death – kelly hogaboom

laid to rest

July 2, 2017

by kellyhogaboom dailies

It’s been a long day and I’m slipping off my shoes to do some yoga when my son opens the front door. “Mom,” he says, his voice breaking. “We found a dead kitten!” His face is flushed and his words constricted. I stand up and he folds himself into my arms. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I tell him. Momentarily forgetting my desire to forever eschew that word.

His friend, a boy a few years younger, is watching us closely. I ask Nels, “Should we bury it?” He has calmed almost immediately, needing from me only solace and strength, which is something I am so glad I can provide. It is in these moments where we don’t seek to change our kid or manipulate him but simply to be witness. A very precious, and very special, and very important moment. I suppose it is my mindfulness all these years that has helped my son grow into a child who cares about such things.

I am tired but I put my shoes back on, don a hoodie. The other boy’s brother joins us and we head down the hill; I bring the dog so he gets to stretch his legs.

The job is not pleasant. The feline is on the sidewalk in full view of passing foot and vehicular traffic, but has been left to rot for days. We have a large snow shovel to carry the remains, and a ridiculously small one to dig. We grimly march down the path; I am reminded that many years ago I had wanted to pursue forensic pathology but my sensitivity to the smell of rot and decay queered the deal. I am the grownup here today so I have to keep my chin up and be very matter-of-fact, although truthfully the whole business makes me sad. Who left this little baby all alone to just rot, without a word of kindness?

The other two boys with us, are interested in every detail of the process. A few minutes into our burial the older one ventures back home for shoes (he’d made the trek down the hill in sock feet). The other pulls up the legs of his trousers and does another jig, “We’re going to a funeral!” he sings a made-up tune. He wants to build a cross for the grave.

The job gets done one way or another and I am home to take a hot shower and to dress in bedclothes and fold myself under the blankets. It’s the loneliest thing thinking of burial, but it is worse to think of some creature forgotten and unloved, without even a word or prayer said.

scuffing one’s toe at the abyss

May 11, 2016

by kellyhogaboom dailies

Today my lithotripsy procedure was moved up a few hours. As it worked out, the family and friend who’d planned to accompany me – to give me moral support and to drive me home – weren’t able to be there. I got to check in alone, fill out paperwork alone, receive my IV alone, and be wheeled into general anesthesia without saying goodbye to anyone.

It suited me, to be honest.

Illness, accident, and then death: they come for us all. When I arrived at the hospital I parked my car in the sunshine and looked out over my beloved Aberdeen. Any time could be one’s last; I suppose when heading off for a drug-induced near-death sleep, it’s as good a time as any to appreciate these sorts of experiences. I wouldn’t want anything different. I am happy with what I have.

But of course – I woke again, and lived to see another day.

And now that I’m home, and the house is quiet, I’m thinking on how quickly life changes. We have yet another mama kitty here in our home, with her five (thankfully healthy) little two-week old kittens. My children are navigating teen- and preteen-life and there have been a few surprises: some pleasant, and some less so. My halftime job is heading into a period of intensity: Friday, a man screamed at me on the phone, for no other reason than he is a very unhappy human being and he thinks abusing a woman in the clerical field will make him feel better.

A friend of mine passed, suddenly, on April 27th. My heart still hurts over this one. Thanks to the internet, and a passionate community of friends, I have been able to trade stories, to see old photos, and to process the grief. It is a welcome experience. I need people. Maybe on the terms that suit me best, but I need them all the same.

Then home. And housework, laundry, filing papers, paying bills. And kitten handling and maintenance. Life’s a full time job!

on an uncharted atoll in the Pacific!

January 16, 2014

by kellyhogaboom dailies

My daughter glides in the door and puts her arms around me. “How are you?” she asks, and she means it. Maybe no one is as kind, considerate, and loving as this child.

Sometimes I think she’s this way (in part) because of the effort I have put into being a good mother. Sometimes I think she’s this way (in part) because of all the mistakes I’ve made.

Sometimes I know I need to love her fierce while she’s here, and just be thankful.

My daughter shares her private life with me – so far, just me! – and this is truly incredible. I treasure her trust, and her disclosures, more than I can say. I am humbled, honored, and glad. She’s going through Big Stuff right now and I know lots of her peers and classmates are going through The Shit, so. I am glad she thinks I’m safe.

So she asks me How Are You and the truth is, I am still tired and I’ve been tired a little while. I’ve had my ass handed to me by a fatigue that doesn’t make sense. Kidneys, maybe? I don’t know. I’m not anemic; today’s blood donation (re-)assured me on this. I can’t afford doctor care right now but if and when things settle down a bit I will make a move in that direction. For now: chin up. Drink water. Try: patience. Today I read a tweet online, an actress ran her first twelve miles and was ecstatic – I feel (a rare and) strangled kind of envy. I would love something different than what I have.

Actor Russell Johnson passed today; my fellow B-moviephile and author Scott wrote up a post and I had a nostalgic smile over last March’s Attack Of The Crab Monsters embroidery project. I haven’t sewn, not a lick, in about two weeks – which for me, is a Forever. If I had food in the pantry and gas in the car I could sew maybe, but even then I’d have to feel less tired.

Times like this I have to practice my patience. That kind of earth-shattering, centered bit of patience. Maybe things will get better; no matter what, I know they will Change.

blank sky

November 27, 2013

by kellyhogaboom dailies

My son is awake and he’s making soft chirping sounds. Singing to himself in the bed. He says, “Cuddle me,” and I lay down next to him. He says, “I need love. Your job is to give me love.” He’s safe and every day each day that is all that matters.

Ralph is making up coffee, hot coffee. We have good coffee no matter what, well most days. Grandfather: gone. Family: best not to talk too much about that. Thanksgiving: cancelled. But I have a home of my own and children and a partner and wee pets who count on us. Our rabbit greedily eats the beet-peelings from the night before. He knocks a parsnip top out my hand when I offer it to him!

My daughter is home from school. She’s dead-tired. She writes on her whiteboard outside her room:

KEEP OUT
unless you’re Kelly Hogaboom
Plan: take a nap / be miserable

Ralph is worried but I tell him this is a Good Thing, she has boundaries. And she knows what she needs.

I am off to do the Wednesday thing I do. People who don’t get to be with their families for Thanksgiving; who get to be lonely and in a dark place. Some of them have no hope. I can offer that if they can listen.

I am two years six months sober today and every day is a gift.

small stone #24
Nothing goes
like it’s expected to.

small stone #25
cold cold cold
the car is cold
Your hands are warm.

so i made this awesome pair of wool sweater pants, colorway=mustard

November 21, 2013

by kellyhogaboom dailies

My mom, son and I are in the car and there’s some tension. Difficult subject matter. Not even something I’ve written about in this space. OTHER, difficult, stuff. My son and my mother are ganging up on me. I’ m not too upset. But, I gotta remember to take those deep breaths.

We’re bringing a plate of barbecue dinner to a friend. “How did you rate?” my mom asks my friend as we pull up to the coffeestand window to make the delivery. What my mom means is, What Did My Friend Do to deserve my homecooking.

My mom doesn’t like to cook and shop much any more. She likes to spend time with my kids, and putter about her house painting. She is like a little hobbit in there, although she ventures out to eat at the pub or go to the hardware store. We try to bring my mom a plate of dinner a few times a week. A few days ago: a delicious chili flavored with too much tabasco, deliciously piquant. To compensate for the heat: a cornbread sweet enough to be cake.

I’m thinking about my mom because she’s about to go through some rough stuff. Her father lies in a hospital, languishing. He’s probably going to go home for hospice care. It probably won’t be long. I know my mom can afford to get down there and I’m pretty sure she’ll go. I wish I could be there too. In fact it hurts not to be able to go. I like to be there for the big stuff, if people let me. I try not to think about the fact I won’t be there. It is too painful to think about.

My grandpa used to call me “Rotten Peach”. He brings it up whenever I see him.

Life goes on. Scrubbing pots and pans and making hot coffee. We let Bun-Bun the rabbit out most times we are home. He is a MANIAC, I am not even kidding that all he wants to do is eat treats. He has his regular food but he comes crashing into the kitchen and will straight-up jump directly into the garbage can to find delicious things. He is a monster and I am not joking. I hold him against my chest and put my face in his fur and feel like crying. He is so perfect and soft and smells so lovely and is such a peaceable thing.

Tomorrow we’ve a series of appointments – then Nels and I are heading out to Phoenix’s school to cook bread pudding with the kids at Phee’s school.

Life is a little sharp around the edges but I take a lot of comfort in participating in the human race.

“life’s a bitch at it’s best”

August 10, 2013

by kellyhogaboom dailies

I just found out my friend Sandy died yesterday. A moment where I hear the news and I can’t hear anything else for a couple minutes.

I am Okay. Mostly I am having a painful but sweet experience of pure love… the grief is inseparable from the gratitude. She was a wonderful woman – I’d mentioned her only a few days ago, because she was/is tough as fuck and taught/teaches me to be grateful and to keep things in perspective. She was fucking BAD-ass. I learned a lot of wisdom from her – including what’s quoted in this post title.

Sandy wasn’t just a friend, she was a mentor to me and the first mentor I’ve lost since I got sober. She pointed at me the other day in a room full of people and called me a Miracle. And yeah, that was really nice to hear because coming from her, I know it’s truth.

Loss isn’t so bad, not if we appreciate things while we have them. Sandy is another example of how this is true. I expressed my love to her freely and she knew I loved her, and I knew she loved me. I will be at her memorial service.

I am sitting quietly with this loss. We’ll see where it goes.

you know our kids are huge now but still curl up on our laps, at home & in public

June 17, 2012

by kellyhogaboom dailies

There is something indefatigable about an intimate family life, something most beautiful when things are darkest, or most absurd. It’s like, the cynic in me, the girl-then-woman raised in a “militant agnostic” home (my father, anyway), some of the reasons I’ve written here for years is an attempt to communicate what it’s like to live my experience. The more I’ve written, the easier it flows, and the happier I feel. I mean often I don’t even think how valuable or interesting this might be to others, I’m just compelled to try to tell you about it if you want to read. I think there’s a lot to gain in relating to one another.

But yeah, there are these great moments in a family that are kind of … terrible moments. Like yesterday while we drove out to a birthday party, with three kids packed in the back of the car, one kid holding a cake and another a cat in a carrier (for a “pet show” of sorts), and suddenly the cat starts puking. Like you can really hear the chunkage, back there. And then there’s this sudden silence from three previously-rowdy kids and my daughter silently rolls down the window and somberly says, “You in the front: you’re lucky.” I mean I felt terrible for my kitty – who ceased vomiting upon arrival, only hours later to start up again as soon as we got back in the car – but it was one of those deliciously ridiculous FAILmoments that is best experienced with those you love, love, love.

Cake and birthday wishes. An honor to share them with others:

“Pet contest”, Harris was given special consideration for his sadness. Those are my two kids at left in the eared-hats.

Life has been lovely the last couple days. Today I’m having another painful series of episodes with my kidneys. That is never encouraging. I have accepted my illness in full (except for one nagging caveat, see below), and I am grateful for these repeated bouts of pain as they have taught me a great deal about acceptance. These experiences have also taught me a great deal about unconditional love, to wit: I receive it from many of my friends, and all of those in my close family.

Having this ailment has taught me a lot about humility.

I know it seems like I wouldn’t have anything good to say about a supposedly zero-sum illness, but I do. Still, sometimes the remnants of denial rear their head. I keep thinking, Why me? (not out of self-pity, just a genuine bit of confusion), or thinking, any minute I’ll be “cured” and this won’t be happening any more. Still, these are only blips on my radar, persistant as they are. To the extent I am serene and genuinely grateful through such a puzzling experience, I can put that at the feet of first my alcoholism and then my resultant experience in Recovery.

I know I’m going to learn more about why I’m sick in this way – if not the nuts and bolts or a scientific explanation – and one day I’ll be able to tell you, Why Me.

***

By the way. In honor of Father’s day I’m re-linking a couple posts about my father’s influence on my life (and my thoughts on his death), recent writings if you didn’t see them the first time around. If you have seen them, apologies for redundancy. I didn’t need to write another piece, so soon, and I didn’t make time to write one about Ralph or any other fathers in my life.

a funeral, sketchy tire shops

May 17, 2012

by kellyhogaboom dailies

I lie. The tire shop wasn’t sketchy. It was just a used tire shop, we’re bumped down from the days of Les Schwab and young handsome men running in slow motion out to the car.

I should say, our finances are, though. Sketchy. We’re scraping by to afford our little conference trip. And in the last couple days we’ve had to “emergency” surgery a cat, then “emergency” replace tires that were sprouting a crop of wire. I use the air dick quotes because, I guess it was all emergency stuff. If we didn’t surgery the cat she could have fallen gravely ill (and she was in pain), and if we didn’t fix the tires, we could have crashed on the road. So, damn, kind of non-negotiable expenses.

The kitty is fine. She’s all stitched up and hopped up on kitty drugs. I’m very grateful for her recovery. She is very dear to us.

Nels, a funeral for a bird. He voiced a lovely and earnest and powerful prayer before we buried her.

In other news: cute husband, who has helped create cute daughter. They are dressed as nerds today, for some theme. It works.

I also gave blood (of course) and my daughter held my hand through it all. Later, Nels rode on the back of the bike and held the basket with my embroidery supplies, for the class I taught. It was fun stitching, and showing people how to do some simple things. One student was an eight year old girl and that was about a thousand percent awesome.

It was good stuff.

i immediately regret that decision

March 19, 2012

by kellyhogaboom dailies

My cat herd (shown here, 75%) fills me with occasional shame.

A tea party with Nels, including his St. Patrick’s Day ensemble. He is learning to make homemade chai (and teaching his grandmother); he insisted we share a mango as well. #lurve

Dear God, look how my son is growing.

Just so we’re clear, here is how old I picture Nels to be, in my mind’s eye:

OK.

***

A delicious Korean seaweed, given me by a friend. It doesn’t look like much different than typical nori from the supermarket but – wow. Nels and I fought over the last bit.

Phoenix. Being lovely.

I made deviled eggs for a friend today, and a couple for my mother as well. I speared each with a black olive and one tiny caper.

So yeah, things have been wonderful here. Today I got semi-acquainted with a local who’d found my blog and writings through an email link. We chatted back and forth a bit and she asked,

“How do you have time for your writing, sewing, husband, family and teaching … and yourself?”

You know what. I get this a lot. People who follow closely know I “do” less these days than I used to… but I guess I still “do”. I take only a minimum of time for myself, that is, time that is completely restful. A very minimum. Today I don’t feel guilty about this. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn a new trick.

Or maybe… not.

Thou high on the tips of branching boughs / I on the ground a-creeping!

February 22, 2012

by kellyhogaboom dailies

Today after coming home and starting dinner Nels runs in and excitedly reports Josie-kitty has a bat. Or a bird. “Or a moth,” my son adds after some consideration. “It’s shaggy,” he tells me. By the way his missing teeth means he has the best voice, and lisp, ever. “Moth” is “moff”. He has the most kissable little mouth and cheeks.

A minute later my feelings of fondness for my son evaporate as Josie is at the back door, desiring to come inside with her prize. Despite the limpness of the “shaggy” little finch in her mouth, wet and broken from the cat’s predation, to my horror I discover it is alive but very badly injured. The cat darts to and fro and clearly wants me to take her kill. I pick up the bird, who is barely moving and only giving a faint gasp now and then, and hold it under water in my sink to drown it. The pulse of the creature lasts a surprising time but it has nothing in itself to struggle. The kids watch intently and Phoenix says, “Mom, you’re crying.” Then: the creature is quiet in my hands. Faint as the gasp was, when life leaves it is obvious. I remember this vividly from watching my father die.

I feel worse about this than makes sense. Only a few seconds after death I think maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe I should’ve ignored the cat’s attempts inside and let the whole mess take place how it would. Maybe I should’ve taken the bird away and put it somewhere in a darkened shoebox to languish. I did what seemed most merciful at the moment but it didn’t feel good to commit murder.

A few minutes later the kids and I walk the delicate limp creature, wrapped in cotton – and we bury it in the muddy earth. We come inside and make an offering and have a moment of meditation and say a few words. The kids move on. I mostly have, too. Mostly.

I’m also feeling a bit sensitive as for the second time in the last week I talked with a young man in my volunteer work, an alcoholic and an addict. I meet new people in this avocation every week and it’s good work. But sometimes.

You know drugs and alcohol don’t ruin lives. Yes, the disease of addiction causes much suffering. But the lives in the rooms of Recovery aren’t “ruined”. No life is ruined. Even death has its place, although it is very sad to watch a manifestation as beautiful as a human being kill itself. There are so many, many ways to kill ourselves, and some people walk around doing it while they still have a pulse. We kill off ourselves with our Ego, with our addiction. It is breathtaking how many ways there are to do this. All of us are doing it all the time. I am mostly okay with all that – meaning I accept it as an aspect of reality.

But every now and then I run into someone who makes me hurt and I’ve not yet figured out how or why. I know with regards to this young man, although I am not quite old enough to be his mother, it is partly a maternal thing. He is a very beautiful young man, many tattoos, soulful eyes and the most precise manners, the most consideration and kindness. Maybe it’s because I’ve met young men like him before and it’s the sameness. Maybe because I anguish about all those Lost for so long. Why isn’t anyone there for them?

I don’t know why things hurt today, but they did. Really despite pain, I had a wonderful day though. I did my early housework with a great deal of contentment and joy. Then the kids and I were up and about, and they sat through half the meeting at the Treatment Center (usually they don’t, but they were rained out fo the park at first). After their park play we re-met and the three of us had a lovely lunch date. Later in the evening Ralph and I got to work on the house and the kids came in and out. Phoenix had gymnastics class and Nels’ BFF came over for him. It’s almost ten now, and we’re having a late dinner and movie night. Tomorrow I hope to get up to some of the last sewing I’ll be doing in this house. Unlike other times I’ve moved, I’ve felt a fondness and a serenity for the house we’re in these last few days, although I am very much looking forward to our move.

Life is good.