I stare into the skies, the ocean, the hills, the trees …searching for you.

Searching for a sign that you are there.

That you are here.

That you see me.

That you hear me.

That you are still a part of me.

And then…you are in my dream.

You are in my heart.

You are mine. I am yours.

Forever.

I don’t think the grief that I’m experiencing is the same emotion that Charlie Brown was talking about as he navigated his relationships with his friends. Is there a “good grief“? I’m trying to figure it out.

I’ve been experiencing grief in a way that I never expected. And there is no handbook to prepare me. Actually, I never thought I’d need a handbook for this grief – the grief of the sudden death of our firstborn, our son – Niels. Niels Allen Thomas.

What is this path or journey or process of grief? There’s no map to follow. The “sounds” of grief aren’t planned or predictable. But here’s something I’m noticing…for me…

I was just on the phone with Glen talking about the rolling waves of grief. I find myself caught up in the normal, daily tasks of life and also the unreal/surreal tasks of planning the celebration of Niels….creating invitations and remembrances, texting with people, reading notes, opening cards, answering phone calls, opening the door to a visitor, etc.

As I’m in the throes of these acts that are focused on Niels…I’m functioning on a cognitive level. I’m disassociating myself from the content of the tasks. It’s kind of an out of body/mind process. But…then I experience a moment…where the realization of what I am actually doing hits me in the gut. Am I actually planning the celebration of the life of my son? How can that be?

At the moment of this gut punch, I literally take a big gulp of air and I am stopped in my tracks. And I sob or my tears silently trickle down my cheeks. And I wonder…how can I possibly be functioning on a cognitive level? Shouldn’t I be crying…all of the time? What is wrong with me? After all…

…my son, my firstborn, my “mini-me” is not on this earth. I can’t bring myself to say that he “died”. And “passed away” is such a bland term…I don’t know what to call this new thing in my life.

What I do know – what I feel in that moment where I break from the cognitive and go to my gut…is that Niels won’t be walking through my door on Sunday for our weekly family dinner. I know that I won’t be hugging him good-bye when he heads home with his “to-go” box with leftovers from a favorite meal. I know that I’m going to miss him every day – and especially Sundays – for the rest of my life.

And…I don’t know how “grief ” can ever be “good“.

A high school friend (thank you, Kim) sent me a column about the falsity of the “Five Stages of Grief” – Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. We’ve all heard of them and as things go when something becomes popular in society…they’ve been misinterpreted in multiple ways. First, they weren’t developed to describe the grief of losing a loved one. They were actually intended for people who were facing their own imminent mortality. And even more confusing is that in our group (mis)understanding, they have been interpreted to arrive in our hearts in a linear fashion. Grief is much more chaotic than linear.

The author of the column, Mari Andrew explains her thinking about grief. She notes that words are cerebral and really don’t adequately describe grieving because loss is not something that occurs in our head. It occurs much more gutterally – in our belly, in our gut.

AND she goes on to say that it is SOUND that better describes the “stages” of grief. Sounds that emanate from our very center. From our core. Sounds that bubble or burst to our surface unbidden.

Sounds, not words.

This rings so very true. When I think of my current state of being, I think…What sound is rising from my soul?

When I wake up in the morning – what sounds do I make? Do I sigh? Do I whimper? Do I cry softly? Do I hum a familiar, favorite tune?

When I open the door to his condo – do I gulp before entering? Do I clear my throat and get to work? Do I cry softly as I pick up his hairbrush full of his long curly hair?

When I hear the happy voices of the kids on the block, do I sigh remembering those early years on our street? When I see the F1 race on tv does the gut punch of remembering how he loved following his team cause me to burst into a sob?

That evening at 9:09 when I heard the doorbell ring, paused the DNC on tv and opened the front door to the two WCPD officers…When they asked if I was NT’s mom and if they could come in, when I screamed down the hallway to Glen, when I looked at the terror in B’s eyes as she stood in the kitchen doorway, when the female officer nodded at me knowingly, what sound did I make?

I only remember seeing the dining room buffet as I looked from B back to the officers. That cabinet is full of so many family heirlooms – Lenox gifts from my dad, a vase from Glen’s grandma, teacups from Aunt Janet, photos of family trips…so many tender memories of people we have loved – all contained behind those three glass cabinet doors. And all I wanted to do was to open those cabinet doors and throw all of those memories to the ground. I wanted to hear them shatter.

Because…what sound does one make when their life has been shattered?

I made it through the dark better than the night before. Sleep did come. Dreams did not.

Waking in the dark before the sun rises, I wonder…will it?

And then…it does and I find myself watching the dawn of yet another day. Feeling the new and ever-present weight in my heart. The closeness of my tears. My trembling breath….

I find myself noticing that the birds are chirping and singing as the sky brightens…they are telling me that if I listen…if I watch…if I wait…I will hear the joy of their morning song again.

But will I?

When the skies darken. When the car noise lessens. When the tv is quiet. When the sounds of BART pass through the open windows. When the ringing in my ears is screaming at me.

Because then my mind goes black. Black into my new reality. Black into the huge hole in my heart. Black into a pain that tears through my soul and shreds my belief in all that is good. I don’t like the nights. Too much space to feel, to mourn, to grieve, to cry.

And yet. The sun rises in the morning. It doesn’t ask my permission. It doesn’t waiver in its duty to brighten the day. To try to eek some bit of hope and joy into my existence. To fool me into thinking that…night won’t come.

It’s been five years. Already. They say that time flies when you’re busy raising kids, working, and trying to stay vertical on the treadmill of life. I’m here to tell you that once you’ve been “removed from use” (according to the dictionary – it’s a real definition), time still flies. And no…I don’t feel that I’m completely non-useful. That sounds like another blog post is brewing…

Since it’s Father’s Day, I was looking at past blog posts to see if I’d written a tribute to my dad. I feel that I have written about him, but on a quick search, I couldn’t find anything so that is going to have to wait for another day. Though you will see a nod to him later in this post.

In my search for “dad”, I ran across this post that I apparently never shared. And since I’ve been thinking about the current status of my/our “retired” life, I thought now might be a good time. The following are my notes for a “speech” that I was graciously allowed to share at my retirement shindig and though I didn’t read this there, it helped me gather my thoughts during an emotional time. And unlike other writings that take time, this one just rolled off my fingertips faster than my head could think.

Here goes:

Thank you all for being here and thanks to those who couldn’t join us.  I especially want to thank our hostesses – Diane – my GLAD sister and in many ways my big sister, Laurie – my co-collaborator and role-model for viewing the possible in every opportunity, Marie – my…irreverent, joke-telling, crying, laughing … oh my…it’s hard to come up with a label for her!  What a joy to have been your colleague and to call each of you, “friend”.

Thank you to my husband, Glen, who has always encouraged me to take whichever path I chose to fulfill my dreams (including early retirement!). 

Niels and Blair – who only knew a mom who spent her evenings cutting, glueing, “typing”, working early and late, and who dragged them to family nights, to the condemned building to sit in the big blue chairs and watch videos when they were sick – Once when I stopped at Cambridge for “a minute” Blair implored me – “Mommy, no talk!”  She knew that I wasn’t good at telling time and that a “minute” never was…

I want my family to know how much I appreciate their love and support because without that, all of this would not have been possible.

Glen is very wise and recently, he forwarded me an email with some words that connected to how I am feeling about life as I reflect on my career. 

Invest in Yourself

Success isn’t the culmination of one triumphant moment. It’s a series of outcomes from choices and chance that lead to bigger moments. Surround yourself with the people that will get you there.

So now I’d like to tell a brief story of my “moments” and the people who “got me there”. Bear with me as this might be my last chance to have an audience. No more GLAD, staff meetings, PLCs. Not even any first graders to listen to me…who am I kidding?  Even they aren’t listening any more!  

This journey is about the people…

• Student teaching in Hamilton City where my master teacher, Eva, didn’t think a “gringa” had any business in a bilingual classroom – in the end she invited me to her home and taught me how to make tortillas. It was then that she told me that her experience with me had changed her mind about some gringas. 

• The night custodian at La Joya in Salinas who brought me dinner from his sister’s diner because he didn’t think that anyone should still be working at in their classroom at 7:00 at night. Jim and Sherry and their kids who adopted me since I didn’t have any family around.

• Chapman School in Chico – my dream job and dream life where my colleagues organized volleyball and softball teams, Lake Oroville camping trips, and parties, parties, parties. It was my dream life until I went to The Bear on the day I moved back and met my dream husband and after two years I moved to

• San Clemente – Concordia School where I began to understand what it truly meant to collaborate with a team as I team taught and job shared with Julie and Dana (and I had a view of the ocean).

• Shore Acres – where I was hired to work with a teacher who didn’t think anyone could teach as well as her – literally.  I’m not sure what she thought at the end of our year together, but after a year with me, she moved on and I stayed…
• This is also the time and place where thanks to Linda Rondeau, I got to spread my wings in ESL and where I met Diane – my other “life partner” as we began our almost 20 year journey with GLAD – these years provided me incredible learning and growth experiences and sisterhood.
• Cambridge – where I grew up as an educator – through so much laughter, so many tears, joys, dreams, successes and failures – where my colleagues challenged me to grow, to be better, to believe in all we could do together. I refer to these years as “The Golden Years”. They truly were the most challenging and fulfilling years of my career.

• Sun Terrace – a school and staff that accepted me and allowed me to go back to my roots – to my heart – to my first graders.

As I think about all of the roles that I have taken on over the years, they all start with the “R” word – relationships.  The memories that matter are the moments that I’ve shared with you all, with all of the parents and all all all of the kids.  Each person has taught me something that could only be learned by and through them.  Thank you, each of you, for sharing in my “passion” – because “career” just doesn’t seem like the right word.

Bringing my story full circle – You probably know that I told my kindergarten teacher, Miss Fine that I was going to be a teacher and that I took Spanish because my dad said “You live in California, you want to teach, why would you take French?”

So for my entire life, I’ve been on this journey…and…

I was recently reminded of a story from a few years back…I was covering a classroom without a teacher and as a substitute arrived and I turned the class over to her and was stepping out the door, a student shouted out…”You should be a teacher, you’re GOOD!”  

I’m so fortunate to have enjoyed a life doing what I loved and apparently, according to an 8 year old, I chose well.

The fact that people are making a living off of videotaping a recommendation for a product and posting it on social media is the ultimate in lazy commercialism with a heavy focus on materialism. But you may ask…how do I really feel about the influencers phenonenom?

This whole influencer thing has me a bit miffed. And annoyed. And disturbed.

But rather than just spouting off with my opinion, I thought I should maybe do a little research. As I no longer have the Encyclopedia Britannica at my fingertips, I googled “influencers culture” and came to a post on LinkedIn that helped me understand at least one person’s view of the phenomenon. (There are also tons of memes, charts, articles, etc. on the internet describing the different types of influencers, levels of influencers, etc.) Since this is a blog and not a dissertation, my research is far from extensive.

Here’s how the author of the opinion piece defines the influencer culture: A sociological phenomena known as ‘influencer culture’ describes how people with sizable followings on social media sites like Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok have a considerable impact on the lifestyle and monetary decisions of their followers. Celebrities, sportsmen, and regular people can all be considered influencers if they have developed a sizable online fan base through the distribution of relevant content.”

Note that many influencers are moving away from the term and now call themselves “content creators”. I have to admit that it does have a less cringy sound even if the result is the same. But that phrase – online fan base – really gets me. Doesn’t fan come from fanatic? Just sayin’…

The author goes on to say that influencers are seen as “authorities” in their area – which in my mind just means they use the product that they promote…so long as they are being paid to do so. He also notes that businesses use influencers to reach new audiences for the promotion of their products or services. While this may seem like a brilliant marketing plan (inexpensive, new audience access, little effort, etc.), these product promoters are influencers in the weakest, least important sense of the world. Here’s the LinkedIn article I referenced: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/influencer-culture-its-impact-society-critical-rahul-singh#:~:text=A%20sociological%20phenomena%20known%20as,monetary%20decisions%20of%20their%20followers

Let me introduce you to a few of the real influencers in my life. But before I do, let me address my definition of the popular term. Fully realizing that I sound like my parents…”Back in my day…” influencers were people who helped us grow up to be contributing, caring adults. They modeled behaviors that showed the way to be a positive, compassionate human. And I had plenty of those people in my youth and beyond. I bet you did, too.

Of course, the first, most obvious and most important example of influencers in my life are my parents. I moved through childhood watching them demonstrate characteristics such as decency, kindness, care, responsibility, and compassion. They also demonstrated the integrity to do the right thing when “no one was looking”. Both of my parents were just old- fashioned upstanding humans. They worked hard, they contributed to their community and they held me accountable for my actions. And trust me, I didn’t always make that easy for them. Recently I was thinking about my mom who is 97 years old. She is still influencing me by showing me that though you may be old, tired, achy, frustrated, and bored, you can still be gracious, grateful, and kind.

Then there are all of those other adults who parented me or in today’s lexicon – influenced me. I’ll start by introducing you to a couple of VIP influencers in my life – Mr. and Mrs. P.  I was lucky enough to have a nice visit with them at their home last month and just visiting with them in their family room brought me a pure joy. Growing up, some might say I spent as much time in their house as I did in my own home so I can almost claim it as my own. On this visit, I was struck by Mrs. P’s smile and Mr. P’s giggle which brought back a rush of cherished memories from my years in which I was influenced by their kindness and guidance. Through their example, I learned lessons that I carry with me today. A few of the most important lessons I learned involve the many sleepovers I enjoyed there. I learned how to be a contributing member of a family unit, how to scrub a bathroom until it sparkled, how to share space (3 sisters plus me in a bedroom – I guess technically, they were learning to share space with me – haha), and how to joyfully get our chores done so the adventures of the day could begin.

Side story – On Saturday mornings after a Friday night high school sporting event, we woke up at 7:00 am to the sound of Mrs. P singing at the top of her lungs…Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day…She stood at the bottom of the stairs throwing the cleaning supplies to the top so that we would get up and get our day started. After she finished “Lemon Pledging” the living room furniture while singing “Me and Mrs. Jones” at the top of her lungs, we found her in the kitchen cooking up some scrumptious breakfast to reward our efforts upstairs.

But most importantly, Mr. and Mrs. P showed me the value of love, plain, simple love. I never entered their home without being greeted with a smile, a kind word, and the warmest of welcomes. (Usually there was some homemade treat or a meal, too.) I know this made me feel special and I also know that this is how they treated everyone. But sometimes I like to kid myself and think that that joyful greeting was just for me because that’s how they made me feel. And as I experienced on my recent visit, they still do make me feel that way. Thanks to their influence, I find that in my daily interactions, I try to have a kind word, share a smile and a happy greeting, and I try to approach life with a sense of joy…just like I learned on Brookhill Avenue.

“Influencers” don’t just exist in one’s childhood. I don’t want to forget the influencers of my adult professional life. As a young, lonely, scared first-year-teacher in Salinas, Sherry and Jim “adopted” me by welcoming me into their home with their young teenage kids. They showed me the importance of mentoring others entering the profession and what it meant to be a committed, creative, caring teacher while finding balance in life. They also demonstrated the importance of being a life-long learner and setting goals.

Side story – Sherry and I lost touch over the years, but thanks to Facebook we reconnected. Recently, Glen and I were heading home from Hawaii and as we were getting settled in our seats…who should board after us, but Jim and Sherry! I would have known them anywhere as after more than 30 years since we’ve been together, they haven’t changed a bit…except maybe hair color? (Trust me…it happens to the best or us.) After the flight, we met up at the baggage claim for a quick hug and chat.

While teaching in Chico, my next door “neighbor”, Dolly showed me what it meant to be a full-of-life 60+ year old teacher. I always had her in the corner of my mind as I got closer to 60. I knew that just like her, I could grow up to be an effective, positive, creative, innovative teacher all the way to the end of my career, even if I was starting to get tired! (Which I was…)

Diane was my “work partner” for decades. She showed me what it means to be a true partner in a job – how to grow together, how to support each other when there are struggles, how to cheer for our successes, and how to learn from our failures. She supported me through life’s personal struggles by lending an ear and a shoulder and by always having an encouraging word. But mostly, she modeled the value of enduring generosity and friendship.

My Cambridge “golden years” colleagues (you know who you are) taught me how to laugh through all the challenges. They helped me understand that the hard work of reflection was the was the only path to personal and professional growth. They also taught me that an occasional cry was a healthy sign that I cared and that after the tears, we just get ourselves up, we brush ourselves off and we start all over again; always with the goal of improving our craft to support our students. These phenomenal women showed me how to dream of the possibilities, of the change we could be. Coincidentally, I had a conversation just yesterday with a former colleague and we threw out the question…How can we fix “it”? How can we be part of the solution? Still dreamin’…

These are only some of the people who made me who I am. They are some of my real influencers. They didn’t try to sell me anything. They didn’t try to convince me that my life would be better if I only had another jar of cream for my aging skin. They didn’t give me a one minute sales pitch with shiny lights and music. They influenced me through their example, through their love, and through their wisdom.

It turns out that TikTok, YouTube and Instagram – these are not the places where I go to find my influencers. As Mr. Rogers said…I look for the helpers. And I look for the examples – examples of real people in my life who demonstrate the qualities I admire – the ones who made me the person I am today and the person I hope that I grow into being…because when you think you’re done, you’ve only just begun.

PS Once a teacher, always a teacher – Two phrases in this post come straight out of my classroom and I can hear myself singing them with my kids:

First…we just get ourselves up, we brush ourselves off and we start all over again…

Second…when you think you’re done, you’ve only just begun…

And I guarantee that my own kids’ eyes are rolling in the back of their heads hearing those phrases again!

Maybe my strong opinions about “names” started when I was young and realized that I’d been named after my two favorite aunts – Auntie Joyce and Auntie Barbie (her middle name is Elaine). I never got a straight answer from my parents about why they chose those names.

My dad was named after his birth father-he was a “junior” to Onslow Thompson, but he changed his name at eight when he was adopted by his step-dad, Hugh Densmore. He chose to legally be Edmund Richardson Densmore (also ER Densmore – he has so many names it’s hard to keep track), but he went by Tom or Tommy. In fact, as an adult, many of his best and longest friends still called him Tommy.

My mom was baptized in the Catholic church (her dad was Catholic). She had a l – o – n – g name…Mary Elizabeth Veronica Vars…but she always went by Betty. Go figure. Now her nameplate on her door says “Mary” and all the nurses call her Mary. When I call and ask for Betty, I always have to correct myself in order to find her.

Neither of my sisters are named after family members – well Karen Alice I guess is named after Grandma Alice, but Christine Joy? Nope. In fact they thought Chris was going to be a boy and she would therefore be a Christopher. So had they just run out of names for girls when I rolled around or did they simply want to honor their sisters or…???

I watched my parents over the years as they dealt with multiple names – legal versus common. It was often a bit of a conundrum to remember which name to use for which purpose. I mean…when I was signing my own absence notes in high school using my dad’s signature…which name should I use for the forgery? Tom Densmore? ER Densmore? Turns out it didn’t matter…I got caught. Though even Dad admitted the forgery was pretty good!

So that brings me to my first “adult” self-naming experience. When I started student teaching in 1982, what “honorific” should the kids use for me? Miss Densmore? Ms. Densmore? (I had to look up what those are called and ChatGPT says they are “honorifics”.) I chose Ms. because I figured it was nobody’s business if I were married or not – so Ms. Densmore it was and my first adult personal naming decision was made.

Then came Glen. When I met Glen it was awhile before I found out that his mom’s name was Joyce. Now…it’s not her “given” name as her name is actually Dorothy Joyce, but she always went by Joyce. I remember being at The Bear in Chico when Glen’s college friend, Russell gave him a bad time about a girlfriend with his mom’s name. For years, Joyce and I teased each other about how the family should refer to us…Joyce 1 and 2? Big Joyce and LIttle Joyce? Mature Joyce and Immature Joyce? I teased her that we were going to start calling her Dorothy. No nicknames quite clicked so none ever stuck. In the end, I’m happy that I share her name because she was an incredible mother-in-law – more like a mom, really.

And then marriage. I won’t go into a rant about the history of women changing their name to their husband’s last name. (Not all cultures do it that way.) I had a strong feeling about keeping Densmore in my name because I was the last “Densmore” in our family tree (though it was my dad’s adopted name, not his biological father’s name – I guess I should have switched to Thompson if that were my issue). Glen just said…I don’t care what you do with your name; I’m not changing mine.

So I decided on Ms. Joyce Elaine Densmore-Thomas.

Now over the years that decision has provided myriad complications. I mean…in 1989 there was no issue with a hyphen because everything was handwritten, but when we started doing everything digitally…phew – sometimes my name was too long so it got shortened by a machine, sometimes it wouldn’t take a hyphen, sometimes it chose to use Densmore without Thomas, sometimes Thomas without Densmore, saying and spelling Densmore-Thomas on the phone was too long so I often just used Thomas and then didn’t remember that I did that…

Who knew that a long email address of densmorethomasj@work email…was going to be such a pain in the *%# to write/type into so many websites…the challenges go on and on.

But was I sorry that I chose Densmore-Thomas? Never. It’s my name. It’s my identity. It’s how I’m known. I chose it. I live with the consequences – good and bad.

So here we are today where I am now officially 65 years old. And guess what that apparently means? It means that Medicare gets to choose my name. After applying, I started receiving mail addressed to Joyce Thomas. I was like…why am I getting Glen’s mom’s mail (who passed away almost 2 years ago)? Who is this “Joyce Thomas”? Turns out, it’s me according to Medicare and now according to everything related to Medicare – insurance, prescriptions, etc.

How is it that my driver’s license, my passport, my marriage license, my Social Security card, my credential, my EVERYTHING is Joyce DENSMORE-Thomas and MEDICARE gets to drop an essential part of ME??????

NO!!!!!!! I get to choose my name!!! Not the government. So do I go to battle with Medicare? Do I risk a big bureaucratic f-up to make them change it? AAAAARRRGGGHHHH.

PS I just got off the phone for the SECOND time today with a doctor’s office who can’t find me in the system because “Joyce E Thomas” doesn’t exist in the system that I’ve been in for 30 years. They have a Joyce Densmore-Thomas, but no Joyce E Thomas. And now I can’t even pick up a message from my doctor in my personal electronic health file because there is no Joyce Densmore-Thomas or Joyce E Thomas with access.

I repeat…AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

PPS I’ve had a thing about names forever. When I was teaching in Chico, my mentor/friend had a student named Anthony whom she called Tony. I told her that wasn’t his name. He didn’t go by Tony. She said…I like “Tony” so he’s Tony here. Wrong. Over the years, I made a concerted effort to correctly pronounce the names of my students. It wasn’t always easy as my mouth didn’t always want to make the sounds that were in some names, but I tried because it was important to me and to them that I honor their personal, family, linguistic and cultural identity.

And lastly, Ruby Freeman who just won a big case against Rudy Guiliani (and filed another against him because he continues to lie about her), said that the worst part of this whole experience that she’s been put through for 3 years is that she had to go into hiding and use a different name. She said simply, “I miss my name”.

Me, too.