Summer reading: "Columbine" by Dave Cullen

One of the things I love most about vacation is long stretches of uninterrupted time to read. Books. At home, even when I have several days off in a row (as I did last week), I always have a million and one distractions (and a pile of unread magazines, which are the bane of dh's existence) to keep me occupied -- so my gargantuan "to read" pile of books is often sadly neglected, or at least very slow to diminish.

Happily, I managed to read FIVE (count 'em!) books in the two weeks I spent at my parents' house recently. And each one moved me to tears, at least once. Nearly all of them had some connection to grief and loss themes of some sort.

Every now & then, I like to dive into a good true crime tale. "Columbine" by Dave Cullen is one of the best I've read -- meticulously researched and highly readable. Cullen is a freelance journalist who has written extensively about the 1999 school shootings at Columbine High School in Colorado over the past 10 years. He delves into the teenaged killers' psyches, and traces their movements in the months, days and minutes leading up to their rampage, and their suicides. He shatters many of the myths that have sprung up around the tragedy and exposes how the local police knew much more than they let on about the killers prior to the event -- and tried to cover it up.

Grief & loss permeate the Columbine story. The different ways people grieve and how their stories have played out over the past 10 years, the role of the media in amplifying the grief felt -- even the disenfranchised grief of the killers' families -- are all explored here.

The character in the story who touched me (and, I suspect, the author) the most was the principal, Frank DeAngelis. The day after the tragedy, he was asked to speak at a gathering of more than 850 students and parents. He was uncertain of what to say, and feeling horrendously guilty that this had happened in his school. As he rose to take the microphone, the crowd leaped to its feet and began cheering wildly. He staggered, and broke down in sobs. I was in tears just reading about it, about his unwavering devotion to his students, and how the tragedy has affected his life over the past 10 years.

Columbine happened less than a year after my daughter was stillborn. One of my memories of that time was reading an opinion piece in the newspaper, in which the writer scorned the rush to provide students with grief counselling. I believe he suggested that the love & support of friends and family members should be sufficient to carry the bereaved through.

Maybe -- in a perfect world. To me, he was missing the point. It's often BECAUSE family members & friends don't understand what grieving people go through that grief counselling and support groups are so valuable. If it's not apparent immediately after the loss occurs, it often becomes so in the weeks & months that follow, as support dwindles and the bereaved are encouraged to "move on" with their lives.

Coming soon (I hope, lol): some thoughts on three other books I read during my vacation -- The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger; My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult and The Girls from Ames by Jeffrey Zaslow. And, on Aug. 17, another Barren B*tches Book Tour, featuring Moose by blogger Stephanie Klein, which was another of my vacation reads.

Oh, the irony -- Julia CHILD was childless

Dh & I went to see "Julie & Julia" this afternoon. You may have heard about this movie already: it intercuts between the stories of Julia Child (played by Meryl Streep -- did that woman ever find a voice or accent she couldn't do??), learning to cook & writing her famous cookbook while living in France in the 1950s with her diplomat husband, and Julie Powell (played by the adorable Amy Adams), a NYC would-be writer who decided to cook all 500+ recipes in Child's cookbook in 365 days as a 30th birthday project in 2002 -- and blog about it. (I found Powell's current blog online, here.)

The movie has lots to say about food, about writing, about friendships, about marriage, and about blogging. It was fun, as a blogger, to watch Julie & her husband, Eric, setting up her blog, her disappointment when the only comments she gets are from her unsupportive mother, her chagrin when she gets called on the carpet by her boss for her blogging activities, and her excitement when a New York Times article about her blog gets her phone ringing off the hook with calls from reporters and publishers.

The big revelation of the movie for me, though (spoiler alert!), was the fact that Julia Child -- who got married in her late 30s & was in her 40s when the movie takes place -- was childless. There's a moment, relatively early in the movie, where she & her husband are sitting on a park bench in Paris, & she pauses as she watches a mother wheel a stroller past her. It's such a brief moment that I wonder if anyone who hasn't dealt with infertility would notice it. (Dh did, & squeezed my hand.)

And there's a second moment, later on, when she receives a letter from her newly married (also no spring chicken) sister and learns that she's pregnant. She starts crying as she reads the letter to her husband. As he puts his arms around her, she sobs, "I'm really very happy for her." Several people in the audience laughed at that point (?!). I, of course, was in tears.

The loving relationship between Child & her husband Paul (played by Stanley Tucci) is what really makes the movie, I think. I'd read comments in the press before about how unique it is these days to see such a loving, SENSUAL relationship onscreen these days between two middle-aged people. And it's a great thing to witness -- particularly as one half of another 40 & 50-something, childless couple who are likewise devoted to one another. ; ) The theatre wasn't packed, but it was fuller than it usually is for a Saturday matinee, and many of the people were at least as old as dh & I, if not older. I remarked to dh that the last time we we were in such a packed theatre on a Sunday afternoon (even more so, actually) was for "Mamma Mia" (also starring Streep, as well Julie Walters and Christine Baranski), and the time before that, for "Calendar Girls" with Julie Walters and Helen Mirren. There is obviously an audience out there that wants to see movies with good stories about more mature characters, like themselves. (Hello, Hollywood??)

The slightly less idyllically depicted relationship between Julie & Eric is also part of the movie, of course. They don't have children either (yet?), but then of course, they're in their early 30s (give them time...). I keep going back to Julia & Paul, who both lived well into their 90s. Both Julie & Julia tackle their respective projects (Julie her blog, Julia her cooking & eventually her cookbook) as a way to give their lives focus and meaning -- but I keep thinking about how hard it must have been for Child, a childless woman in the 1950s (a time when married women were not expected and certainly not encouraged to work), trailing along after her diplomat husband from post to post, bouncing from French classes to hat-making lessons (!) and boring bridge clubs before finally finding her life's passion.

I picked up "Julie & Julia" the book at the bookstore after the movie, and will probably add Child's "My Life in France" to my reading pile as well.

Anyone else see the movie? Read the book?

Show & Tell: It came from the crawl space...

When my sister & (especially) I moved out of our parents' home, we left a ton of stuff behind.

In the summer of 1980, we were preparing to move out of the house we'd been living in for the past six years. I was home for the summer, working, after my first year at the University of Manitoba, & my sister was graduating from high school. Finding no houses they liked in the new town, my parents decided they would build a house.

My dad went on ahead to start his new job while my mother stayed behind with my sister & me to pack up & get us off to university. In late August, the moving van pulled up & took our things away to storage, & my mom drove my sister & me to our respective university residences, and then proceeded to live with my dad in a motel (with sanity-saving visits to my grandparents and other friends & relatives) for the next three-plus months, moving into the new house just before we arrived home for Christmas vacation.

My parents moved again, in the spring of 1984, just before I finished grad school. And they've been living in the same house ever since then -- 25 years. Their house is a split-level, built in the early 1980s. Beneath the upstairs bedrooms is a family room, bathroom & spare bedroom -- but below the main floor level, there is just a crawl space, about four feet high. That's where they store most of their "stuff" -- including some boxes that have not been opened since our move in 1980.

My mother has been complaining for years that she's getting too old (even though she's only 68) & creaky to be crawling around in the crawl space (although she recently got a small wheeled stool that helps immensely). Not to mention that all that stuff crammed down there, close to the furnace & hot water heater, is an enormous fire hazard (eek).

So, for several days during the past two weeks while I was visiting, my sister & I helped Mom haul dusty, musty boxes up from the basement and into the garage, and started going through them.

Oh. My. God.

I knew I was a packrat... but even I couldn't believe some of the stuff that we dug up. (Did we EVER throw anything out??)

Here's (some of) what it looked like in the garage while we were going through some of the boxes. (Some of the stuff in the background is normal garage clutter and did not come from the basement.) You can see my mom, sitting behind the table & in front of the refrigerator.

My sister kept insisting, "I've already gone through my stuff. That stuff there is all Lori's."

Well ha ha -- much to her surprise and chagrin, the first four boxes we brought up were all her stuff. ; )

But there was definitely stuff there that was mine -- stuff that I knew was there, but also stuff I had totally, completely forgotten about.

Like a stack of cheap, dime store scrapbooks, with bubblegum cards and posters from Tiger Beat and 16 magazines of the Partridge Family & Osmonds & Bay City Rollers scotch-taped inside. The scotch tape, of course, had totally lost any sticking power after 30-40 years, & everything fell out with each page that I turned. (I was a scrapbooker even then -- but obviously not an archivally safe one!)

Like an entire carton full of pristine Tiger Beat and 16 magazines from the 1970s. (I think we must have saved every issue we ever bought.) And another box full of somewhat musty comic books (mostly Archie & the gang) from the late 1960s & early 1970s, some of them priced at a mere 12 cents each (!). (Ditto.) We tossed the teen mags & told my mother she could try to sell the comics at her next garage sale, if she wanted.

Like ALL of the posters that hung on the walls of my university dorm rooms. Including a poster for a dance that Harlequin played at John Taylor Collegiate in Winnipeg in the early 1980s -- signed (personally, to me!) by all the band members! I have never set foot in JTC in my life. I have a hazy memory that someone knew I liked the band (they played at many of our high school and university residence dances before becoming rich & famous... well, about as rich & famous as a band from Winnipeg got in the early 1980s) & got their autographs for me, but I can't for the life of me remember who it was.

I saved that one, as well as the poster from the movie "Reds" (with Warren Beatty & Diane Keaton) which my friend Heather & I went to see on my 21st birthday (January 12, 1982) at the beautiful old (but now sadly abandoned) Metropolitan Theatre, across the street from Eatons department store (sadly gone; now the site of the MTS Centre) in downtown Winnipeg. (We both loved the movie & begged for the posters from the manager after the show.)

And a poster of Bruce Springsteen, which hung in dh's dorm room, the one year he attended U of M. I already knew him, but I was on his floor, visiting some guys I knew one day, poked my head in the open door & said, "Hey, who's the hunk up on your wall?" "That's Bruce Springsteen," he said, patiently (probably thinking, "duhhh..."). And that's when it all began. ; ) He gave the poster to me when he was leaving to head back to Toronto for the summer, & then off to grad school. Next time I go home, I'm bringing back a mailing tube (so that I can put it into my suitcase without crushing it) & I'm going to get a frame for it & put it up in our basement. : )

Like a whole banker's box full of notebooks and projects from my school years (as well as others from university). Before the 1980 move, my mom gave us each a box & told us any school stuff we wanted to keep had to fit inside one of those boxes. So we had already chucked a lot of stuff back then -- but yikes, there was still an awful lot of stuff there. I kept my very first Grade 1 reading workbook (Dick & Jane!!), all of my essays & a few other projects, and all the valentines I could find (yes, I still had all those too) that my grade school crush Kenny B. had given me ; ) -- but chucked everything else.

Needless to say, going through -- and dumping -- so much of my past was hard, and emotional. I always had visions of going through those boxes someday & showing this stuff to my kids.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

(Of course, who's to say they would have been interested anyway, right? They'd have just had to go through it all & dump it when I was gone.)

For some reason, I felt a particular pang looking through the Barbie dolls & clothes (some of them from the early 1960s -- vintage stuff, albeit well used and not in mint condition) that I shared with my sister. "I don't know if I'm ready to part with these yet," I told my mother. "What are you going to do with them?" she said. I left before we made any definitive decisions. I'm hoping she doesn't sell it all anyway.

The most emotional part for me, though, came when I opened one of the first boxes we brought up.

When I was pregnant, I had mentioned to my mother that I'd like to use my christening dress for my own baby's baptism, if I she could find it. (I'd seen it before and knew she'd saved it.) My daughter was stillborn long before we had to start planning a baptism, but I often wondered what had happened to the little white christening dress, and my baby book. At one point, my mom confessed to me that she hadn't seen them in years & was afraid they had gotten lost in the shuffle of one of our moves.

But, going through one of the boxes, my eye caught some labelling on the side. I delved down under a pile of old clothes. And came up with three small boxes. I immediately knew what they were, and ran into the house, in tears, to get my mother.

One box contained my baby book.

One box contained a little red & white sweater that one of my mother's high school girlfriends had knit for me when I was a toddler, with distinctive little buttons, shaped like an owl's face (which I vividly remember wearing).

And one box contained my christening outfit.

My christening dress (early 1960s style -- short and sheer over underslip -- sleeves frayed), & little white slippers with blue ribbon ties (badly yellowed).

Closeup of the little slippers.

A little embroidered bib stored in the same box.

(I wish I had a photo of me as a baby wearing the outfit that I could show you.) (There ARE photos; I just don't have any here in my immediate possession.)

We didn't get the entire crawl space cleared out (if that's even possible). And I know there is more of my stuff in the well-stuffed closet in the upstairs bedroom that was briefly mine (for the nine months, post-grad & pre-wedding, that I lived with my parents). Including the pale blue gown that I bought for my high school graduation at Polo Park in Winnipeg for the princely sum of $65 -- the most expensive dress I had ever owned up to that time -- and only wore that one time. And the hideous long blue gown that I sewed myself as a 4-H project for my Grade 9 junior high graduation (probably the last garment that I ever sewed, come to think of it). And the coral pink dress with the white crossstitch embroidery on the sleeves, neckline and pockets that I had made for a year-end Grade 8 home ec project. (I found the accompanying notes for the dress while going through my old school stuff, and the teacher's marks and comments. I got an A+.) I know my old diaries are all in a box there (eek), & all my Bay City Rollers memorabilia, including a big box of letters from some of the penpals I had back then.

But we did tackle a huge chunk of it, and get rid of a whole lot of paper. There is no curbside recycling in my parents' town, so we had to take everything to the recycling depot uptown. We made at least three trips with the trunk & backseat of my mom's car fully loaded.

Of what we went through, I managed to whittle down what I wanted to keep into one box (which my parents will keep, for now). I'm hoping that someday, they will come out here by car again, or dh & I will make the car trip ourselves, & bring some boxes back with us. It's at least a 30 hour drive, going straight through. But with me not driving and dh not having much experience as a long distance driver, it would take us at least three or four days to drive there. One way. So, because our vacation time is short & precious to us, we have always flown. My mother insists that dh must make that trip someday, so that he can see just how far away he has taken me!

I have one or two other (fun) items that I photographed that I hope to share with you all in a future Show & Tell. : ) Meanwhile, hop over to the master list on Melissa's blog to check out what others are showing & telling this week.

And if you didn't see it on last week's Show & Tell, check out the video of Melissa's keynote reading at BlogHer of one of her most memorable posts. Reading the words onscreen was priceless; but to listen to her read it, live, and hear the audience reaction, will have tears running down your face. First, she touches your funnybone; then, she touches your heart.

Eleven years

Eleven years ago today -- which was also a Wednesday -- the road I was travelling on -- toward the family we had waited so long for, we thought -- took another surprising turn. Six months pregnant, I went to my ob-gyn's for my monthly checkup, only to learn that my baby girl's heart had stopped beating.

Two days later, I went to the hospital to be induced, but learned I was already in labour. I delivered my tiny daughter -- our first and only child -- later that evening. The photo here is one of the six Polaroids (now scanned) the nurses took that night. (Combing my hair was obviously not a priority at that monent.)

I'm at home this week. The "anniversary" dates were one reason why I decided to extend my vacation for a third week, particularly when I realized the dates fell on Wednesday & Friday again. Some years, I am OK & hardly even cry at all. Other years, I'm not. The problem being that I never know exactly how I will feel until the day arrives. So if August 5th &/or 7th don't fall on a weekend, I will usually try to take at least one of those days off. (If it's not possible, I slog through as best I can.)

Last year, being that milestone 10 year mark, was very difficult. I retold the entire story of my pregnancy from start to finish on my blog in minute detail (you can find those posts under "1998 memories" in the "Labels" section in the sidebar at right), and felt like I was reliving it all as I wrote.

This year will be different, I think. (I hope.) It was actually a bit of a shock to return home from vacationing at my parents' & realize with a start, "Eeek, it's this week!" I knew it was coming, of course, but it kind of crept up on me -- especially being on vacation the past two weeks & having only a hazy idea of exactly what day it was.

I am actually heading out to lunch today with a friend/retired coworker -- whose birthday is also August 7th (and who is also childless, although she is a stepmother & grandmother via her ex-husband and current longtime partner). She's been a big support to me over the years when it comes to Katie, so if I want to talk about my daughter at all, I know she'll be up for it.

Friday after dh gets home from work, he & I will visit the cemetery with some pink roses, & then order in Chinese food for dinner, as is our tradition. And so long as I have some time on one of these two days to go through Katie's box of things & spend some "quality time" thinking about her, I think I will be OK. After all, she is with me, and I think of her (and miss her), every single day.

By most measures, I have a good life today, on this road less travelled. But I can't help but think and wonder about the life I might have had with my little girl, on the road that ended so abruptly in August 1998. :(

Grandparents grieve too

In the spare bedroom at my parents' house, where dh & I sleep when we visit, there is a small wooden chest that my dad won in a raffle at a Ducks Unlimited banquet. It appeared there a few years ago, and I had a suspicion about what it was for and what it was doing in "my" bedroom. I peeked inside & saw something fuzzy & white.

When I was pregnant, my mom told me she saw the cutest little bunting bag/snowsuit on sale at a great price & bought it for my baby. I knew she had bought other stuff for the baby, and that some of her friends & neighbours had given her baby gifts to pass along, too. I had never seen any of these things, but I knew right away when I peeked inside that the "something fuzzy & white" was the bunting bag. I poked around a little & there are other baby things inside. Some outfits, some knitted items, a "Bunnykins" bowl and cup.

My first inclination was, "Hey, this is MINE!"

But on second thought, I realized that I have a box of Katie's things at home already. Why shouldn't my mother have a few mementos of her only grandchild too? They will all come to me, eventually.

I've never gone through the chest thoroughly, or really talked about it with Mom. Right after Katie was stillborn, I can remember sitting at my kitchen table with her, & how she wiped her eyes & said sadly, "Someday, I'll show you all the little things I bought."

I suppose she was hoping those things would be used by another grandchild someday. Sorry, Mom. :(

I'm still hoping she will sit down with me someday & show me those things, & tell me what came from whom. I know she said that her neighbour (who hosted a bridal shower for me) had knit something. She's gone now, & I would love to see her handiwork.

Someday.

*** *** ***

Mom went to her 50th class reunion just before dh & I got there, in the same little Minnesota town where she (and nearly all of her classmates) was born, grew up & graduated. They've been having reunions every five years since then (my observation as a Canadian is that Americans are much more enthusiastic about these sorts of things) -- but 50, of course, is a big one, and Mom & several of her friends have spent months coordinating all the details. About 28 of her 41 classmates were on hand (a half dozen have already died).

The organizers put together a booklet with contact info & updates on what everyone has been doing since 1959. There was a place to list family members, and I winced as I noticed how many of Mom's friends had grandchildren (& even great-grandchildren!) listed, and raved in their writeups about how much they were enjoying spending time with them.

Sorry, Mom (again). :(

*** *** ***

While I was home, my mom was on the phone with my uncle (her brother) & his wife. She was talking about how busy they'd been, and will be -- they're heading west to one of my cousins' weddings in a couple of weeks, and from there to the west coast to visit my mother's own ailing cousin.

My uncle & aunt are very involved with their grandchildren & great-grandchildren -- and my mom said later that my aunt made a comment to the effect of, "Well, it must be nice, you can just pick up & go." Mom replied that well, it's kind of hard to do that in the summer, because there's always so much yardwork & gardening to take care of (they have a big yard & they are very meticulous about mowing & weeding, etc.).

When she hung up, and began recapping the conversation to the rest of us, she mentioned this & then added in annoyance, "Just because we don't have grandchildren to babysit and chauffeur to soccer games... it doesn't mean we're not busy & don't have responsibilities and things to do!"

My first (private) reaction: "OUCH. Gee, thanks, Mom." :(

My second reaction: "Hey, welcome to the club, Mom!" How many times have people said or hinted to me &/or dh about how much free time, money, flexibility, etc., we must have (because we don't have kids)??

It may be true, of course. But what wouldn't we have given for a few more kids and a little less free time & money in our lives?

Enquiring minds want to know...

OK, here's a (potentially) dumb question for you, inspired by a conversation I had with dh this afternoon while listening to (& singing along with) "Hey Jude" on the classic rock radio station we listen to. When I was in jr high (back in the mid-70s), "Hey Jude" by the Beatles was always the last song played at every school dance I ever went to. As soon as you heard Paul sing "Hey Jude..." you knew the night was over.

In high school, we "graduated" to "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin, lol.

What was the unofficial "last dance" song when you went to high school? Were there regional variations??

And what's the last song played at high school dances these days? (IS there an unofficial "last dance" song these days?) Anyone have teenagers in their life and know? (I'm going to try to remember to ask our nephew, next time we see him.)

I'm baaaaaack....

(Umm... you DID notice I was gone... didn't you??)

I've been away for the past two weeks, visiting my parents. Happily, although dh is heading back to work tomorrow (today is a civic holiday in Ontario, and many other Canadian provinces), I have another week of vacation still to go. : ) By the time I head back to work on Aug. 11th, I will have been away three (count 'em) weeks.

As I tell everyone, I can't remember the last time I had three weeks off in a row. Actually I do remember -- I was off work for eight weeks after Katie was stillborn, 11 (eek) years ago this very week. But I don't consider that time as "vacation." (Although some people apparently do. Dh took three weeks off -- we originally had two of them scheduled as vacation. When he returned to work, he was told bereavement leave was officially three days, but they would let him take a week... the two weeks of vacation would still count as vacation. Some "vacation," huh??)

I am hoping to get some cleaning/organizing done around the house, indulge a day or two in some scrapbooking, and perhaps do a blog cleanup (my blogroll & some of the links in the sidebar are sadly outdated). And catch up on some blog writing, reading and commenting. My parents have a computer & Internet access, and while I tried to do a little reading & commenting every day, I was forever being interrupted ("Turn that noisy computer off, your father is trying to nap"... "You spend too much time on that thing"... "Would you come help me with..." etc. etc.) I currently have more than 400 unread posts in my reader, and try as I might while I was away, I never managed to get it down to fewer than 200.

Watch for potential upcoming posts on the following topics (among others):

• my mother, her recent 50th class reunion & her sarcastic comment after a phone conversation with my uncle;
• cleaning out the crawl space (well, a big chunk of it, anyway) under my parents' house and the treasures (& junk) we found;
• Katie's upcoming "anniversary" dates later this week;
• assorted great articles that I've read & thought "I should blog about that;"
• the five (count 'em!) books I read in the two weeks I was away (including "Moose" by Stephanie Klein, the next Barren B*tches Book Tour selection).

More to come soon...