Who is my ICE?

If you have ever found your In Case of Emergency (ICE) Person, you know the elation. If you ever lose that person, you know the anguish and heartache.

When I complete kids’ camp forms and doctor’s intake forms these days, I have to pause when I get to the In Case of Emergency line. I have to consider whose name and number to put in that box. It depends on who will be available and close by, who might have a child at the same camp, or who is generally around and will answer the call.

We have a plethora of friends and family who would answer the call. But still, I have to consider it now. Still, I miss my ICE Person.

It was easy when Edmond was my ICE and I was his, and we were both there if need be for our children. When I put my phone on Do Not Disturb mode during sessions with clients, I hesitate. My children know what to do, who to call, but what if they still need a parent during the hour I am occupied? 

We were preparing to leave for a trip to Destin, Florida for a week of baseball and the beach in June. It was a trip Edmond and I had planned to take together with our two youngest. William played this tournament last summer and his dad was with him. But this year, we were all going to go together. 

We found a great condo near the fields, and upon our arrival, I remarked how it met or exceeded my expectations based on the photos and description online. It was in a small gated complex, so I felt safe too. I was grateful to be at a place that accommodated me, my two children, plus their two friends who came along. I am glad that what I was counting on in terms of our accommodations in Destin went to plan.

It is not always the case that things go to plan. Certainly, the biggest upset of this trip is that Edmond was not on it with us. It was not only disruptive and strange for me, but it was also hard for the other parents on our baseball team who knew and loved him, too. These people who have sons on the same team with our son have become our friends. We spend a minimum of 3-5 days a week together at practices and tournaments. It is a lot of time and investment in relationships, and we are a community and support for each other. We socialize outside of baseball. Our boys are friends who talk to each other regularly. We help each other out. I know these friends miss seeing him at the field, talking stats, enjoying our coach’s commentary, complementing or complaining about the umpire, and laughing and having a drink in the evening together. And, I actually appreciate hearing about what these friends of ours, of his, remember and miss the most about Edmond. I appreciate hearing what their grieving is like. It is another thread between us, a tether holding us here together. 

Traveling/leaving home is challenging for me for reasons I will not speak to directly here, but it creates panic, anxiety, and an emergency in my psyche. Traveling with Edmond made leaving home more possible. He was my ICE. 

In case of emergency, call a friend. Or answer when they call you before you can call them. I did. And, getting to Destin in a two-car caravan, a girls car and a boys car, was the emergency medicine I needed. It soothed the familiar wound of leaving home and made the drive truly a pleasure. I did not even have to make the emergency call, they were first responders, no need to break the glass. How do I get to be this lucky in the midst of such an unlucky circumstance?

Two days before I left for Destin, my cell phone was acting very strange. It worked fine for texting, but phone calls were all crackly and spotty. So, I ended up taking Edmond’s phone on the trip with us in case of an emergency when a phone call was necessary. Of course, I warned all the people I would most likely need to call. I would not want to freak anyone out with a call from his cell phone. It was strangely comforting to bring him along in this way. 

And, it was hard to not have him here in a real way. After our arrival in Destin, when I grocery shopped, which I have not been doing, it was really hard. Having my groceries delivered to the trunk of my car, COVID-style, has kept me from the isles we walked together the day before he died. It protects me from reliving our last day together without him. So, shopping on vacation stirred up some pain for sure. While in the grocery, I did a lot of self-talk, conscious breathing, and tapping on my thighs as I kept scanning my list. I stayed in my body and focused on the task at hand. I got in the car and burst into tears, and had this tremendous urge to call him. For a split second, I believed that I could. That felt even worse.

Last summer, when he was in Florida with William, I was at another beach in Texas with my niece and Ellie. We were all supposed to be in Port Aransas together, but William had an opportunity at the last minute to play in this tournament with another team. So, we changed our plan, and went in separate directions. The girls went south, and the boys went east. It was hard to be apart, to be on two separate coast lines in different time zones, but our decisions made sense. The beach house in Port Aransas was already reserved, and it was too late to cancel. 

Then, for the first time, we planned to take separate vacations at spring break this year. He took William to Palm Beach, Florida for Spring Training to see MLB games, meet players, and get some baseballs signed. I took Ellie to see her dear friend who recently moved to North Carolina. We made these plans months in advance, and the trips were a Christmas present for William and Ellie. It made so much sense, and it was so hard to be apart. We regretted not being together and wished for another outcome. Though, in the decision-making moment, we also knew this was the only way for both our children to have these opportunities. We sacrificed our desire to be together in order to fulfill a wish our children were being granted. In fact, it was so hard on the two of us that we agreed over a phone call one night, while we were once again separated by several states and a time zone, to never take a trip apart again, no matter what. We loved being with our kids in places that lit them up, but Edmond and I longed for more time together. It did not feel so regretful after we made this new commitment to travel together. We could both dispense with the difficult feelings because we knew what the plan moving forward was going to be. In hindsight, I am am so grateful William had that time with his dad before he died a little over two weeks later.

This is how Edmond and I learned to navigate our lives together. When we felt off-course, we corrected, shifted, and found another way. Because we talked about everything, and adjusted what we could when we could for one another, I really have not had to grieve with too many regrets. The regrets that have surfaced have not stuck or lingered. Of course I regret that we did not have more years together and that we are not enjoying all the plans we made for our future together, but those are not the kind of regrets I am talking about. I am talking about the things I wish I would have done or done differently. 

On the drive home from the grocery store in Destin, I found a regret. I regret that we didn’t go with him to Midland at the end of February of this year when he was trying a case there. We knew it would likely be his last trial since he had decided to wind down his law practice a year or so before. I regret that we didn’t go sit in the court room and hear him do the thing he did so amazingly well. I regret my children didn’t get to see him do that. That one is sticking and continues to linger.

In case of emergency, call a friend. In case of emergency, break glass. In case of regrets, express them. In case of regrets, do not let them burrow into your skin or hideout inside your body cavity. Regrets will kill you slowly. 

I once heard a therapist on a podcast suggest that if you have to pick regret or guilt, pick guilt. Unlike regret, guilt that is usually related to something we have done that we know was wrong. We usually know it in the moment of the doing. We have a way out of guilt for our unethical or unkind actions or inaction through apology. We can repair at least some of the damage done. 

Whereas, regret is generally about what we didn’t do, and it is about looking back and seeing the error of our ways that is suddenly clearer through the experience. It is an emotion that is often long lasting and without a way to repair unless the exact same opportunity is repeated, and still it feels like a personal failing. Regret is often inwardly focused. The person who is regretful is self-effacing and deeply disappointed in themselves. Regret is closely related to shame in this way. The regretter realizes a missed opportunity for a better outcome because they did not utilize their personal agency to act in a moment when action was required or available. Regret is a missed opportunity or mistake that we notice in hindsight and after the fact when nothing can be done about it. 

This regret of not pulling our kids out of school and taking time away from my work commitments to go to Midland to see his last trial is small I suppose in the grand scheme of things. As I typed that last sentence, I realized why Edmond and I made the decision we made. Traveling to Midland would have required at least a 3-4 day disruption to the kids’ schooling and my work. It seemed like too much for a few days in a town we don’t particularly love, and where the kids and I would be pretty much on our own with the exception of our time in the courtroom. Our decision was based on sound thinking, and we did discuss it thoroughly. It is only now, after the fact, that I know it was definitely his last trial because he is dead. His kids did not get to see him be the bad-ass trial attorney in court that he was. Now they never will. I regret not pushing harder for us to go. I regret allowing my travel issues and the disruption of things that could have been solved (missing school/missing work) get in the way of this trip with Edmond and being there for his last trial.

His trial was also before spring break, and before our conversation about not traveling separately anymore. There were so many things that had not yet happened, and I could not have known. 

I suppose there are bigger things I could regret but do not have to because one or both of us acted in those moments. Yet, I still have this regret.