DROWNING IN A SEA OF WORDS & PHRASES

Ok, so I'm a compulsive writer. Writing helps me purge my ruminating thoughts. I live primarily in my head, and rarely in the present moment. Tonite, I sense it is time to release the thoughts and perhaps the resulting catharsis will allow me to sleep.

Naturally, I am thinking about Christina. It's been almost thirteen weeks and I am surprised (though, not really) by how hard it is to process and accept that she is gone. On the one hand, it is undeniable. I have the haunting images of what she did, the vague, dream-like memory of her funeral, and of course, all the documentation of her death to solidify the reality of her passing. And, each day passes without seeing or hearing her, adding to the reality of the situation. Still, in spite of all the evidence proving her death, I feel a huge sense of disbelief, as if "this" could not possibly have happened. This is a chapter in my life that I did not anticipate, even though at some level, I always knew it could happen. And yet...I find myself saying to myself, "it just CAN'T be true."

The other day, I was returning home from the store and living my life as if it were unchanged when suddenly, I thought of Christina and thought, "Christina's dead" and it made me shudder, as if hearing it for the first time. It was as if my subconscious was taking it upon itself to remind my conscious mind of the facts. Instantly, that awful image of her hanging from that beam flashed into my mind's eye and I gasped, as if seeing her like that for the first time. Every time that happens, I feel traumatized all over again, like it is registering for the first time.

I find myself self-absorbed in thoughts about her childhood and feel overwhelming guilt for having been spread so thin. Was I EVER available to her?? The guilt just keeps building and building within me and I wonder if I will ever be able to escape the sense of failure. I failed her. I did not provide what she needed. I could not be what she wanted in a mother. I let her down. I brought her into the world, and she resented it.

Then, as if reality is just too harsh, my thoughts wander into more philosophical and metaphysical realms in regards to Christina. Who was she? What were her past lives like (assuming reincarnation is true) and what residual pain did she bring with her into this one? It often seemed as if her soul was grieving - even from her infancy and early childhood. So much sadness there. And so I question The Universe, wondering about Life, spirits, heaven, god, eternity, and our divine purpose - or if any of those things are even real.

Since losing Christina, I have a much more profound need to know the answers to Life's questions, yet am equally frustrated by the realization that I will NEVER know. Do I really think I am the first to wonder what happens after death or to want proof of eternal survival of the soul?? And not being able to have those answers angers and frustrates me. It is no longer good enough to theorize and have have suspicions about the afterlife; I need proof. And there is none. No proof exists. It all requires a leap of faith, which I refuse to give in to. That is far too dangerous. Somehow, I will need to accept the not-knowing and not being able to know for certain. But at this moment, I struggle with it all.

More than anything, I miss her and still cannot fully comprehend and accept that she left us - forever. Forever gone. NO! I cannot fathom that! I want so badly to scream. I want so badly to just fall apart and sob uncontrollably...and feel guilt because I've not done that. Guilt. Always more guilt. But the screams remain within me. There has been neither opportunity nor a safe space to let it out freely. It scares people. It will even scare me, if and when it should happen. And yet, I know it is eventual.

I need to spend an afternoon at her gravesite - alone. This much, I know for certain. I need to talk to her, even though I realize she won't be "there" to hear me. Or will she?? In spirit form, will she, can she, might she be there?? It's what I hope, but cannot prove. It's gonna require that leap of faith. Ugh!! So I tell myself that I should just do it, just in case she can somehow be aware. And if not, at the very least, I might experience some catharsis. Some relief. Some peace and healing. Maybe just staring at her gravesite will help me process the truth of her death.

But for now, it is still very unreal. It is still difficult to truly accept. Life - all the demands of daily life - get in the way and distract me from processing the facts. And perhaps that is WHY I continue to be haunted by the evidence...

DO IT MY WAY, PLEASE

If I learned just one thing from losing Christina, it's that my ideas about Natural/Green Funerals are truly the way I want things done when it's my turn to go.

There is a trend gaining momentum in our country, most often referred to as "Green Funerals." While it appears to appeal primarily to those concerned about the environment, it is also attracting people like me who gave birth at home without the needless and costly obstetrical interventions. Green Funerals often involve caring for your own deceased, which usually means waking them at home and eliminating embalming. It also involves using simple, earth-friendly caskets rather than the expensive, hermetically sealed "crockpots" that most people spend thousands of dollars on today.

For me, I learned that embalming does not create a pretty body; in fact, Christina did not look at all like she did when she was alive. The embalming added years to her face. It also made her stiff and virtually unmoveable and unpleasant to the touch. I wish I had insisted that she not be embalmed, but what did I know? Even though I was very aware of the Green Funeral movement (and had just been reading about it prior to her taking her life), I was not ready to apply it.

Most of all, I regret not waking her at home. I believe it would've helped the grieving process for all of us and would've allowed us to be with her continually until it was time to bury her. Instead, she was shipped to the coroner's office, then to lansing, then to dyer, and then to the cemetery. No, I now believe strongly that she belonged at home where we could've spent those last few days with her, cleaned her, dressed her, but most of all - loved and cared for her. Instead, those 12 hours in the hospital with all that life support equipment ran up thousands of dollars worth of bills, and for what? Instead, we were distracted and interrupted by the hospital environment - even though the staff was all very kind and made every effort to respect our presence. Still, it was unnatural and kept me from realizing what was going on. It distracted me from her. Never again.

When I die, I hope to pass away peacefully in my own bed. I hope that my children will lovingly care for me, and prepare me, for my final rest. I will pre-purchase a casket. I will leave instructions for my kids, so they know what to do. I want them to be able to touch me, hug me, lay next to me - if they want to. I want them to create an ambience in my room that reflects who I was: burn candles and sage, annoint me with my oils, dress me as I would've dressed, and take their time saying their goodbyes. It's what I want. It's what I believe is best. It seems healthier for all involved.

I realize I am choosing to do something revolutionary, by today's standards, but isn't that just like me??

A LETTER TO CHERYL

Cheryl,

There are so many things I wish I could tell you, ask you, and talk about with you. I guess this letter will have to do.

First of all, the day we buried Christina, we went to your resting spot and I made a deal with you. I asked to watch over my daughter on your side, and in return, I will watch over your son on this side. I believe you orchestrated the events that led to me being here, in your house, with your husband, and especially, with your son. There have been so many parallels for it to be just a coincidence Cheryl and I have to believe you had something to do with it. And now, after losing Christina, it seems even more likely that somehow, you knew.

I believe, had we met, we would've been great friends. It seems we had a lot in common. You must see how much I care about your children - especially Brian. He could be one of my own. I worry about him Cheryl. He's been through so much, losing you and then losing Christina. I'm trying Cheryl, to reach him, to support him, and to be there for him; but I'm not you. I can't replace you. I can only attempt to stand in, but you're a hard act to follow!

I know my Christina was often brutal with him and broke his heart over and over; but please be understanding, as only a mother can do. Be there for her - on your side. Stand in, for me; I am not a hard act to follow!

Help me Cheryl, if you can. You know I love your Jimmy (and he IS yours); but you also know the part of him that I struggle with - the same part of him that I believe you struggled with. Help me with that. He's a wonderful man, as you know, but he has an inner weakness (there's so much pain there) that he doesn't recognize nor admit to.

Cheryl, I will do my best to care for your son (and Tracy and Jimmy too, although they don't need me the same way Brian does). And our grandchildren Cheryl...Damien and Ada. Help me help them.

Thank you Cheryl - for everything.

WHERE HAS IT GONE?

Since losing Christina, I have been thinking about how I wish I had spiritual beliefs that I accepted an undeniable fact. How much better I would feel if I could only believe that Christina still existed, residing forever in Heavenly bliss, awaiting the eventual arrival of the rest of us and that joyous moment of reuniting with her. But that is not what I believe. I wish I could; but I cannot, for there is no proof. It would require that leap of faith - which I do not have.

I have also been thinking about all the things that, prior to losing Christina, I once believed but which no longer offer me any consolation or relief from the incessant grief. Prior to her suicide, Nature provided the foundation for my spirituality. I suppose it still does, at some level. The concept of the Wheel of the Year, based on the agricultural life cycle, offered a tangible example of Life in general. There is birth, life, death, and then rebirth. Living next to a cornfield offered me visual proof of this cycle and its repetition gave me a sense of comfort; it appeared as if life goes on indefinitely.

Then there was the inspiration I felt from the Maiden-Mother-Crone archetypes. Again, this mythic example provided me with a clear sense of what to expect from life. I was once the Maiden, full of youthful potential and physical perfection. Then, the Mother, fertile, productive, nurturing, and active. Now, as I move into the Crone stage, I have increased in wisdom and like the Sage or Hermit, am reaching both physical and spiritual maturity.

But where does suicide fit in with these mythological analogies?? In Nature, I do not see mental illness and self-destruction. Yes, Nature destroys itself via tornadoes, floods, earthquakes and forest fires and in the wake of natural destruction come new life in abundance. But does that analogy transfer? Does it apply?? Christina was precariously perched between Maidenhood and Motherhood. By self-destruction, will she leave enriched and fertile ground for exceptional growth and restoration?? I will probably only know for sure retrospectivly. In the meanwhile, I am offered no comfort, spiritually.

I wish I could locate something inspirational to help me cope with her suicide: a myth, an analogy, anything that would give me the hope and even the belief that perhaps she is not just gone but transformed. I want to believe that she still exists, somewhere. I want to trust that she is experiencing wholeness and restoration along with freedom from the pain she struggled with here with us. But because it is all so subjective and unprovable, I am left with doubts. I wish. I wish I could simply take that leap of faith and believe. I wish I was afforded that comfort. I wish I knew for certain, but know that is not an option.

So where has it gone? My spiritual references have helped me though so much and guided me through personal development, self acceptance, and even toward self-actualization; but with THIS particular Life Struggle, it is curiously absent. I am left with nothing. And I wonder why.

BITTER THOUGHTS

Although my intention was to write something happy tonite, I am plagued with bitter, jaded thoughts about the twisted irony of Life. Of course, I realize I am not the first - nor will I be the last - to make these realizations. But yet, here I am, feeling that life is unfair. I remember hearing, when I was much younger, that "youth is wasted on the young," and it seemed trite. But now? Now it is painfully apparent why this sentiment is so very true. It seems totally unfair and twisted that we gain wisdom with age. And then what? We die! What a waste!

In my youth, I made choices out of ignorance that laid a foundation for the rest of my life. Now, as I approach my 50th birthday, I realize that, had I only known then what I know now, my life could've been so much better! But now, it is virtually too late, and it is my children who will pay the price for my youthful ignorance.

If only I had known then what I know now! When I was younger - in my 20's - all I knew is that I wanted children. But what I DIDN'T know is how I would feel about them once they were grown and once I discovered who they actually are!

Knowing what I know now, I would have built my life so differently. I would've invested in rural, wooded property that would be large enough to build small, very modest and unique homes for each of my children. I envision the homes laid in a circular arrangement, all facing in toward the center of the circle. The circle would contain a playground for grandchildren and a firepit for late night gatherings, weather permitting. Behind each home would be a garden - because we would all know how to garden. In doing this, I would have been able to provide a home for each of my children - affording each one privacy and self-sufficiency, yet a connection with family.

Then there is education. While I am still not opposed to homeschooling, I think I would've instead ensured that we lived in a good school district and I would've put a lot more emphasis on vocational assessment and training. In fact, it would've been a major theme of their childhood years: discovering each of their unique talents and interests, and then guiding them in that direction.

But a lot of good those realizations do me now. My children are grown and struggling with self-sufficiency. I take the responsibility for that; I failed to adequately prepare them for adulthood. I blame myself and their father, but can only address my own part in this failure. Why didn't I insist on more for them? Why was I so distracted by the short-term goals that the long term goals were overlooked? I am forever indebted to them.

Yeah, I'm feeling bitter. My anger is directed inward for my errrors, but also outward, toward life in general. How was I to know?? It seems like each generation must reinvent the wheel in discovering who they are and collecting the wisdom that comes with age. Some say we must share our life wisdom with the younger generation; but they don't want it (or comprehend it) any more than I did when I was young. So, each generation is left to discover it all on their own and, like me, by the time they acquire it, mistakes will be made and erroneous foundations will be laid.

And that really pisses me off.

OVERWHELMED WITH PAIN AND SORROW

Yesterday, it was officially eleven weeks since Christina took her life and it is not getting much easier. True, I've had some days that felt almost normal; but just below the surface, the pain remains. And, without warning, the images of That Day re-emerge. My mind may forget - for small chunks of time - but my body remembers.

I've been thinking about that a lot these past few weeks - about how the body remembers, even when the mind is otherwise occupied. The memory of this trauma, I've come to realize, is stored primarily in my face, throat, arms, and chest. I know why: as we struggled to take her down, I wanted to scream, but could not. I knew that for the sake of the kids we had to act quickly and quietly. So the screams within my were trapped in my throat. Then, in our physical efforts to take her down, I held her up to take the tension off her neck so that the cord could be loosened and removed. In the process of holding her, I felt the weight of her body in my arms. I held my breath, perhaps because I knew she could not breathe (had she any life left in her), but perhaps also just because of the physical effort. I held her - and my breath - until my chest hurt. And there, the memory of the trauma remains. I fear I will always remember, physically, what it felt like to take her down from that beam. And when those body-based memories surface, I feel it again, almost like re-living the experience, and I fear I will be forever haunted by it.

And so, even while Life goes on, there remains a part of me that is stuck in those moments of struggling so urgently, so desperately, and so overwhelmed with pain and sorrow, as we hurried to release her. Those moments of shock, disbelief, and yet stark realization that my daughter had killed herself - that paradox - remains forever embedded in my mind, body, and soul.

Is it any wonder then that I would suddenly begin to cry, without warning? Can I truly expect to be free of the trauma?? Nothing - nothing has ever traumatized me so greatly and so deeply. I now, as a direct result, fear losing another loved one. I fear tragedy. I know now that anything can happen. I know now that Life can turn quickly to death, happiness to pain. Anything can happen. BAD things can happen - without warning. And even if there IS warning, it can go unrecognized.

Some have said that Christina would not want me to suffer endlessly like this; but I wonder. She resented me so deeply. Was this revenge? Did she do this to me, intentionally, in anger and hatred? Did she laugh to herself before taking that final step off the couch as she envisioned the pain she would inflict upon me for the rest of my life? Or was she simply not thinking at all? Was she thinking only of ending her own misery, as others have concluded? I'll never know. I'll never be quite certain. And in the uncertainty comes more pain.

I want desperately to resolve this. I want to be able to evaluate what has happened, picking it apart, and creating an explanation that I can live with and that will allow me to close that chapter and move on; but I have not been successful in that endeavor. Every time I think I have satisfactorily synthsized all of the events leading up to her action, and subsequently resolved the aftermath, I unearth another aspect of the trauma that I must confront and come to terms with. Most recently, it has been my regret (oh, how I despise regret) for calling 911. We should have instead allowed ourselves time with her right here at home. There was nothing the paramedics could have done. And the police were an unwelcome intrusion. What she did was not a crime. A tragedy, yes. But not a crime.

And so I have felt overwhelmed - not so much by what happened eleven weeks ago, but with Life intruding upon my ability to process what happened on That Day. I resent that Life goes on. I resent that I feel as if Life has not afforded me the opportunity to fully process her death before moving on to yet another day, another week, another month. Time is having its way with me. And I resent Time's intrusion.