Tag Archive for: #bereavedmom

Sweet Coast

Some call the stretch of coastal Florida from the towns of Carrabelle to Seaside the Forgotten Coast. It’s also known as the Gulf Coast.

I’d call it the Sweet Coast. With it’s sugary beaches and laid-back vibe, it was just what my soul needed.

My friend Margie gave us a lovely book as a Bon Voyage gift. The Most Scenic Drives in America should live on everybody’s coffee table. The images alone will make you want to pack a bag and head off on an adventure. Route 98, the drive along this coast of Florida is one of the featured routes. Tall pines flanked the roadway, with glimpses of the Gulf occasionally peering through.

I booked two nights at a campground directly off Route 98…the Ho-Hum RV Park. Yep, you read that correctly. This campground prides itself on its simplicity. When you rent a spot at the park, you get your water, sewer and electric hookups, a beach, a pier and a few nice porch swing chairs to view the Gulf. Each morning I took my coffee and watched the dolphins play in the water. How much better does it get?

This is what I woke up to each morning at the Ho-Hum RV Park. Far from Ho-Hum!

Well, seeing dolphins from a distance isn’t nearly as fun as seeing them up close. So, yes, it did get better as Brad and I jumped in the kayaks and frolicked with the playful creatures just off the coast of where we were camped.

We slowed our roll as we spent the few days reading, relaxing and exploring the area a bit. We drove to the little town of Carrabelle. The large marina featured charter boats in search of local fish…tarpon, grouper and red snapper (my favorite!).  We were hungry when we arrived in Apalachicola. The law mandates that no building can be taller than three stories, which made for a comfy feel to the town.

I love vibrant, active old downtowns, and Apalachicola definitely has it going on. Lots of retail, including several shops in converted old cotton warehouses. The seafood restaurants looked enticing, but as we had Luna with us, we opted for Tamara’s On the Go food truck. With a bright yellow exterior and adorable courtyard tucked around the truck, it was perfect to chill with Luna. The chef created a delicious gluten free gyro salad for me. Yum.

We drove the rest of the route, passing by St. Andrews State Park (we hiked here later in the week) and into our next destination, Panama City Beach. Our campground, Sun Outdoors Panama City Beach, was right next door to Zoo World. One morning I was greeted by their resident giraffe as she poked her head over the tall fence, as if to say hello. I woke at daybreak one day to the sounds of lions roaring their morning greeting.

Route 98 isn’t as pretty in Panama City Beach. The stretch is filled with kitschy family activities…putt-putt, go-karts and more discount beach stores than you can count. We did enjoy taking Luna to the small section of beach where dogs are allowed. Pier Park Dog Beach extends from the pier to a short distance away. Strong winds brought riptides, so we kept Luna close to the edge. We walked around the fun outdoor Pier Park Shopping Complex after to let our pup dry off. 🙂  We loved watching a young woman zig and zag while rollerblading on the streets, bopping away to the music piping outside of the stores.

Our daughter Kyle encouraged us to drive from Route 98 to Highway 30A and discover the towns along the way. Her husband Will’s family spent many summer vacations in Rosemary Beach when he was a boy. Will whisked Kyle to  the town for a weekend getaway, and she fell in love with this charming town. Serendipitously, Brad’s second cousin Jane, and her husband Gary, were renting a home in the neighboring town of Seaside during our time in the area. We went from kitschy to kismet!

Out of all the areas that we’ve ventured to over the years, I can honestly say I’ve never seen such a unique place. Each of the towns, Alys Beach, Rosemary Beach and Seaside were well-planned and restrictive on their building codes. Think of Hilton Head on steroids.

Our first stop was Seaside to visit Jane and Gary. Each of the homes have names on their white picket fences. Pebbled pathways wind through the community, from the adorable square filled with shops ranging from a book store to a market with delectable edibles.

Hanging out on the outside second-level porch of Jane and Gary’s rental. Heaven.

The community church hosted a wedding the Saturday evening we were there. As the church sits amongst the quaint homes, there is a strict sound ordinance. No music after 9 PM. Perfect timing for us…we had just come back to the rental house after a dinner at the fun and delicious Café Thirty-A. The four of us decided to take Luna and their pup, Bear, out for an evening walk. When the wedding band struck up “An American Girl” as their last hurrah, I couldn’t resist. I hung out on the outskirts of the crowd, dancing away. Life is too short…dance when you can!

We had such a great time with Jane and Gary. They’ve been coming to the area for years from their home in New Orleans, so we were in excellent hands for travel guides. We took many walks, ventured to the farmer’s market Saturday morning, and hung out at the beach one afternoon. They even joined us for a cookout at the coach!

Brad and I ventured on a bike ride through Rosemary Beach. The town had a European feel to it, with it’s cobblestone streets and town square

Biking in Rosemary Beach and the town square.

Before our time in this area was just a memory, we drove to Econfina Creek, a spring fed, quiet waterway. We got a great workout paddling up stream, then turning around and floating on the return. We packed a lunch, and unlike the borrowed photo below, we didn’t see a soul. So, once again, YOLO, so what does one do in a secluded creek to cool down? I felt like a kid again as I dove into the water, naked as a jaybird, and jumped out just as fast. That water was dang cold.

Photo credit: Lori Ceier/Walton Outdoors

Our travels are winding down…but adventures still await in Dora and Red Bay, Alabama. Stay tuned, and thanks for coming along on our journey.

 

Brother, lost and found

The last time I saw my oldest brother Kevin was the morning after my daughter’s wedding, this past June. Brad and I hosted a brunch for family, and Kevin and his new wife, Bobbie were able to join us before they took off for their several-day drive back to their home in Lincoln, Nebraska.

It was rather amazing that Kevin came to the wedding, because, well, as we’ve always said, “Kevin is Kevin.” In other words, you just never knew whether he would show up or not. But, when it came to the BIG events, Kevin was there, sliding into home last minute. And when he made an appearance, Kevin was all in.

When a week after the official wedding RSVP deadline passed and we had not heard from Kevin as to whether they could join us for the joyous occasion, I tried to reach out to him. I texted, I called, and left messages. Finally, days later, I heard from him.

“Hey, sis, what’s up?” Kevin asked.

“Well, we’re hoping that you both will be able to come join us at Kyle’s wedding on June 4,” I said.

“Yeah, I think we can do that.”

Not exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for.

“That’s awesome,” I said. “So, part of the RSVP was to choose what you would like to eat at the reception.”

“Okay, kiddo (I loved that nickname) what are my choices?”

Without hesitation, I responded, “At this stage, Mcdonald’s.”

I’ll forever miss his hearty laugh, and his big shit-eating grin I imagined from the other end.

Kevin, always the protective big brother. He’s 7 and I’m 2 in this picture

On Saturday, September 10, Kevin left us just as he made his appearances throughout the years, suddenly, without fanfare and on his own terms.
He was just 66 years old.

Kevin filled his shoes well as the oldest, and as the youngest sister, I think he felt compelled to teach me important life skills throughout the years. How to survive guerilla warfare that involved him digging a massive hole in the ground and standing on the far side of its opening, covered by weeds and grass, to see if I’d actually fall in. Kevin and my other older siblings, Karen and Jeff, spiced up the situation to challenge me to outrun our visiting friend, Gwen Thees out to the garden.

I won and lost if you get the picture. I’ll never forget the images of all of them standing above me, as I was literally up to my shoulders in a hole.

This was the infamous Radio Flyer, before the grand adventure that follows…

Or, rigging up the Radio Flyer wagon filled with library books, tethered by a rope to the minibike Kevin drove like a madman to get to the bookmobile. Kevin and older brother Jeff were on the minibike, younger brother Greg and I were wedged in with the books in the wagon, youngest brother Gordie was tied up behind the wagon on his tricycle (who thought up this scheme????) and older sister Karen rode along on her bike to supervise. We lost Gordie at the first turn and turned him over to the neighbors. Soon after, as the wagon wove back and forth, Greg had a look in his eye that said, “It’s either you or me” and bailed out of the wagon. With the shift in the weight distribution, the wagon flipped, and somehow, I was trapped underneath, books scattering all over, and my back getting dragged against the asphalt. I still have remnants of scars from the small pebbles and black tar of the hot country road.

And then there was the time that he rebelled and ran from mom as she came after him with the wooden handled hairbrush that she whacked us with when we got out of line. I’ll never forget the rest of us, standing looking out the front window as he ran, cheering, “Run, Kevin, run!!” He taught me to be a survivor, and that sometimes there was a path to resistance.

Kevin enlisted in the Army and left for boot camp soon after graduating from high school. I was only in 8th grade but felt his absence every night at the dinner table, and when the cookies all disappeared, we didn’t have Kevin to collectively blame anymore. I remember a time when he came for a visit when I was a senior in high school. He was shooting pool in the basement, the glow of the fluorescent light suspended above offering a halo effect around the table. I sat on the basement steps, my hands cupped under my chin, lamenting that I couldn’t wait until I turned eighteen.

“Wait a minute, sis. Don’t be in such a hurry. When you turn eighteen, you’re going to want to be 21, and when you’re 21, you’re going to wish you were 18 all over again.”

Kevin’s wisdom was the greatest lesson in just enjoying the moment that I ever got.

Then he proceeded to teach me how to shoot pool. Left-handed. I never realized that, as a southpaw, Kevin taught me his way, until years later when Brad noticed while we were out with friends playing 8-ball.

As I got older, Kevin taught me important social and gaming skills. Throwing darts at his local watering hole, the Winking Lizard in Cleveland. Being able to hold my own, whether in a crowd or in a crowd drinking beer. How to come prepared for a white-water rafting trip when it rains all weekend. Sleeping upright in a car never felt so good.

When the kids came, Kevin became the “fun uncle” (our son Ian’s observations) and since he was working in Toledo for a time, was never more present in my life than during their early childhood years. Or, should I say, never more present up until that point. When Claire died, I’ll never forget his huge bear hug when he made it into town for the funeral. He always had such big hugs.

Months later, we all gathered together as a family to celebrate the nuptials of younger brother Greg and his Lisa. Our hearts were still collectively breaking over our loss of Claire, but, true to form, we held on to each other, told stories, and rallied. It’s the Zeigler way.

Greg and Lisa’s wedding, September 2000.

Kevin moved to Lexington, then to Colorado, and eventually to Nebraska. We didn’t see or hear from Kevin much when he was out West, but when mom and dad died, he came home.
I’m so glad he made it for our daughter’s wedding. We had one more chance to joke together, take pictures together, and tell stories together.

With my brothers celebrating my daughter Kyle’s wedding to Will Letton on June 4, 2022.

You just never knew if Kevin would show up, but when he did, he was all in.

We lost Kevin way too soon.

As we gathered on October 15 to memorialize Kevin, my siblings and I, along with Kevin’s wife Bobbie and extended family, shared our collective remembrances. The stories rolled, as did our laughter and tears. We searched through old photo albums, recalling shared adventures.

Throughout the weekend, I felt like my memories became full color as we sifted through black-and-white photos.

I’ll never forget what he taught me.

And I still shoot pool left-handed.

Rest in peace Kevin.

Just a moment podcast

I had the privilege of being featured in a podcast created by my friend, Chrys Peterson.

The podcast shares inspirational stories of individuals whose lives changed in just a moment.

To hear how mine changed, click the link below.

https://chryspeterson.com/episode-3-rewriting-your-story-after-unbearable-loss/

Chosen

It was an honor and pleasure to be interviewed by Debbie Gonzalez for her podcast. Debbie inspired me through her inciting questions about love, loss, and celebrating life. More so, she suggests that I was chosen for my path, an incredible thought. Here’s to all who have guided and supported me on my journey. You were chosen as well.

Check out her debcast here: http://www.debbiegonzales.com/the-debcast-epsiodes/2019/12/29/ep34-never-deny-an-opportunity-at-first-glance-with-julie-rubini

A tribute to my kids

As I begin to write this, my cell phone flashes 3:33.

I wake up constantly to this same time, almost to the point that I think my circadian rhythms are aligning to this number.

What it symbolizes to me is that I have 3 kids, always 3 kids.

I have one who is no longer physically present in my life.

And, I have two others who are. I thank God every day for them.

I’m grateful they are not only in my life, but they embrace me being in theirs.

I’ve got to admit that there were times when they were teenagers that I never thought I’d get to where we are now, but I’m so grateful for the journey.

I’d always say to them that it wasn’t easy being a good kid, any more than it was being a good parent. Especially under our circumstances.

It is hard to set limits, to offer structure and to offer guidance as a parent. As a bereaved parent, I often had to do the same for myself, to be the best version of myself when at times, all I wanted to do was to crawl back into bed.

Our daughter Kyle, 26, and our son Ian, 24, gave me reason not to.

And, to not only get my butt out of bed, but to be present in their lives.

To embrace the moments, all 525, 600 of them each year, because I knew all to well and tragically that there’s no guarantee for the next. For any of us.

Now having weathered the toughest times together, we all enjoy the results of our efforts.

And what a joy they are.

From the phone calls “just to chat” to concerts, museums, travels and visits all together as a family whenever we can tuck them in, each is such a blessing.

Kyle gave me a special Christmas gift this year, one where we exchange notes with each other, following writing prompts. Her words bring tears as she reflects on how I’ve inspired her, why she’s proud of me, and what she hopes for me.

Ian offered the same to me last Mother’s Day, in typing a letter on an old typewriter he has.

Just as their words have touched my heart, I hope mine touch theirs.

Love you Kyle and Ian!