“I try not to worry about the future – so I take each day just one anxiety attack at a time.”— Tom Wilson
Let’s talk about anxiety, shall we?
When I’m not busy DOING something, or actively taking care of the kids, I find my breathing can suddenly change, my heart rate goes up, and if I don’t start moving immediately, the tears come or I just feel unhinged.
My beloved sister-in-law called me while I was shopping in Costco yesterday, and all was fine until she mentioned planning something fun in the future. Suddenly the tears welled up. I left the cart and started walking so no one would notice. Next thing I knew, I was lost in that massive warehouse and couldn’t remember what I was shopping for, let alone where my cart was. I’ve taken other phone calls, and there haven’t been those problems. She was being perfectly lovely and supportive as always. Why should I get a panic attack then?
Today, I dropped off my car at the mechanic. For some reason, I couldn’t just tell him I had a flat tire. I opened my mouth to explain but could feel my breathing start to change, and the tears came. I felt so embarrassed, standing in the middle of that office with a man who was somewhat shocked and slightly uncomfortable. I thought: Do I always look this crazy to these people?
It hasn’t just started. It began while Vernon was in hospice. Everything was so intense. I would go go go, until suddenly the wrong stranger crossed my path or there would be a mixup in the nursing staff or a friend would offer something I couldn’t process in the moment. Then it would pass, though I’d be embarrassed of the out-of-control-ness of my emotions. I was told not to worry about it, to give myself grace. But it was new to me. And I didn’t like the frequency (and unexpectedness) in which it came.
I was fine going to the Back to School night at the High School two weeks ago—I handled it for nearly two hours, meeting all Maki’s teachers, without a stitch. But the next week was Parent’s Night at Justine’s school. Suddenly the sight of all those adults folded into tiny seats at tiny desks threw me into sudden panic and I had to turn around. Why then? Why sometimes—not other times? People say that this is a common symptom of grieving, and is to be expected.
But the problem is, Anxiety comes when you least expect it. I don’t have to be thinking about Vernon or a specific memory. In fact, I don’t have to be thinking about anything at all when it hits. It’s just a weird physical reaction to this new stage of life I guess. A different kind of un-knowing. My girlfriend who recently lost both her parents in the course of a year, and then her husband’s mother the next year told me she learned one thing about grief through all this: everybody goes through it differently.
Exercise helps! Last week I had a few down days and filled them with exercise as much as I could. My muscles got sore, but I didn’t feel anxious….at least not while I was moving! So when I was with friends in LA last weekend, they gave me plenty of opportunities to walk if the feeling came. I have also started volunteering once a week as a room mom in Justine’s class. Weirdly, going into that very different world of elementary school and doing phonics pages with the kids or laminating in the office is grounding in it’s own way.
When someone asks me what I plan to do next, the first thing that comes to mind is this: learn how to be a mom to a Tenth Grader and a First Grader. Re-learn how to cook and have normal mealtimes. Help with more homework, read more with Justine. These things aren’t coming as easily as I remembered them being before summer. I think we all feel slightly different now, but each in a way we can’t explain to each other. We don’t even understand it ourselves. I expect we are still in the portal of change, and this won’t be how it feels forever.
PS For a period, I was able to go off my anti-depressants, which seems ironic, as it was during the very stressful time of trying to help Vernon. Perhaps the sense of busy-ness and purpose helped lift me out of that natural-to-me behavior. It looks like I’ll be on them again…at least for awhile and for different reasons.
Here are some more bits from Vernon’s memorial on Sept 11. Chris, his best friend, read the bio. Stick around for the slide show afterward. It’s full of love.
How does this sound?
Vernon Paul Adams was born to Joan and Keith Adams in 1967. They lived in Bournemouth, a seaside town in southern England. His older sister Vanessa couldn’t wait to start changing his nappies.
He was artistic from a young age and ended up going through Art College in England. Shortly after he would head off to Bergen, Norway to continue his study of painting.
He met his first wife Synnove in Oslo, Norway. They pursued their artistic careers in Norway and Germany and eventually moved back to England where his beloved son Maki was born in 2001.
Synnove and Vernon separated, but Vernon’s heart was with his son Maki who had moved back to Norway with his mother.
During this time Vernon met Allison who was living in California. They fell in love and were married. Allie moved to England so they could stay closer to Maki.
Vernon spent the first year of their marriage in an intensive Master’s Degree program at the University of Reading for Type Face design, a very small field at the time.
When Maki was seven years old, he made the decision to live with his dad full time.
Vernon paid the bills working as an antique furniture restorer…teaching ex-addicts marketable skills. He spent his free time working on Type Design.
In 2010, Vernon and Allie had their beautiful daughter Justine. Around this time Vernon also began making royalty free or libre fonts which I’ll talk more about in a bit.
In 2013 Vernon and his family moved to San Clemente, California. Vernon was an avid cyclist and he loved the smooth roads. He also loved the warmth of the people here. The community here was a good place for him to be himself.
Vernon partnered up on an office space with the illustrious designer Jen Hubbard. They shared a space downtown where Jen would spend her days doing graphic design and Vern would tweak every letter in the alphabet to his liking. I was lucky enough to spend quite a few days in that little office with them and I can describe that time to you in four words. Coffee. Lemon Drops and Laughter.
Vernon once told me that a font is sort of like the clothes on a letter. It gives the alphabet style and purpose. He believed that if you gave away fonts for free that there were enough generous people in the world to support a designer doing custom work to those fonts.
His fonts began to gain popularity and as of today Vernon’s fonts are some of the most widely used fonts in the world. To give you a brief example of how many times his fonts have been I’m going to read you something that Jen wrote.
“When you look into the sky tonight, I want you to consider the Milky Way Galaxy. It has been estimated that it contains 100 — billion — stars. That large of number is hard to fathom, isn’t it? But with that in mind, consider that since the moment Vernon’s type designs were added to the Google Fonts library, they have been requested from websites around the world — from businesses building a brand to bloggers sharing their heart like Allison — over 700 billion times. That’s well over 7 times the number of stars in our galaxy. It’s more than impressive, it is astounding.”
When you have time later today, go to SansOxygen.com. There is a banner on the website that will take you to the Google font libray and show you Vernon’s fonts.
Vernon loved tinkering with things, and restored a vintage 1977 Vespa, which he rode short distances around town. He was riding this Vespa when he sustained major injuries after colliding with a truck on May 23, 2014.
He survived for over two more years with a massive brain injury and kidney failure, and finally succumbed to complications around his kidneys on August 24, 2016, survived by his wife and two children, who knew completely that he had loved them well…as well as a legacy of original fonts that are used everyday be people all over the world.
Of course you can’t capture the enormity of a man in a short biography. I can tell you the basics about where he spent his life and how he spent some of his time. I can tell you he was humble and unassuming. I can tell you that he was a bit mischievous and that he was very talented. But it’s difficult to capture the intangible qualities.
Vernon was one of the good guys. He knew that his heart was more important than his head. He was a thinker and a poet. We was an artist and a type technician. He was a husband and a partner. He was a father and a daddy. He taught me a lot before the accident but he’s taught me even more over the last 2 years. Vernon, thank you for teaching me about free-ness. Your struggle has taught me move about God than any sunday sermon. Thank you for leaving us with such amazing kids. We are all better people as a result of your life and the way you lived it.
And as an extra, the band sure played their hearts out for a mean Amazing Grace for their friend.
Yesterday’s memorial was beautiful. So many treasures to ponder. But for now, I’ll post my notes for my little eulogy. I can’t say I stuck to the script, but you’ll get the gist. At the end, I’ve posted a video of the song played immediately after. I think I’ll be listening to it on repeat all day long. My friend Jen Hubbard made this little picture, inspired by Vernon’s words.
Before I met Vernon, I read this advice in some gift-shop book of light inspiration: “Marry the kindest person you know.” I wasn’t even looking to get married, but it struck me as really good advice. Then I met Vernon, who happened to be the kindest person I knew. So it stuck with me.
This morning, as I was getting ready, putting makeup over a scar on my nose, trying to brush my cowlick down the opposite direction, I thought how Vernon loved those things about me. He praised my imperfections from the day I met him. He saw beauty and talent in the areas of my life where I felt most insecure. It was amazing to be loved like that.
I’m glad that he’s no longer in pain, but right now, I miss him. I think after the accident, I understood love in a deeper way because I couldn’t blame him for anything. Our petty differences in marriage no longer mattered. I learned to love him unconditionally…to see strength and beauty in him despite his disabilities, because of his disabilities. Though his mind wasn’t there as we had known him before, his heart and soul were strong. He was very affectionate. Despite his massive disabilities,he still made me feel incredibly loved. Our roles had changed completely, but we still had a good relationship. (I hope the kids felt this too.) He was STILL the kindest person I knew. And the most forgiving.
Some of it was the injury…it caused him to live in the moment. All the time. He couldn’t really remember the past, anyway…so maybe it was easier for him to let go of things that would bother the rest of us. His memory loss helped him stay positive. Here is a little video that might help explain my point:
For those who can’t understand him, he said: “A Blessing in Disguise is when you have something bad happen to you, you can look at it as a good thing instead. It’s quite easy to do it: you just think about the thing in your head and color it with good fortune.”
Phillipians 4:8 says this: “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.” There were a lot of really bad things that happened in Vernon’s life. But being with him in the past two years in particular taught me so much. In order to get through the bad times, we learned to look for hidden treasures. And there were so many.
As soon as the crisis hit, we were cared for by our community and church, and are still cared by them now. We met amazing people we never would have met before. The Logie family, whom we only met online a year ago, brought their medicinal music to the courtyard of the nursing home nearly every Sunday afternoon. We met Joe, who became Vernon’s roommate and guardian angel. Vernon’s friend Chris immediately stepped up to look after Maki as if he was a close uncle. Maki began to thrive in his own music and interests with a supportive group of friends around him. Justine had playdates and babysitters all the way through as was rarely lonely. The kids grew in wisdom and empathy, we were surrounded by love. We made tons of art. We had music and laughter in our lives. We’ve been supported by our family and the greater community. I’ve found an outlet through my blog, and have deeply connected to others with the sharing of our story. We live in a great little house that we love. We’ve grown closer. God may not have healed Vernon in the way we wanted, but He provided for us in amazing, creative ways.
Although Vernon probably should have died on May 23, 2014, he took a long time to let go. He must have felt he had a lot to live for, even in his state. He loved his family. He loved his life. But he died without baggage. He didn’t hang on to anything. Even at the end, I asked him: What would happen if the people who were involved in your scooter accident were to come meet you right now. What would you say?” He answered enthusiastically:
“I’d say: Hi! How have you been? How is your life?”
I think the secret to dying peacefully…must be living peacefully. If Vernon could be so forgiving and accepting, when he had everything stripped from him, how hard should it be for us, who still have LIFE stretching out before us?
These three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love. But the greatest of these is love.
Thank you for your sympathy in these last few weeks. If you would be so kind as to share this fundraising link, we would appreciate it ever so much. It’s clear that there will be no settlement with the other driver, after all this time…and the future is (as always) uncertain. Thank you so very much.
Here is the link with our video and information. Just click the blue “share on FaceBook” button. If you don’t mind adding a personal note to your post, it will help. (Or click DONATE, even better.) It’s hard for me to ask, because I know I’ve been benefitting from the kindness of others (especially my immediate family’s) for the past two years. I don’t feel like I can ever pay that back. But sharing the link (and our story) with others would be the most efficient way to help us now.
If you are coming to Vernon’s memorial at Heritage tomorrow, and you get there early enough, this is what will be quietly piped in.
Remember, all are invited. We are looking forward to it. Maki is honing his own speech at this moment. Proud of him, despite the fact I have no idea what he is thinking. 🙂
Here’s a drawing I made while Vernon was in a coma. It’s was my best picture for what things felt like at the time. Going underwater with him, hoping to pull him back up.
Here’s a drawing I made last night at the table while Maki made his own drawing. It’s a bit of how I feel now. The Splashdown of a Shuttle.
And here is a poem I’ve been putting together, hoping to make some word sense of what’s happening as we come back to ordinary life. “Decompression Sickness” isn’t a very good title. Perhaps I’ll call it “The Return”
Don’t know if I’m coming up too fast from depths too low—
I’ve heard free diving pearl hunters
can hold their breath under water for twenty minutes, sometimes.
They squeeze default oxygen from the pancreas and other hidden corners of their bodies.
I guess it’s worth it for the treasure.
The body is a survivor’s final frontier.
Sometimes, deep divers get the bends:
In the surge back up to the surface,
their blood can’t handle the altitude change,
the rapidly decreasing pressure they’d been under so long.
Nitrogen bubbles are trapped in the blood stream,
causing pain in the muscles and joints, numbness, paralysis.
Don’t know if I’m dropping down to fast from heights too high—
I think of astronauts in their protective space-suits,
floating around in a controlled capsule;
oxygen tanks, freeze-dried food packets, Tang!
What’s in it for them?
To witness a final frontier.
Sometimes spacemen get the bends:
In the fall back down to the surface,
their blood can’t handle the altitude change,
the rapidly increasing pressure after drifting in orbit.
Nitrogen bubbles are trapped in the brain,
causing confusion, amnesia, strange mood and behavioral shifts.
Don’t know if I’m coming or if I’m going—
Did I crash down on the ocean or come up from underneath?
Either way, there is a lot of splashing…and gasping.
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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