunday in Holland. Took a box of winter coats, boots, hats, mittens and scarves to the local mission; dropped off a bag of used running shoes to the local running store to be donated to SolesforSouls. Then, while in the customer service line at Meijers, saw a woman who was there before us but had lined up going in the wrong direction. So, when she realized her mistake and went around to get in line at the end, we let her go ahead of us. Today, we picked up a couple of shoeboxes at church to fill with presents for Christmas Child. Such a wonderful feeling to be able to honor Steve's memory, but extra special to be doing it with my children."
***
From Bledsoe teacher DeLois:
"At my church altar - I placed $44.00 with the 44 Acts of
Kindness card attached. These funds go to Frisco Families in need."
***
Kay in Lewisville got an early start:
"My sweet mother-in-law, Nancy, lives in an assisted living
community in Carrollton and tomorrow a group of her good lady friends are coming to have lunch with her and celebrate Halloween, a holiday they have celebrated together for years.
The ages of these ladies range from late 70s to late 80s and
these 'ladies' have always known how to have a good time! In years past they have gone out to dinner many years dressed in their witch's costumes and having more fun than people half their age. We thought it was so sweet of them to be celebrating with Nancy that Tracy and I decided to not only get Nancy a new 'witch's' hat to wear for the party, we also made Halloween gift bags for Nancy to give all the ladies who are coming."
***
From Melissa in The Colony:
Hannah paying for the person in line behind us
today at Starbucks. Such a nice feeling to brighten someone's day! 
***
From Heather in Plano:
"Yesterday, we went to the SPCA and adopted a dog
that had been rescued from a puppy mill. She's a precious little thing. She will remind us to be thankful 365 days a year and to perform acts of kindness throughout the year as well, in memory of Steve. Also today, while picking up a kennel at Walmart, we paid for the family's groceries who were checking out in front of us. I had forgotten to bring the little note but let them know that we were doing it in honor of Steve and left them with my business card with your blog written on the back." |
Sunday, November 4, 2012
44 Acts of Kindness: Part 3
From Steve's parents, Jim and Betty, in Dallas:
44 Acts of Kindness: Part 2
From Aunt Ami in Austin:
"My small deed today will include making a big pot of my chicken tortilla soup for a dear longtime friend and her husband, who is battling cancer."
***
From Tracy, Adam, Alexa and Owen of Pennsylvania:
"We are visiting my sister in Armonk, NY, where a lot of people are still without power from Sandy. This morning we left an extra big tip for our breakfast server and we also donated two gas cans to a family that needed gas for their generator because they still have no ETA on power restoration. We are honored to do these things in memory of Steve and hopefully we will have more opportunities later today."
***
From Matt, Marcy and Tess in Frisco:
"We bought the car behind us coffee on our way to church. Tess is taking flowers and a thank you card to the lady who takes care of her tomorrow. We decided we will extend the celebration to Monday, too. "
"We sent happy flowers to my cousin Cindi in Iowa; she is a beautiful mom and nurse fighting cancer and in need of prayers. Love to all of you!"
***
From Kerri in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates:
Just wanted to share what I did with you. Being an expat, certain people become very special/important in your life that may not be in 'the real world'. I have a doctor here who has become almost like my mother away from home. She is so special to me and all of my friends here. She has been through it all with us .... sudden death of a friend/colleague, mental breakdowns, depressions, serious illnesses... (not me luckily). Today I went just to get a flu shot, but I took her a lovely bouquet of flowers. She was nearly in tears. As was I. xxoo (P.S. Her name is Dr. Fatima )
***
From Durinda in Temple/Belton:
"Handed out the flier to the middle school Sunday school class and the high school class. We will meet back tonight to see what they all did. Love this idea. What a great way to bless others."
"My small deed today will include making a big pot of my chicken tortilla soup for a dear longtime friend and her husband, who is battling cancer."
***
From Tracy, Adam, Alexa and Owen of Pennsylvania:
"We are visiting my sister in Armonk, NY, where a lot of people are still without power from Sandy. This morning we left an extra big tip for our breakfast server and we also donated two gas cans to a family that needed gas for their generator because they still have no ETA on power restoration. We are honored to do these things in memory of Steve and hopefully we will have more opportunities later today."
***
From Matt, Marcy and Tess in Frisco:
"We bought the car behind us coffee on our way to church. Tess is taking flowers and a thank you card to the lady who takes care of her tomorrow. We decided we will extend the celebration to Monday, too. "
***
From Sarah and John in Richardson:
***
From Kerri in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates:
Just wanted to share what I did with you. Being an expat, certain people become very special/important in your life that may not be in 'the real world'. I have a doctor here who has become almost like my mother away from home. She is so special to me and all of my friends here. She has been through it all with us .... sudden death of a friend/colleague, mental breakdowns, depressions, serious illnesses... (not me luckily). Today I went just to get a flu shot, but I took her a lovely bouquet of flowers. She was nearly in tears. As was I. xxoo (P.S. Her name is Dr. Fatima )
)***
From Durinda in Temple/Belton:
"Handed out the flier to the middle school Sunday school class and the high school class. We will meet back tonight to see what they all did. Love this idea. What a great way to bless others."
***
From Aunt Cheryl in Pflugerville:
"Part of my deed is that I am on call today with victim services ... I will assist someone in need in Steve's name."
***
From the Healys in Oklahoma:
"Our family delivered cold Gatorade bottles and breakfast bars to the referee tent at our local soccer club's tournament, with a thank-you note attached. The refs have been working so hard all weekend; they deserve some kindness!"
***
From Amy of Frisco:
"My daughter and I paid for someone's Starbucks this morning in honor of Steve."
44 Acts of Kindness: Part 1
Cindy, an East Coast friend, made a donation in memory of Steve to the Red Cross.
***
The Warhoftigs, a hockey-playing family, took bagels and coffee to the ice rink early Sunday morning.
***
Carrie is participating in the Down Syndrome Guild Buddy Walk in Dallas.
***
Kirstie in Indiana writes:
"I had to do my act two days early to be sure. We live kinda out in the sticks, and ... I'm not sure if we'll leave the house and see any other humans. So while grocery shopping [Friday], I saw a woman on the edge of the parking lot ... holding a sign that just said 'Hungry.' I gave her enough money to buy a meal."
***
Paige in Oregon writes:
"I started early, too. I tipped the kid who pumped my gas (Oregon doesn't allow mortals to pump their own) after he said two workers called in sick today and no one was available to come in. Friday afternoon at the gas station is no fun!
***
From Barbara:
"Today I paid for the meal of the family in front of me in the line at Five Guys. I had forgotten to take my printed paper about Steve, but I did tell them about him. Thank you for letting me be a part of the celebration of his birthday."
***
Beth in Plano made a donation to the Red Cross.
***
John in Richardson made a donation to a New Jersey flood victim.
***
From Aunt Ami in Austin:
"Purchased an HEB grocery gift card and gave it to a very nice young bagger that offered to help me out with my groceries. When I shared with him the reason for the random act of kindness, I got choked up thinking of Steve ... this sweet fellow opened his arms and gave me a big warm bear hug and told me he would be thinking of Steve all day.
***
The Warhoftigs, a hockey-playing family, took bagels and coffee to the ice rink early Sunday morning.
***
Carrie is participating in the Down Syndrome Guild Buddy Walk in Dallas.
***
Kirstie in Indiana writes:
"I had to do my act two days early to be sure. We live kinda out in the sticks, and ... I'm not sure if we'll leave the house and see any other humans. So while grocery shopping [Friday], I saw a woman on the edge of the parking lot ... holding a sign that just said 'Hungry.' I gave her enough money to buy a meal."
***
Paige in Oregon writes:
"I started early, too. I tipped the kid who pumped my gas (Oregon doesn't allow mortals to pump their own) after he said two workers called in sick today and no one was available to come in. Friday afternoon at the gas station is no fun!
***
From Barbara:
"Today I paid for the meal of the family in front of me in the line at Five Guys. I had forgotten to take my printed paper about Steve, but I did tell them about him. Thank you for letting me be a part of the celebration of his birthday."
***
Beth in Plano made a donation to the Red Cross.
***
John in Richardson made a donation to a New Jersey flood victim.
***
From Aunt Ami in Austin:
"Purchased an HEB grocery gift card and gave it to a very nice young bagger that offered to help me out with my groceries. When I shared with him the reason for the random act of kindness, I got choked up thinking of Steve ... this sweet fellow opened his arms and gave me a big warm bear hug and told me he would be thinking of Steve all day.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Join the party by doing a good deed Sunday
About five years ago, when my husband discovered that a bunch of odd symptoms were because of a mass in his brain stem, our family was swamped with kindness.
For a full month, we had no idea what was lurking deep in Steve’s brain. The best-case scenario was lymphoma; worst case was a Grade 4 tumor.
Our incredible community of friends, family and neighbors rallied big time, with homemade meals, gifts to distract our young children, baby-sitting, kind words and cash donations to pay for an avalanche of unexpected expenses.
In that month, when we were still hopeful that the mass of angry cells was somewhat manageable, I had grand plans for repaying the kindness showered on our family.
When Steve was cured, I dreamed, we would throw a huge party, inviting everyone who had gone out of their way to make our lives easier. We would celebrate their kindness in a big way.
Well, that nightmarish month ended with the worst-case diagnosis of an aggressive tumor, and for the next year and a half, Steve, Cooper, Katie and I were sustained by compassionate words and deeds.
And then Steve died. And the three of us left relied even more on the kindness of others. In fact, sometimes we still do.
I never did throw that big thank-you party. Partly because we didn’t get the happy ending that we’d prayed for. And partly because at some point in our journey, I realized that the love surrounding us was free for the taking. No one expected anything in return.
After so much taking, Cooper, Katie and I have also learned how great it feels to share kindness and love. That’s why for the second year, we’re celebrating Steve’s birthday by performing and encouraging acts of kindness.
This Sunday we’re throwing a virtual party for what would have been Steve’s 44th birthday. It’s called 44 Acts of Kindness, and you’re all invited.
Our original goal was for 44 kind deeds to be offered to others — one for every year since Steve was born. Already more than 300 people have joined our Facebook group, committing to at least one act of kindness on Sunday.
The possibilities are endless, as we discovered last year, when I recorded more than 200 good deeds in Steve’s memory. Just a few:
-- A friend picked up newspapers from yards and placed them on front porches — 44 in all — on her morning walk.
-- A friend paid for the next table’s meal at breakfast and gave the server an extra large tip.
-- A family was on vacation in Hawaii, heard about a local food drive, then shopped and donated a bag of groceries.
-- Someone left a $10 Starbucks card on the windshield of a car at Target.
-- More than one family delivered hot chocolate to hard-working crossing guards.
-- One friend took extra time to listen to a friend who was having a rough time. She bought that friend a glass of wine, too.
-- Fire stations all over North Texas received food and desserts.
-- Folks taped quarters to vending machines as a gift to strangers.
-- A friend helped an unemployed friend with a résumé and application.
-- A friend of a friend bought and donated a book to her child’s teacher.
-- A traveling friend bought a bottle of water for an elderly man at the airport.
-- A few people donated blood.
-- A family cleaned out closets and donated coats and blankets to a nonprofit that helps the homeless.
Cooper, Katie and I have big plans for Sunday, fitting in little acts of kindness as we go to church, out to lunch, to a Boy Scouts meeting and a piano lesson. We’d love for you to join us, wherever you are.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
44 Acts of Kindness: One week away!
Cooper, Katie and I are super excited to know that in one week we will be in the middle of celebrating Steve's birthday and 44 Acts of Kindness!
1. If you are on Facebook, I hope you've had time to visit the 44 Acts of Kindness event page. Click here to see the 240+ generous folks who have already committed to performing at least one act of kindness on Nov. 4.
2. If you need ideas on what to do, here are just a few suggestions from creative people last year:
3. When you give your gift, consider attaching the note above, which will explain the special day. Click here to for a link that makes it easy to print.
4. Please send an email or text to share your good news! I'll be reporting here on the blog throughout the day Sunday. You can reach me at tyradamm@gmail.com and 972-489-4344.
Thank you all so much for participating and spreading kindness!
1. If you are on Facebook, I hope you've had time to visit the 44 Acts of Kindness event page. Click here to see the 240+ generous folks who have already committed to performing at least one act of kindness on Nov. 4.
2. If you need ideas on what to do, here are just a few suggestions from creative people last year:
- Treat a stranger to a coffee or meal
- Buy subway cards and give them to tourists
- Give an extra-large tip to a hard-working waiter
- Pay for the toll for the car behind you
- Take treats to a fire station
- Donate pet items to an animal shelter
- Leave change taped to a vending machine
- Leave dollar bills taped to a RedBox machine
- Visit a nursing home; take handmade cards
- Hand out bottles of water to people who need them
- Let people get in front of you in line at the store
- Donate blood
- Buy a book for your child's classroom
- Help a neighbor with yard work
- Give flowers to someone who usually goes unnoticed
3. When you give your gift, consider attaching the note above, which will explain the special day. Click here to for a link that makes it easy to print.
4. Please send an email or text to share your good news! I'll be reporting here on the blog throughout the day Sunday. You can reach me at tyradamm@gmail.com and 972-489-4344.
Thank you all so much for participating and spreading kindness!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Unexpected grief, reliable joy
Early in 2007, before Steve and I had ever heard the word "glioblastoma," I had some health issues that required I spend a lot of time at the UT-Southwestern Simmons Cancer Center.
I was experiencing debilitating breast pain that required multiple imaging appointments and a biopsy. By early fall, I had a clean biopsy, and I pursued pain relief through acupuncture. (I was extremely skeptical about the treatment but was willing to try anything. It worked.)
Steve and I thought we were through with that building for good.
We were terribly wrong.
I can't begin to count the number of times we made trips to the cancer center from January 2008 until summer 2009. It's where we visited his neuro-oncologist, Dr. Maher. It's where he received radiation therapy treatments every weekday for a month (with huge thanks to our team of volunteer drivers who ferried him when I couldn't). It's where we'd go for MRIs and chest X-rays and blood draws and chemotherapy infusion appointments.
Our time there wasn't always awful. We would visit, share snippets from whatever we were reading that day, watch movies during chemo, laugh at the absurdity of our situation.
We worked with incredibly dedicated, smart, helpful, kind people in that building.
And our time there represented more time for Steve to live. The treatment he received there allowed him to enjoy life a little longer.
This morning I had an appointment for my 40-year-old baseline mammogram -- back at the cancer center. I never considered that I would have difficulty walking back into the building, until I pulled into the driveway and neared the valet parking awning.
How many times had I pulled into that same spot, with Steve in the passenger seat? More than I could count. Even though it's been more than three years since his death and even longer since I drove him to that very spot, I couldn't control the tears as I put the minivan in park, received a claim ticket from the valet and walked through the automatic doors into the lobby.
What's the instant salve for such unexpected grief? A giant, vibrant tower of blown glass.
In the entryway of the building is Dale Chihuly's piece titled "Southwestern Seay Tower." Steve loved the joyful sculpture long before we knew we'd be seeing it so often.
When you're headed to an infusion room to have poison pumped into your body or when you're headed to an appointment to hear if the tumor in your head has grown in the past six weeks, you need all the love and joy you can find.
Even when you're perfectly healthy and just headed to a routine exam, that burst of joy acts as a warm welcome. It's even known to arrest unexpected tears.
I was experiencing debilitating breast pain that required multiple imaging appointments and a biopsy. By early fall, I had a clean biopsy, and I pursued pain relief through acupuncture. (I was extremely skeptical about the treatment but was willing to try anything. It worked.)
Steve and I thought we were through with that building for good.
We were terribly wrong.
I can't begin to count the number of times we made trips to the cancer center from January 2008 until summer 2009. It's where we visited his neuro-oncologist, Dr. Maher. It's where he received radiation therapy treatments every weekday for a month (with huge thanks to our team of volunteer drivers who ferried him when I couldn't). It's where we'd go for MRIs and chest X-rays and blood draws and chemotherapy infusion appointments.
Our time there wasn't always awful. We would visit, share snippets from whatever we were reading that day, watch movies during chemo, laugh at the absurdity of our situation.
We worked with incredibly dedicated, smart, helpful, kind people in that building.
And our time there represented more time for Steve to live. The treatment he received there allowed him to enjoy life a little longer.
This morning I had an appointment for my 40-year-old baseline mammogram -- back at the cancer center. I never considered that I would have difficulty walking back into the building, until I pulled into the driveway and neared the valet parking awning.
How many times had I pulled into that same spot, with Steve in the passenger seat? More than I could count. Even though it's been more than three years since his death and even longer since I drove him to that very spot, I couldn't control the tears as I put the minivan in park, received a claim ticket from the valet and walked through the automatic doors into the lobby.
What's the instant salve for such unexpected grief? A giant, vibrant tower of blown glass.
In the entryway of the building is Dale Chihuly's piece titled "Southwestern Seay Tower." Steve loved the joyful sculpture long before we knew we'd be seeing it so often.
When you're headed to an infusion room to have poison pumped into your body or when you're headed to an appointment to hear if the tumor in your head has grown in the past six weeks, you need all the love and joy you can find.
Even when you're perfectly healthy and just headed to a routine exam, that burst of joy acts as a warm welcome. It's even known to arrest unexpected tears.
 |
| Chihuly's work was installed at UT-SW in 1999. I took this photo today. |
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Ideas for Nov. 4
You can participate no matter where you are!
Some ideas from family and friends all over the world last year:
- Buy subway cards for tourists
- Donate food to a food pantry
- Buy a meal for a stranger
- Leave your waiter an extra large tip
- Place newspapers on front porches
- Buy coffee for the car behind
- Deliver cookies to a fire station
- Take a friend their favorite snack
- Tape quarters to a vending machine
Cooper, Katie and I are brainstorming our own ideas. We can't wait to share them on Nov. 4!
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Steve Damm humor
Cooper plays clarinet in beginning band. Katie and I are treated to practice sessions almost every night of the week.
All of the music students -- band, orchestra and choir -- were invited to a costume party at school last night.
Cooper decided weeks ago that he wanted to dress as something super scary to a band student. He wanted to be a chipped reed. (For those of you who, like me, weren't completely aware: When the reed of a mouthpiece is chipped, there's no repairing. You must get a new reed.)
Earlier this week, while the costume was in production, I was telling Melissa, my best friend since eighth grade, about the concept.
She laughed loudly and declared it "Steve Damm humor."
She's right, of course. Steve would have loved Cooper's idea -- topical, sly, quirky.
Another sixth-grade mom and I served cups of soda for the entirety of the party, so I was there but not really in Cooper's way. He reported after that not many people knew right away what he was. That didn't bother him a bit -- he shares not only Steve's sense of humor, but his confidence, too.
All of the music students -- band, orchestra and choir -- were invited to a costume party at school last night.
Cooper decided weeks ago that he wanted to dress as something super scary to a band student. He wanted to be a chipped reed. (For those of you who, like me, weren't completely aware: When the reed of a mouthpiece is chipped, there's no repairing. You must get a new reed.)
Earlier this week, while the costume was in production, I was telling Melissa, my best friend since eighth grade, about the concept.
She laughed loudly and declared it "Steve Damm humor."
She's right, of course. Steve would have loved Cooper's idea -- topical, sly, quirky.
 |
| Front and back of the chipped reed on Thursday night, just after completion |
 |
| Coop at the party (chipped part of reed on top) |
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Bench photos
Every Sunday that we're at church, I take a photo of Cooper and Katie on Steve's bench. (I post the photos weekly on our family blog.)
Here are just four photos from the past two years. I'm so thankful for these healthy, spirited, joyful children.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Save the date: Nov. 4
Last year we celebrated Steve's birthday by inviting friends and family members to join us in performing acts of kindness. Our goal was 43 good deeds, one for each year since Steve's birth.
Well, I lost track of the number around 200. There was such an incredible response, and folks were so creative and kind and generous serving others.
This year, our goal is 44 acts of kindness. How great would it be to reach 44 acts four or five or six times over?!
Throughout October I'll post more details and ideas and a link to a page that you can print to leave behind when you perform an act of kindness in memory of Steve.
This month I'll also remind you of last year's acts of kindness. Click here for part 1 from Nov. 4, 2011.
(Special thanks to Bledsoe art teacher and Damm family friend Cory Jensen for designing this year's logo!)
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Hat
We bought this hat for Steve in 2008, when his cancer-fighting cocktail included Accutane and other drugs that made too much sun dangerous. He needed full protection from the rays.
He wore the hat all over Frisco. To soccer games. To Disneyland.
To our final vacation together -- a soul-restoring three days in West Palm Beach.
I wore the hat on my 2011 getaway to Belize.
Cooper has taken the easy-to-pack hat camping with Boy Scouts.
And today, Katie wore the hat to complete her ensemble for career day.
Her current professional aspiration is zoologist. (Actually artist and zoologist.) She borrowed one of Cooper's outdoorsy shirts to wear over her Brownie T-shirt (today was also the first meeting of the school year for her Girl Scout troop).
After a great deal of consideration and perusal of our massive stuffed animal collection, she chose a duck to tuck into the front pocket. (She actually wanted about six animals attached to her body, but we couldn't figure out an elegant way to do so. Pinning them to her shirt just looked creepy.)
I made a name badge: Dr. Kathryn Damm. Zoologist.
And she topped it all off with Steve's hat.
He wore the hat all over Frisco. To soccer games. To Disneyland.
 |
| Disneyland, June 2008 |
 |
| The Breakers, West Palm Beach, March 2009 |
I wore the hat on my 2011 getaway to Belize.
 |
Xunantunich, near San Ignacio, Belize, February 2011 |
And today, Katie wore the hat to complete her ensemble for career day.
Her current professional aspiration is zoologist. (Actually artist and zoologist.) She borrowed one of Cooper's outdoorsy shirts to wear over her Brownie T-shirt (today was also the first meeting of the school year for her Girl Scout troop).
After a great deal of consideration and perusal of our massive stuffed animal collection, she chose a duck to tuck into the front pocket. (She actually wanted about six animals attached to her body, but we couldn't figure out an elegant way to do so. Pinning them to her shirt just looked creepy.)
I made a name badge: Dr. Kathryn Damm. Zoologist.
And she topped it all off with Steve's hat.
 |
| Kathryn Damm, future zoologist, Frisco, September 2012 |
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Attitude
A dear friend who is going through chemotherapy asked me tonight how Steve kept such a positive attitude during all of this treatments.
I told her that it wasn't always easy, and that his spirits sometimes flagged.
I told her that he was on anti-anxiety and anti-depressant meds. He spoke to a therapist early in the diagnosis.
Sometimes, when he was really feeling down, we would solicit a whole bunch of jokes from friends and family members. Or we'd watch goofy movies.
We would pray.
Steve was also blessed to live in a home with two little children. How can you not be cheerful when there's a 2-year-old dancing through the house or a 6-year-old always on the verge of a big discovery?
Sometimes I think of how unfair it is that our children don't know Steve like I do or many of you do. They had so little time with him.
But tonight I was reminded that Cooper and Katie's youth is part of what sustained Steve. He soaked up every moment with them -- with gusto! -- not just after he was diagnosed but before, too.
Steve wasn't cheerful 100 percent of the time, but he came pretty darn close. Cooper and Katie were a huge reason why. And I trust that they both will appreciate how much that means as they grow older and continue to discover what made their Dad so special.
I told her that it wasn't always easy, and that his spirits sometimes flagged.
I told her that he was on anti-anxiety and anti-depressant meds. He spoke to a therapist early in the diagnosis.
Sometimes, when he was really feeling down, we would solicit a whole bunch of jokes from friends and family members. Or we'd watch goofy movies.
We would pray.
Steve was also blessed to live in a home with two little children. How can you not be cheerful when there's a 2-year-old dancing through the house or a 6-year-old always on the verge of a big discovery?
Sometimes I think of how unfair it is that our children don't know Steve like I do or many of you do. They had so little time with him.
But tonight I was reminded that Cooper and Katie's youth is part of what sustained Steve. He soaked up every moment with them -- with gusto! -- not just after he was diagnosed but before, too.
Steve wasn't cheerful 100 percent of the time, but he came pretty darn close. Cooper and Katie were a huge reason why. And I trust that they both will appreciate how much that means as they grow older and continue to discover what made their Dad so special.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Just right
This morning I emailed Katie's second-grade teacher and school guidance counselor with a small reminder that tomorrow is the third anniversary of Steve's death.
I'm not making a big deal about it at home, but Katie is definitely aware. (Cooper, too. That requires a separate blog post.) I'm not sure how Katie will be affected during school tomorrow, but I wanted Wendy and Angie to be aware, just in case.
(And actually, it was probably not necessary to email at all. Angie is always on top of these moments in our family's life. She's the best guidance counselor ever.)
Wendy received my email and called not long after. She wanted to share a Katie conversation from yesterday.
It was time for writing in class. Katie approached her teacher and told her that was feeling a little sad. Wendy asked what she was sad about. Katie said she was thinking of her daddy.
Wendy said that she understood. She asked Katie to look at her charm bracelet. On the bracelet is a gray ribbon.
Katie's eyes got wide. She knew that it represented brain cancer.
Wendy then shared that her own mother has brain cancer. Katie's eyes got even wider. They had a little chat, then Katie was happy to return to her desk and get to work.
Katie now understands that her own teacher lives with the cruel effects of brain cancer. She knows that her teacher "gets it."
This little conversation and Wendy's phone call is yet another reminder that we are placed in just the right community, with just the right friends, at just the right school, with just the right caregivers and teachers.
Once again, my heart is full even as it aches.
I'm not making a big deal about it at home, but Katie is definitely aware. (Cooper, too. That requires a separate blog post.) I'm not sure how Katie will be affected during school tomorrow, but I wanted Wendy and Angie to be aware, just in case.
(And actually, it was probably not necessary to email at all. Angie is always on top of these moments in our family's life. She's the best guidance counselor ever.)
Wendy received my email and called not long after. She wanted to share a Katie conversation from yesterday.
It was time for writing in class. Katie approached her teacher and told her that was feeling a little sad. Wendy asked what she was sad about. Katie said she was thinking of her daddy.
Wendy said that she understood. She asked Katie to look at her charm bracelet. On the bracelet is a gray ribbon.
Katie's eyes got wide. She knew that it represented brain cancer.
Wendy then shared that her own mother has brain cancer. Katie's eyes got even wider. They had a little chat, then Katie was happy to return to her desk and get to work.
Katie now understands that her own teacher lives with the cruel effects of brain cancer. She knows that her teacher "gets it."
This little conversation and Wendy's phone call is yet another reminder that we are placed in just the right community, with just the right friends, at just the right school, with just the right caregivers and teachers.
Once again, my heart is full even as it aches.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Labor Day weekend
How can it be another Labor Day weekend?
"Labor" is an appropriate word for what Steve endured this same weekend in 2009. His breathing was labored. His speech was labored. His body had worked too hard, and his body needed rest.
In 2010, the kids and I escaped to Michigan over Labor Day weekend. We stayed with our dear friends the Healys. We attended a Michigan game in Ann Arbor, courtesy of our friends the Redmonds, and felt right at home thanks to the Dodd family.
In 2011, we escaped to Los Angeles. We stayed with our dear friends Gretchen and Anthony. They were impeccable hosts, showing us Malibu and Hollywood and museums and great restaurants.
In 2012, we're not going far. Michigan is coming to us, actually.
Cowboys Stadium in nearby Arlington is hosting tomorrow a big college football matchup: No. 2 Alabama vs. No. 8 Michigan. The Redmonds helped again, this time allowing us an opportunity to buy alumni tickets before the general public sale that never actually happened because tickets sold so quickly.
Jim and Betty have tickets, too; the five us will sit together and root for Michigan together.
***
Cooper started middle school this week.
In one class he was asked to name his hero. He simply said, "My Dad" without explanation.
In another class he was asked to create a paper shield illustrating a little about himself.
In one corner, the teacher asked for an animal. He drew a snake because he was born in the Year of the Snake.
In another, she asked for an activity from summer. He drew the lighthouse from Peggy's Cove, which we visited on our Canadian cruise.
In another, she asked for what he wanted to be when he grew up. He drew a beaker bubbling over to show that he wants to be a chemist.
And in the last section, she asked for a representative color. Cooper colored the area black.
"I chose black because I have seen death," he wrote.
***
The date for Labor Day changes annually, of course, so pretty much the whole week is a minefield of memories. This year the experience stretches a full week, from today through next Friday, Sept. 7.
I try to focus mostly on all the good from this week three years ago. There was so much good, so much love surrounding Steve and us, so many reminders of God's love and provision.
Laughter mixed with tears surrounding Steve during his final hours. Never-ending prayers. Standing with Steve as he took his final Communion. Family members and friends and hospice workers who stepped in to take care of what I couldn't take care of. Steve, unable to speak, pointing to letters to spell "Thank you" and "I love you."
Sunday, August 26, 2012
"Hi, Daddy!"
One of my favorite Steve-and-Katie moments repeated just about every Sunday when Katie was 1 and 2.
Steve sang in our church choir. I would sit in a middle-of-the-sanctuary pew (connecting chairs, actually) with Cooper and Katie, and Steve would sit in the choir loft. Sometime during the prelude, Katie would spy her Daddy in the choir loft, wildly wave her hands and speak loudly and clearly "Hi, Daddy!"
Our congregation is a friendly and forgiving group. No one seemed to mind the interruption.
In fall 2007, Steve's voice began to subtly change. We didn't know why at the time. By December we knew about the mass in his brain stem, and he reluctantly stepped down from choir.
I immediately missed that special interaction between Steve and Katie. I still do.
Last night I attended a small church meeting. We have a new senior minister, and different families are hosting get-acquainted meetings in their homes so that Pastor Rusty can meet and listen to church members.
We were discussing the importance of young families in the church when Pat, a more senior member of the congregation, spoke up.
"When Tyra's daughter was much younger, and her husband was in the choir, her daughter would see her Daddy in choir and say, 'Hi, Daddy!' I always loved that."
Steve sang in our church choir. I would sit in a middle-of-the-sanctuary pew (connecting chairs, actually) with Cooper and Katie, and Steve would sit in the choir loft. Sometime during the prelude, Katie would spy her Daddy in the choir loft, wildly wave her hands and speak loudly and clearly "Hi, Daddy!"
Our congregation is a friendly and forgiving group. No one seemed to mind the interruption.
In fall 2007, Steve's voice began to subtly change. We didn't know why at the time. By December we knew about the mass in his brain stem, and he reluctantly stepped down from choir.
I immediately missed that special interaction between Steve and Katie. I still do.
Last night I attended a small church meeting. We have a new senior minister, and different families are hosting get-acquainted meetings in their homes so that Pastor Rusty can meet and listen to church members.
We were discussing the importance of young families in the church when Pat, a more senior member of the congregation, spoke up.
"When Tyra's daughter was much younger, and her husband was in the choir, her daughter would see her Daddy in choir and say, 'Hi, Daddy!' I always loved that."
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
(Psalm 118:24)
Monday, August 20, 2012
Three things
In mid-January 2008, Steve and I knew that the tumor in his brain stem would kill him. We prayed for a miracle. We prayed that the chemotherapy and radiation therapy would do what no doctor expected. We fervently prayed and wished for that Damm Spot to disappear forever.
But we also knew that time was limited.
Now, here's the difference (one of the differences) between Steve and me.
Had I received the same devastating diagnosis, I would have gone into crazed list mode. Steve did not.
I would have made short-term and long-term lists and plans related to the house, my care, our children, Steve's future. I would have tried to anticipate every major milestone in Cooper's and Katie's lives and left corresponding suggestions (read: bossy instructions).
I would have tried to assert some semblance of control in a totally out-of-control situation. Steve, of course, did not.
That's one of the many qualities that made us such a great match. Tyra the planner and Steve the one who appreciated plans but lived more freely.
Steve planned his memorial service with Pastor Andy and Pastor Debbie. I didn't know anything of their plans until after Steve died, and for that I am forever thankful. Steve's celebration was absolutely perfect. Truly, I can't think of a thing that should have been changed. And it's because it was what Steve wanted and because clergy who love him carried out his vision.
And he left me with three specific instructions. Three things.
1. Keep Katie dressed in Hanna Andersson as long as possible. He liked that the clothes were colorful and comfortable, matched her personality and were age appropriate.
2. Stand firm and remain confident in my parenting. Our deliberate parenting style was crafted through our shared values and our shared vision for the lives we wanted for our babies.
3. Travel with Cooper and Katie as much as possible. One of our shared passions was travel -- discovering new places and then remembering them together. We never shied from taking our children with us on our adventures.
That's it.
Imagine if the situation were reversed. Poor Steve would have been saddled with notebooks and diagrams and Post-it notes, all well-intentioned but imprisoning suggestions from me on how to continue life.
What a disaster I would have created.
One day, when we're together in heaven, one of the first things I'm going to do is thank Steve for giving me only three demands, only three things.
1. I do splurge on Hanna Andersson for Katie. I try to buy clothing there only on sale, but even then it's a little pricey. We have maybe two years until she grows too big for their sizes. (She's already in 140s, and the biggest is 160.) I'm certain I'll be a sad momma when she outgrows the store altogether.
2. I keep Steve's voice in my head and think of his parenting style often. I try to imagine how he would handle situations that he tragically never was able to experience. I know that my single parenting isn't equal to what our team approach would have been, but I am comforted knowing that Steve trusted me and believed in me.
3. After accounts were settled in 2009, I set aside some of Steve's life insurance policy for our "travel slush fund." I've accessed that money to help pay for Legoland, West Palm Beach, Colorado, Ann Arbor, London, Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula, Los Angeles, Sarasota and, most recently, New York City and a Disney cruise to Canada. The money won't last forever, but I'm stretching it as far as I can.
Cooper and Katie and I have created incredible memories together at home and while traveling. We have gotten lost and found our way back. (Just ask them about the night driving north from San Diego to Carlsbad.) We have defeated language barriers. (Cooper and I have a great story to tell about a Parisian grandmother.) We have visited places special to Steve and places he only dreamed of visiting. (I cried on the drive in to Ann Arbor, knowing he should have been our guide. And I cried at the top of Hurricane Ridge, wishing desperately that he could have held my hand.)
Almost three years after Steve's death, I am still discovering new reasons to love him. At the top of the list: His list to me was mercifully short.
 |
| Cooper, Tyra and Katie (in a Hanna Andersson dress) on the Disney Magic, August 2012 |
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Crossing
We've just returned from a wonderful week away -- two days of sight-seeing in Manhattan and five days on the Disney Magic, taking us to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Saint John, New Brunswick.
I'll have more to share in the next few days. For now, here are two photos that I love. As soon as I took the Cooper photo, I was reminded of the Steve photo. (Steve and I were in New York City together twice. We always planned on many more trips. I am thankful for those two trips and the opportunity to explore more with our sweet children.)
 |
| Cooper, Times Square, August 2012 |
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| Steve, Chinatown, November 2006 |
Thursday, July 19, 2012
One
I am in the process of refinancing the mortgage on our house. (Interest rates are incredibly low right now.)
It's an emotional experience for a few reasons:
It's an emotional experience for a few reasons:
- When the process is complete, the title of the home will be in my name only. I probably should have removed Steve's name before now but it hasn't been a priority. Just after he died, there were lots of actions I had to take. I focused on those, and I haven't been diligent about following up on the rest.
- Unlike every other loan I've signed since 1994, this one requires just one signature. Only mine. Before I was the co-borrower, always the second signer. I miss Steve's inscrutable scribble at the bottom of every page. (He walked me through the progression of his signature on our first date on July 4, 1992, after he signed the credit card receipt at dinner.)
- Compiling the necessary paperwork for a post-2008 home mortgage is a lot of work. It's the kind of work that Steve and I would have shared. I should add that (1) it was miraculous that I was able to locate our original survey from 2002 and (2) I am thankful that my CPA keeps good records.
- Big financial decisions were shared decisions in our marriage. I miss the ongoing discussions we would have about our goals and the future.
I do take comfort in knowing that I'm capable of these decisions on my own and that Steve would be proud of me.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Identity
A few weeks after Steve died, I met with our financial planner.
My financial goals as a single, widowed mom were drastically different than the first time Steve and I met with our planner. Back then, we were focused on college planning and retirement. In late 2009, I was focused on survival, with enough left over for college and retirement.
As part of that 2009 meeting, our planner asked how I wanted to be remembered.
I cried. "As a good wife and a good mom." Saying that out loud made me realize that one of the roles I'd treasured so much -- wife of Steve Damm -- was trapped in time. Not gone, of course, but not exactly moving forward.
That meeting has been on my mind again lately. One, because today is our 18th wedding anniversary, and the weeks leading to it always make me remember 1994. How Steve moved to Lubbock so I could take a job at the Avalanche-Journal. How he couldn't find a professional job for the longest time and instead waited tables at Leal's. How we planned our simple wedding long distance. How very giddy we were, at the young ages of 25 (him) and 22 (me), to be husband and wife.
I've also been considering the "good wife and good mom" answer because of the Bible study I'm facilitating this summer. A group of friends and I gather every other Thursday night to discuss No Other Gods, a study by Kelly Minter.
Last week's session addressed identity. How do you see yourself? How does that identity -- or the pursuit of that identity -- control how you behave?
I thought about my Twitter profile, which reads: "Reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; freelance writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."
That's me in a nutshell, mostly.
But those things can be stripped away. I could lose my column. (I certainly hope I don't, but the newspaper industry is cruelly fickle these days.) All kinds of tragic events could rob me of my ability to move or read or write. (Again, I'm not expecting them, but then again we weren't expecting a malignant, inoperable brain tumor.)
My list doesn't include the one thing that no one or no thing can take away: I am a child of God. (So are you!)
When I reframe my identity to include "child of God," the other stuff flows from it. The 15 amazing years on earth with Steve Damm. Cooper and Katie, the incredible souls we were gifted with raising. My ability to organize, process and write. An innate need to help others. The ability to run, even if it's ungraceful and slow.
So I'm working on changing how I think about myself, not in a way that excludes everything I love but in a way that makes me feel more complete, even with Steve gone.
Today I rewrote my Twitter profile. It now reads: "Child of God; reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."
It's a tiny, superficial change that, with time, may help me continue to adjust to all of my other roles -- chosen and otherwise.
My financial goals as a single, widowed mom were drastically different than the first time Steve and I met with our planner. Back then, we were focused on college planning and retirement. In late 2009, I was focused on survival, with enough left over for college and retirement.
As part of that 2009 meeting, our planner asked how I wanted to be remembered.
I cried. "As a good wife and a good mom." Saying that out loud made me realize that one of the roles I'd treasured so much -- wife of Steve Damm -- was trapped in time. Not gone, of course, but not exactly moving forward.
That meeting has been on my mind again lately. One, because today is our 18th wedding anniversary, and the weeks leading to it always make me remember 1994. How Steve moved to Lubbock so I could take a job at the Avalanche-Journal. How he couldn't find a professional job for the longest time and instead waited tables at Leal's. How we planned our simple wedding long distance. How very giddy we were, at the young ages of 25 (him) and 22 (me), to be husband and wife.
I've also been considering the "good wife and good mom" answer because of the Bible study I'm facilitating this summer. A group of friends and I gather every other Thursday night to discuss No Other Gods, a study by Kelly Minter.
Last week's session addressed identity. How do you see yourself? How does that identity -- or the pursuit of that identity -- control how you behave?
I thought about my Twitter profile, which reads: "Reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; freelance writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."
That's me in a nutshell, mostly.
But those things can be stripped away. I could lose my column. (I certainly hope I don't, but the newspaper industry is cruelly fickle these days.) All kinds of tragic events could rob me of my ability to move or read or write. (Again, I'm not expecting them, but then again we weren't expecting a malignant, inoperable brain tumor.)
My list doesn't include the one thing that no one or no thing can take away: I am a child of God. (So are you!)
When I reframe my identity to include "child of God," the other stuff flows from it. The 15 amazing years on earth with Steve Damm. Cooper and Katie, the incredible souls we were gifted with raising. My ability to organize, process and write. An innate need to help others. The ability to run, even if it's ungraceful and slow.
So I'm working on changing how I think about myself, not in a way that excludes everything I love but in a way that makes me feel more complete, even with Steve gone.
Today I rewrote my Twitter profile. It now reads: "Child of God; reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."
It's a tiny, superficial change that, with time, may help me continue to adjust to all of my other roles -- chosen and otherwise.
 |
| Image courtesy of Melissa Tarun, best friend since eighth grade |
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Caps for Sale
Last week Cooper and Katie participated in half-day camps at the private school attached to the church where I work.
They each had teachers they'd never met before and will likely never see again. So I was faced with the big question: Do I tell their teachers about Steve or let it go?
I decided to let it go. For Cooper, it's rarely an issue. He's less likely to talk about Steve, and at almost 11 he's a capable spokesman and advocate.
For Katie it's tricky because so much of life around her reminds her of Steve, and she's eager to share. But Katie would spend only 15 hours in the class, and her teacher had her hands full with 12 new students, and sometimes I just want to appear, well, normal, I guess.
Katie's camp was "Imagination at Play," and every day there was a different theme around which crafts, snacks, books and games were centered. Teddy bears on Monday, bugs on Tuesday, pajamas/camping on Wednesday, monkeys on Thursday, beach on Friday.
On Thursday, Katie's very kind teacher pulled out Caps for Sale to read to the group.
Katie interrupted before she could begin. (This is the moment when the teacher may have preferred I say something in advance.)
She said something like, "This story is good but it makes me a little sad. My Daddy used to read it to me almost every day. And he died."
The teacher told Katie that she was very sorry. She led the class through a prayer for Katie. And with Katie's permission, she read the story.
Katie, just 7 and a day, proved herself a capable spokeswoman and advocate. I asked her after the fact if she would have preferred I have said something to her teacher in advance.
She shrugged her shoulders. "No, I didn't mind."
(I have not attempted to read that book aloud since the first time I tried after Steve's death. Katie reads it on her own now, whenever she chooses.)
They each had teachers they'd never met before and will likely never see again. So I was faced with the big question: Do I tell their teachers about Steve or let it go?
I decided to let it go. For Cooper, it's rarely an issue. He's less likely to talk about Steve, and at almost 11 he's a capable spokesman and advocate.
For Katie it's tricky because so much of life around her reminds her of Steve, and she's eager to share. But Katie would spend only 15 hours in the class, and her teacher had her hands full with 12 new students, and sometimes I just want to appear, well, normal, I guess.
Katie's camp was "Imagination at Play," and every day there was a different theme around which crafts, snacks, books and games were centered. Teddy bears on Monday, bugs on Tuesday, pajamas/camping on Wednesday, monkeys on Thursday, beach on Friday.
On Thursday, Katie's very kind teacher pulled out Caps for Sale to read to the group.
Katie interrupted before she could begin. (This is the moment when the teacher may have preferred I say something in advance.)She said something like, "This story is good but it makes me a little sad. My Daddy used to read it to me almost every day. And he died."
The teacher told Katie that she was very sorry. She led the class through a prayer for Katie. And with Katie's permission, she read the story.
Katie, just 7 and a day, proved herself a capable spokeswoman and advocate. I asked her after the fact if she would have preferred I have said something to her teacher in advance.
She shrugged her shoulders. "No, I didn't mind."
(I have not attempted to read that book aloud since the first time I tried after Steve's death. Katie reads it on her own now, whenever she chooses.)
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Father's Day presence
Katie's birthday falls within a week of Father's Day every year. This is a good thing, as we're so wrapped up in celebrating her special day we don't wallow in missing Steve. (Really, we don't often wallow. But it's kind of a fun word to say.)
Today, for the first time since 2006, I hosted a child's birthday party at the house. The last one was Cooper's fifth birthday, a big shindig with adults and children; we grilled out back and entertained for hours. One of my favorite photos of the four of us was taken by Betty on the front porch that day.
Six sweet girls came over to help celebrate Katie turning 7. (In years past, I would have invited more, but my re-entry into birthday parties at home necessitated a small crowd.) The theme was loosely based on one of Katie's favorite book characters, Junie B. Jones.
I wallowed a little bit this morning as I was baking Katie's cake (lemon because Junie B.'s favorite dessert is lemon pie, and Katie thought lemon cake was close enough), wishing that Steve were here to take over for frosting and decorating the cake. It was one of his great hidden talents, honed by years of practice at the Ann Arbor Baskin-Robbins.
I didn't attempt anything fancy -- just a plainly frosted cake with whimsical candles as chosen by Katie.
Even without an expertly decorated cake, Steve's presence was part of Katie's celebration. As I often do on special days, I wore Steve's wedding band on my right hand. We set out the special Steve candle for the party, and I lit it when I lit Katie's cake candles.
And when Katie laughed, she laughed with the same gusto and wild abandon that her Daddy was known for.
Today, for the first time since 2006, I hosted a child's birthday party at the house. The last one was Cooper's fifth birthday, a big shindig with adults and children; we grilled out back and entertained for hours. One of my favorite photos of the four of us was taken by Betty on the front porch that day.
 |
| July 2006 |
I wallowed a little bit this morning as I was baking Katie's cake (lemon because Junie B.'s favorite dessert is lemon pie, and Katie thought lemon cake was close enough), wishing that Steve were here to take over for frosting and decorating the cake. It was one of his great hidden talents, honed by years of practice at the Ann Arbor Baskin-Robbins.
I didn't attempt anything fancy -- just a plainly frosted cake with whimsical candles as chosen by Katie.
 |
| Katie before the party, with cake and Steve candle |
 |
| Tyra and Katie (If you look closely, you can spy that July 2006 photo on the mantel.) |
 |
| Katie blows out seven candles plus the Steve candle. |
 |
| Katie's laugh is contagious.
(Big thanks to Betty, who cooked and served dinner, including spaghetti and meatballs -- Junie B.'s favorite meal. And to Liz, who made Katie a fresh lei to wear -- in honor of Junie B.'s trip to Hawaii -- and helped the craft table run smoothly. And to Naida who stayed and helped, too.)
|
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
There's no handbook
There's no handbook on how to handle some of the situations Cooper, Katie and I encounter in life without Steve.
A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker at my new job emailed me to ask for my address and my husband's name. (She's getting married soon.)
I wrote back with my home address and my best attempt at a lighthearted way to address the Steve issue. Something like:
My sweet husband's name is Steve, but he passed away in 2009. He no longer receives regular mail. =)
I thought the smiley face might soften the news a little. And I think Steve would have appreciated the "regular mail" bit.
Last week a few friends came over to help empty contents of three rooms. (Remember the February 2012 flood? We had carpet replaced in all the affected rooms. That carpet was defective. It had to be replaced, which meant we had to move everything out again. I have good friends.)
One friend's son, who we've known for a couple of years, definitely post-2009, wandered around the house for a bit before asking Katie, "Where's your Dad?"
"He's in heaven," she said, barely moving her eyes from a Crashbox episode on television.
Our little friend was incredulous. He looked to me for confirmation. I told him that Cooper and Katie's dad had died, sadly, and that he is in heaven.
Yesterday another co-worker and I were walking together. She asked about Cooper and Katie's camps this week. Cooper is at a science and engineering day camp; Katie is at a creative problem solving program. This led her to ask about their interest in science and math, which led her to ask about my husband.
"What does your husband do?" she asked.
"He passed away about three years ago," I said, feeling terrible that I'm having to tell her this news, knowing that it's going to make her uncomfortable even though I'm not at all uncomfortable talking about Steve. "He was a hospital administrator with an English literature degree who was really creative and really good at math and science."
This is the truth: I am thankful that Cooper and Katie aren't known to everyone as the kids whose dad died. I am thankful that I'm not instantly recognized as a young widow. I am thankful that we have not stopped growing, laughing and living because Steve died.
But every now and then I sort of wish that someone would circulate a memo in advance of meeting us -- just to ease the discomfort for the other folks.
What would be even better: Steve here with his witty lines and sarcastic, slightly self-deprecating humor. If only he could coach me.
=)
A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker at my new job emailed me to ask for my address and my husband's name. (She's getting married soon.)
I wrote back with my home address and my best attempt at a lighthearted way to address the Steve issue. Something like:
My sweet husband's name is Steve, but he passed away in 2009. He no longer receives regular mail. =)
I thought the smiley face might soften the news a little. And I think Steve would have appreciated the "regular mail" bit.
Last week a few friends came over to help empty contents of three rooms. (Remember the February 2012 flood? We had carpet replaced in all the affected rooms. That carpet was defective. It had to be replaced, which meant we had to move everything out again. I have good friends.)
One friend's son, who we've known for a couple of years, definitely post-2009, wandered around the house for a bit before asking Katie, "Where's your Dad?"
"He's in heaven," she said, barely moving her eyes from a Crashbox episode on television.
Our little friend was incredulous. He looked to me for confirmation. I told him that Cooper and Katie's dad had died, sadly, and that he is in heaven.
Yesterday another co-worker and I were walking together. She asked about Cooper and Katie's camps this week. Cooper is at a science and engineering day camp; Katie is at a creative problem solving program. This led her to ask about their interest in science and math, which led her to ask about my husband.
"What does your husband do?" she asked.
"He passed away about three years ago," I said, feeling terrible that I'm having to tell her this news, knowing that it's going to make her uncomfortable even though I'm not at all uncomfortable talking about Steve. "He was a hospital administrator with an English literature degree who was really creative and really good at math and science."
This is the truth: I am thankful that Cooper and Katie aren't known to everyone as the kids whose dad died. I am thankful that I'm not instantly recognized as a young widow. I am thankful that we have not stopped growing, laughing and living because Steve died.
But every now and then I sort of wish that someone would circulate a memo in advance of meeting us -- just to ease the discomfort for the other folks.
What would be even better: Steve here with his witty lines and sarcastic, slightly self-deprecating humor. If only he could coach me.
=)
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Third-annual Stephen Damm Memorial Award
Last night I helped to present the Stephen Damm Memorial Award to Dr. Lauren Phillips, a graduating resident in the UT-Southwestern neurology and neurotherapeutics program.
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| Dr. Lauren Phillips |
Back in 2009, our friend Dr. Shilpa Chitnis worked to have the award created. She and her husband generously fund the cash stipend.
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| Liz was my guest at the graduation dinner and took this photo of me and Shilpa during the presentation. |
I continue to be inspired by Steve's legacy. He's one of my heroes, too. And, gracious, I wish he were here. Can you imagine how tickled he'd be by an award in his name for such a noble cause? He'd also get a kick out of the endearing, quirky sense of humor on display when a bunch of neurologists are gathered.
(You can read about the 2010 award here and the 2011 award here.)
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