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I don't think I will ever get over coming home that day.
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Seeing the accident scene, the drive home, the desperate yells to my husband when I rushed through the door. The feeling of the empty house. The absolute, by far, worst moments of my life.
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Sometimes when the kids are at school and I drive home....from wherever....Joe is heavy on my mind and I sit in the driveway and stare at the deck outside my front door. I see the whole scene play out....I imagine myself walking outside my door that day, phone in hand, talking to someone about what I feared, and then the hospital beeping in. I see myself standing there, hysterical, desperate, my whole world changing. I sit in my car and cry as I watch the whole thing unfold. Even the way I cry today is desperate and deeply sad when I think of this scene. And I think the same thing over and over. I ask my husband...
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"Did you see, Joe?
Did you see what happened to me that day?
Were you here then?"
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It's not easy for me to admit that I wonder those things, because it seems selfish when my husband just lost his life to be thinking of what it was like for me. But after so much time I know that the reason I feel that way is because Joe was the closest person in the world to me. I had this major life altering, insanely horrible thing happen, and it is only natural that I would need and want to go to him.
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Even when I ask the questions, I am partly hoping he could not see that scene unfold. Who would want to see someone they love in so much pain? Though I know that part of my struggle is that I was not with my husband during his life altering, insanely horrible event- his death.
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Both of us in these moments, were alone.
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It's not right.
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I can honestly say the Joe was a person who left his work at the door. We talked about his business when I brought it up, and I did ask him questions about it pretty often, but he was always optimistic and did not worry about the ups and downs. He was unbelievably great at that.

A week after our son was born, Joe left the company he had been with for years. This was a huge risk for us, new parents, shelling out some pretty big dollars to start this thing up, along with his friend and partner, Derek. I was not working at the time and Joe was leaving a company that paid him very well. We talked about this in advance. We weighed out the options and we had an escape plan if it didn't work. We knew we would have no paycheck for months. We had a set amount of time in mind to see if Joe and Derek could be successful with the venture.

The decision to be self-employed was not made based on money. The decision was based on the fact that Joe's spirit was one that wanted truly to soar, to be his own boss, to not deal with all the bs that you have to deal with sometimes when you are an employee at a company. The truth is that it was hard for me to accept him leaving his job, it felt scary for the reasons I stated above, and due to the fact that I am a planner, that does not always jive will with risk. But my worry about the business venture ended one day because of one conversation that lasted about 5 minutes.

Joe had been at work where he had just had something happen that sent him through the roof, and he left the office. He called me on the phone from his car and I kept yelling at him "Joe, pull over! Pull over!". I knew from his voice and the way he was screaming into the phone as he tried to tell me what happened that he was seeing red and I feared for his safety when he was like that. Not many people saw Joe when he was like that, but if you have, you know what I mean. He was such an even tempered, easy going kind of guy, but when he had enough, he could skyrocket to a place where his temper rivaled the worst tempers you know. When he finally was able to clearly tell me what the problem was, and this was one of a long recent string in which he felt he was being disrespected at work, I was 100% over my reservations and worries about him leaving his job to start up on his own. All the of worry and going back and forth and weighing the pros and cons didn't matter anymore and in that instant it was all CRYSTAL clear. What a gift those moments are. They honestly don't come every day. At least in my life they don't.

I knew and felt at that moment that my husband's integrity and happiness on a daily level were more important than a safe financial future. I knew that even if he "failed" in the sense that his business didn't fly, it would not be a failure. I knew that we could end up with no money, no job and a newborn to take care of.

However I also knew that we had options.I could go back to work and not stay home with Luke, and I could provide for our family if Joe was unable to. My income did not have the limitless short-term potential that Joe's did due to the nature of the two different industries we were in, but still, I would be able to make a respectable salary and get the bills paid. This would go against our chosen plan, but was a solution.

In the end, we never needed to employ a back-up plan.

Joe and Derek successfully started and grew their business with a main goal of making it a place where they wanted to go everyday. There were ups and downs for sure but generally speaking when things were not going right the two of them would reconvene and get things back on track. They worked hard. Joe provided very well for a family of 4 and generally speaking we lived a pretty great financial life. But more importantly, we lived and even greater life in terms of the man that walked through the door every night at 5- rarely late, always happy, not spending long hours at the office because he wanted to be home with us. Every night for years when he walked through the door, he yelled "Daddy's home!" and the kids came running. Every night.
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A friend of mine pointed out early on that the stories we all share with Luke and Alyssa are going to be a means by which they know their father. Luke has definite memories but he was barely 6 when Joe died, and Alyssa was 3. I know people who lost their dads at age 3 and largely they have no real memories of him. Alyssa definitely says she remembers Joe, she tells stories and talks about him all the time, but I am unsure if she really remembers him at this point or just remembers the stories. I just don't know. Last night I went to tuck her into bed and she was standing face to face with a picture of Joe holding her that's on a shelf in her room. She turned around with big watery tears in her eyes. "I miss daddy" she said. "I wish he didn't die."
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Ugh. Anyway.....
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Because of this reality, I will be posting stories and little tidbits and random facts about Joe on LEFT. I had been writing these stories and snippets privately (not on the blog) because I viewed this as something I was doing for my children, so they will know as best as I can provide about their father. However, I also know that many of you who love and miss him also enjoy these memories. In addition, I know that these things conjure up your own memories of him, and it would be much appreciated if you would write those things down in some form, for my kids. Consider it, please! It doesn't have to be long or perfectly written or anything, just get the memory down before you forget it. All the stories that I tell are from my own perspective, and it would be nice for Luke and Alyssa to hear about their dad from other perspectives too.

Also, when I hear things from others about Joe, it often brings a smile to my face. I love it that he can still put a smile to my face even so long after he's gone.

Please keep in mind that I am writing these stories for my kids, to give them insight to their father in terms of his character and personality, at whatever age or point in life they may searching. You likely will not have an interest in every topic I write about.

I know that there are widows that read LEFT that don't know me in real life, and these stories may not be interesting since they are off the topic of grief. However, I have found that writing these stories are as healing as anything in the process. Early on I could not have written these things, it was too painful. But in time, it came and was something that I wanted and want to do.
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I am half-way through my daily LEFT blog-a-thon. I thought I would post a little update on how it's going.

Well, it's going. I'll admit that I have to force myself to get something on here some days, not because I don't have stuff to write about, or because I don't have time, but because it's an emotional commitment for me to actually write a post, and some days I don't feel like making an emotional commitment. I have also often asked myself, WHY OH WHY did I decide to do this in December??, a busy and rough month filled with so much emotion in itself due to Christmas. I don't have an answer to that one. I am a crazy person I guess. I can't not do it though, I would feel like a loser if I gave up. Even if no one else reads this stuff, the purpose of it is to heal my own mind, and I keep that in focus.

In addition, I have a huge non-bloggable subject that is on my mind all the time, which is my niece Jordyn. So it's kind of hard to take my mind off her and refocus on Joe. But again, I'm trying to stay focused.

I have had some realizations in the past two weeks. One is that I am absolutely 100% not ready to face Joe in video. I cannot do it. I mean, I will do it if a video presents itself, especially in front of my kids, and I will smile and comment and look okay from the outside. But on the inside I will be screaming, on my knees, dying. I know this because I specifically looked for a video one night last week for a post. It was a video of Joe skating on our pond on Christmas morning. I remember the video so clearly and I can still hear his skates gliding on the ice, his pace alternating between fast strides around the ice to quick, cutting stops. But I can't find the damn thing anywhere.

My searching caused me to view several 8mm video tapes along with footage from my digital camera. It was painful, awful, terrible to see him alive. I know, that's just wrong isn't it? I don't know why I feel that way. But I can tell you that it hurts me so much to see him there, alive, talking, walking, being Joe. It's a pain that cuts me as sharp as anything I have ever felt. I don't know why there is no comfort in it for me.

That whole video-search put me in an awful mood (understatement). Luckily this happened in the evening and my kids were going to bed soon so my short-tempered demeanor and impatience with them didn't drag on too long. But it was still there, and I am sorry to my kids for every moment when I can't deal with myself and don't give them the attention they deserve. It's not so much that I take out my frustrations with them arbitrarily, it's more that when they need or want something from me (could be anything-an actual physical object, time, they want to show me something, they are misbehaving and need to be stopped, etc) my fuse is short and I can't find it in myself to be patient and put myself on hold to give them attention. I am a serious work in progress to be a patient parent.

So the whole video topic is one realization and I am thinking about that and trying to figure out if I should just do it (make myself watch video after video) and maybe that will help me to get over that hurdle, or just wait and at some point a natural healing progression may kick in and I'll be okay with it. Not sure on that, but since my mood is so dramatically altered by watching, I think that it might be better for all three of us to put that on hold for a while.

Anyway, another realization I have had is the importance of writing stuff down so I can refer back to it at some point. I rarely go back and read my LEFT posts, and never just because I want to. I don't want to. I have looked back here and there if I am searching for something, but overall it is just too painful to read for me (and it often causes me to wonder, why the heck anyone else would want to read this stuff???). However, at some point I am hoping that I don't feel that pain, and what I see a progression in my grief, even in the little stuff. The little stuff is what matters.

For example, at some point in my life I will read this post and remember how hard it was for me to watch videos of Joe. It will be a memory. I know it will be.
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You know the story of Carlie if you read yesterday's post.
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When I made the decision to get a new dog I was open to many breeds. Truthfully my first choice was another Great Dane, but I was not ready to make peace yet with the short life span. I have always loved big blocky headed english labs. I went back and forth many times between yellow and chocolate. I read about them, researched them, talked to people who had them, etc and ultimately decided on a chocolate.
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Enter: Jack.
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We got Jack in June of 2008. He was much anticipated and planned for, yet none of the three of us had any inkling of what we were in for. If you read our family blog you have a tiny idea of what it has been like for me to be Jack's owner.
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This dog has been a serious commitment for me in many, many ways. At times I thought he was going to end me. There were a few times when I am embarrassed to say that he actually brought me to tears in my frustration with him; times when I didn't think I'd be able to keep him; that I was sacrificing the safety of my children in owning him; that I made a mistake in getting a dog; that he was put on this earth to make me miserable. He has been a serious challenge in ways that unless you have owned a difficult, bull-headed, raging male wanna-be-alpha-dog, you cannot relate to. I did not know or understand the trials of a difficult dog until Jack.
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I could write pages about Jack in terms of the awful stuff he has done; the thousands of dollars that he cost me in vet bills alone in his first year of life, not to mention the hefty price I paid for him (many times I felt like someone should have paid me to take this dog) and the boot camp I sent him to; the fact that the first and I mean FIRST time he sat long enough to pat him was at the age of 10 months and the kids and I looked at each other thinking he must be desperately sick or something because.......WHY WAS HE JUST SITTING THERE??!!...we'd never seen it before; the fact that he has an unknown environmental allergy to some sort of grass or plant (hello, he's a dog, can you imagine what this is like?); his chronic ear infections; his pica problem- pica is the act of eating unnatural things- in Jack's case his weakness is rocks; on and on people, on and on. Jack has been a challenging animal.
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But this story has a happy resolution- Jack and I are friends now. He has grown leaps and bounds in terms of his bad behavior. He is still a constant handful. He is rough and tumble and in need of constant supervision. If he was a person he'd be.....a Mike Tyson sort of guy, complete with the ear-biting tendencies. But I love him now. And that's saying a lot. Jack and I have come a long way and our story is one that gives me little bits of satisfaction...pebbles....and confidence that someday he will actually be the constant easy-going companion that I had hoped for. We are on our way.
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I am actually telling you about Jack for a reason that pertains to the topic of this blog.
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About a month ago I was searching for something in my bedside table. I came across a book that I had long forgotten about. When I saw the cover I felt that familiar twinge of sadness that strikes often and out of the blue. This is the book I found:

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"Great" I thought, "Do I want to look at this?" I wondered if I was brave enough to read what I had written inside, knowing the words in there were from a different Robin- one that did not know the destruction and pain and loss that lay ahead of her. I am often (painfully) captivated by pictures or videos or writings that were "pre-accident". I look at my face in pictures and I wish I could warn that girl that I see what was going to happen. I look at other people pictured with Joe and I think of how none of us knew what lay ahead. It's a weird feeling. If we could only have those moments back. If we had known then what we know now.
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I sat and looked at the cover of the book and remembered when Joe gave it to me. I felt the same way I always do when I come across stuff like this- intensely and deeply sad. I pulled open the cover and an envelope was tucked between the pages.
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Princess Robin. A name semi-mockingly given to me by my father that was carried on by my husband. Princess Robin.......the name of the girl in the pictures pre-July 25, 2007.
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I opened the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. I was instantly struck by the irony of what I was holding: A cut-out card in the exact shape of my current puppy.
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Joe and I did not talk about having a chocolate lab. He gave me this book and card after returning home from a trip. I can't remember where he went or for what reason.

I opened the card and read his words to me.

I know that when Joe gave me this book I loved it. I don't care if he searched it out or picked it up at the airport on his way home. What matters to me is the words he took the time to write. I remember what specific goal he is speaking of, but the fact that he encompassed not just that goal but all that I wanted in life is such a gift- it was back then, and it is now.

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Some of my posts are written mostly with my kids in mind- to document things for them....so they know about their parents' life together. More on this later, but the following is such a post. It's long.....so read at your own risk.
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Today is December 15th, my first dog, Carlie's, birthday. She was born on December 15, 1999. She died on June 16, 2007.
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One day I was out for a walk with a friend. We were on a remote country road and we met up with a lady walking this beautiful, HUGE, black Great Dane. From the minute I saw this dog, I knew that I would have one. His blocky head and floppy ears and clunky demeanor made him adorable. I called Joe on my way home from that walk, and I told him about the dog I had seen and how I fell in love with him. From that moment on I was constantly researching and daydreaming about having a Great Dane.
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This time period was a lot of fun for Joe and I. We were single (though engaged), working hard during the day to be successful career-wise, and having lots and lots of fun at night and on the weekends. I look back on those years so fondly....I would not change the lifestyle I had in my twenties for anything.
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Around the time when I saw the Great Dane, Joe and I were looking to buy a house. In November of 1999 we found one that was perfect for us....a two bedroom post and beam cape on a great piece of land in a small town. After the agreement was made to buy, we packed up everything we owned, which all fit into a UHaul and drove it to the closing. We laughed about how we would be in trouble if the deal fell through. I still remember the pride and fullness we both felt after closing on our house. We both worked hard, and we were starting our life together. It was one of the best days of my life, and one of the best feelings of my life.
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Joe and I unpacked our UHaul by ourselves and moved everything into our new house. Just the two of us.
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Of course after we moved in I was constantly talking about getting a dog. But I was also busy settling in, working during the day and unpacking, organizing, decorating, cleaning and living in our new house in my free time.
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Little did I know, in that first month after we moved into the house, Joe was busy researching dog breeders and locating new litters of black Great Danes so that he could give me one as a Christmas present. It's not an easy task to find a good breeder of a giant size dog, where temperament is so important, along with many other health factors, AND on top of that find one that will have a litter of black pups in a certain time period. But Joe did it.
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For me.
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So fast-forward a few weeks....Joe and I had plans to get out of work early and go and do something, I think go Christmas shopping, one day. The plan was that I would meet him at his work and we'd leave from there. Joe got into my Durango, holding a box.
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"What's that?" I asked.
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"We need to go and drop this off somewhere first....in Massachusetts" he said.
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Um. Okay." (Thinking WHAT?! Is he crazy, we're driving an hour away when we're supposed to be going Christmas shopping??!!). I moved over to the passenger seat so he could drive wherever it was that he needed to go.
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As time wore on, I realized that something was up. The box was tossed in the back and obviously not the reason for our mid-day excursion. We kept driving and driving and driving. I kept asking him where we were going and he kept telling me "You'll see". I was intrigued, but at the same time getting impatient as the hours passed by, seriously thinking...whoah...this better be good.
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FOUR HOURS LATER we were in Connecticut, pulling up to a house with a visible wire fence around the back. From my seat I could see dog after dog.....Great Dane after Great Dane!!!
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We went in the house and met a new week-old litter of puppies. They were the cutest puppies I had ever seen! Along with the pups, seven of the breeder's own Great Danes roamed the house. I was in serious dog heaven. The only downfall...we were just visiting. The little guys were too small to take away from their mama. So we left empty handed.
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We visited the litter two more times before we could take a dog home. The breeder's house was near Foxwoods Casino and we would make a weekend of it....visit the dogs and then stay at Foxwoods. Those were great times.
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Finally the day came when we were able to pick our puppy and take her home. From the first moment I knelt down at the breeder's house, Carlie came over to me and was persistent that she wanted to go home with us. I held her on my lap the whole 4+ hour ride home. Carlie was the sweetest puppy ever, and she grew up to be the best dog ever. Joe and I loved her. We were both out the door for work by 7:45am and not back home until 6pm, so we felt terrible for leaving her so long during the day. We hired a dog walker to walk her twice a day! She grew fast, from 13 pounds when we brought her home to about 120 pounds as an adult. We taught Carlie never to jump on anyone and she was really good about it. The only person she jumped on was Joe...and that's only when she was invited. He would look at her and tap his chest and up she would go. They looked at each other eye to eye....and danced. Luke and Alyssa thought is was so funny when daddy and Carlie danced.
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Before I had kids, Carlie was my baby. She slept with me until Joe came to bed and only got off the bed under protest (and I was sad to see her go!) I couldn't imagine loving anyone or anything more (other than Joe of course). I secretly wondered if I would love my kids as much as I loved my dog- okay maybe that wasn't a big secret- I think that I said that out loud a few times.
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When I started staying home with Luke, Carlie and I spent lots and lots of time together. When Joe came home she would meet him at the door every night, and often she was the first "hello" that Joe gave when he came in the door ("Hi Carlie Marlie!"). She was always gentle with both kids, and I never worried about anything other than her sheer size in hurting them. She put up with a lot of stuff from Alyssa when she was a toddler.... crawling on her, pulling her ears and poking her eyes. Carlie took it all in stride. She never made an aggressive move toward her.
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The average age of a Dane is 8 years. Her health deteriorated in the last year as did her quality of life. Joe and I went back and forth about what we should do and finally ended up deciding we had to have her put to sleep. I cancelled the appointment several times before we actually went through with it. We both cried a lot that day....in the animal hospital, before, after and for days after. Joe missed Carlie a lot. He missed her being at the door greeting him when he got home. He missed her riding to camp with him on Friday nights. It was hard.

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I sat my kids down when we came home from the vet that day and told them that Carlie had died. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine that one month and 11 days later I would be sitting them down again to tell them that their father died.

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We had Carlie cremated and we received her ashes early in July. They were in a wooden box in our bedroom. We were planning to have a little ceremony with the kids and bury the box in the yard. That didn't happen.

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Carlie's ashes are in Joe's grave with him. They are together. I can't say I get much comfort from that....I guess maybe a tiny bit.

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Carlie was a great, great dog. Early on I started calling her my baboon....my Carlie baboon. I have no idea why except that's what rolled off my tongue when I looked at her. Her "real" full name on her AKC registration is "Carlie Isis Piper Vegas". Isis, Piper and Vegas are all names that I wanted to name her and Joe didn't like. I got them in there anyway ;-)

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She was truly a gentle giant and a wonderful member of our family. She never learned to fetch (she would run after the ball and NEVER bring it back!) and she had her quirks as well. She drove me crazy sometimes when she would follow me around constantly throughout any given day. She was a BIG DOG to be at your feet all day.

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She didn't steal food or beg- with a couple exceptions- she liked Annie's noodles and chocolate chip cookies. Since she never was interested in people food I was not careful about leaving it where she could get it. One time I was making cookies and she stole some off the island where they were cooling. I thought it was funny. The kids dropped food on the floor all the time as toddlers do and she would leave it there. But the cookies brought out the devil in her.

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What makes Carlie even more special to me is how I received her, as a gift from my husband. Through his hard work and searching he gave me exactly what I wanted. He was good to me. And Carlie was good to all of us.

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People don't often understand that although we are over 2 years into our "new" life, death is a common subject on my children's minds. Not in a morbid and dark way, but more in a way that signifies that my kids have experienced something traumatic that their brains are trying to make sense of still. Time does not make the thoughts fade, at least not yet. Often it is only when the three of us are alone that my kids will mention death or feel comfortable enough to ask a question or make comments about death.

When Alyssa plays with her ponies, or polly pockets or stuffies etc, if you listen to her made-up stories, one of them usually dies, or has died. The rest of the ponies, polly pockets or stuffies are dealing with it sadly but matter-of-factly. Sometimes it's not even sad. It's just a fact.

I never interrupt her, and trust me some of the things she says would/could be considered crude or violent under "normal" circumstances. I know whatever is going through her mind is important for her to act out. I listen and try to pick up clues about what is going on in her head, and I might ask her a question later. I also deal with my own pain to hear my daughter talk about such things.

The conversation comes up every few months about what would happen if I were to die. They know logistically what would happen and can tell you exactly how they would be taken care of. But still there is the looming question of what it would be like to not have me. Obviously my kids know I cannot tell them with certainty that I am not going to die. I just tell them that no one knows when anyone will die, but that most people die when they are old and I expect to live a long time. We talk about this stuff at dinner. If you were a fly on the wall you might be surprised by the tone of these conversations. They are not sad per se, they are factual, informational. We talk about death like a lot of people talk about their day at work or school. These conversations were hard at first, years ago. I remember having to take long pauses to hold my composure to finish my sentences without crying. But now it's all different. My kids know the answers to their questions, yet they still feel the need to have the conversations again and again.

We talk about other people dying. They talk about the actual death in a factual way, but they get upset to think of how others would react to the death.

We talk about the accident. They often say little snippets here and there about parts of the accident that are on their minds. We may be acting silly or normal and for whatever reason a word comes up....that jogs their memory about their father...and they throw out some random thought and just as quickly move on to another subject. For example.....think..... (out of Alyssa's mouth) "My finger hurts......" followed by "daddy didn't have any pain when he died" followed by "I'm going to sit with Riley on the bus tomorrow!" A random reference to Joe, stuck in between two topics which are completely unrelated. No mention of him before or after, just a comment floating in her head that needed to come out.

They have many, many questions about heaven and where their father is now. Almost all of them I answer with "I don't know for sure because I have never been to heaven, but I think....." Recently Alyssa asked me if, when Jack goes to heaven, will he still be our dog when we get there or will someone "steal" him? Heaven is a mix of confused emotions for kids and adults. "If daddy is happy and at peace and there is no sadness in heaven, then does that mean he doesn't miss us?" I could write a long list of difficult questions we ponder. I don't want to.

My kids regularly deal with situations at school or with their friends in which they are reminded of and forced to comment on their father's death. "Does your dad like hockey"...."Yes...but....my dad died"; "Your dad's name is Joe?"...."Yes, but.....he died"; "Draw a picture of your family"...."Hmmm should I include daddy?" on and on and on and on.

Last week my kids got little video email messages from Santa Claus. They thought they were pretty cool....Santa spoke to them by name, said specifically what they wanted for Christmas, and even had a picture of them in his "Nice" book. Both were pretty mystified by the whole thing. I watched Luke as he looked at the computer screen with all the wonder and excitement of Christmas in his face. He was watching Santa talk to him. Then suddenly the light in his face dimmed and he turned to me. "Is Santa going to die"?

Yes, my friends, we still live it. Even with the happiest moments, over two years later, every piece of happiness comes with a twinge of fear that it can be lost in an instant.

I am raising two children who think about and face some very challenging life questions and realities at the ages of 5 and 8, and they've been doing it for over two years. I don't know if their hardest days coping with their loss are ahead of them or behind them. Like me, they have learned how to maneuver the day-to-day changes, but the thoughts are never far away of what is missing. The most heart-wrenching part for me in terms of my kids is to know that they possess knowledge that stole away the innocence that (**I thought**) is supposed to be part of being a kid. Life can be hard, cruel and difficult, and they learned it way too early.

I write these things knowing that the majority of the kids in the world do not have lives as great as Luke and Alyssa. They do not face issues that millions of kids face....addiction, abuse, hunger, extreme poverty, poor health, absense of a parent by their own choice, on and on. It may seem like I babble on so about what my kids don't have and the hardships they face on this blog, but this is not so in real life. I am conscious every day of all that they have, and truly thankful and grateful for it. They are aware to the degree that they can be at their ages that they are very lucky kids in most areas of life. Though they have had to face a huge loss, they have the love and devotion of so many people around them. They live in a comfortable house, eat healthy meals every day, sleep in warm beds and get to go to school. They have a mother who loves them completely and unconditionally.

People tell me that Luke and Alyssa will be stronger individuals because of what they have been through. Though I don't dispute what they say, I don't understand it. For some reason I can't wrap my mind around that idea. What I do believe and hope for however, is that my children appreciate more because of what they have been through. I hope as adults they appreciate genuine kindness and love and time and success and never take any of those things for granted. If they can do that, then death has offered them one avenue of experiencing life more richly. Though it comes at a high price, they have the opportunity to live in a more fulfilling way because of it.

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