REDUNDANCY

I suppose there are only so many times that I can write about how much I miss Christina and how the grief has effected me before it becomes truly redundant; yet, here I am with a strong sense of hypertypergraphia - a need for the catharsis that comes from putting it into words.

Last week, it would've been her 24th birthday; this week will mark the 8th month since she's been gone. We - all but one of her 5 siblings, most of her nieces and nephews, her two children, her partner, one of her brothers-in-law, two of her sisters-in-law, me and Jim - went to her grave. Her kids wanted to sing Happy Birthday to her...bring her birthday cake. So we gathered there and did that. We released 24 red and black balloons (her favorite colors). I worried that we are giving her kids a mixed message about death: If we leave things on her grave (cupcakes, cans of pop, candy, cigarettes, flowers, stuffed animals), do they think she is somehow still around, able to get what we leave for her?? Yet, I sense it is cathartic for them to participate in this ritual, just as it is for us.

Personally, I would've preferred an afternoon of solitude at her grave. Had I been afforded that option, I would have cried and yelled and screamed. I still carry the biggest "WHY??" imaginable, for which there will never be an answer that satisfies. There will never be a response that triggers an, "OH! Yes, of course. Okay, NOW I understand." And I've tried; I've tried to justify it. I remember her saying that her kids would be better off without her - and I see that at some level, she was right: her bipolar mood swings were so intense and so unfair to Damien and Ada - and in truth, there is more peace and stability without her. That hurts. We've also come to the mutual agreement that her actions that morning were firmly rooted in impulse; she didn't REALLY plan to hang herself. That hurts too, knowing had she just taken a deep breath, practiced some cognitive restructuring, thought stopping, and shifted her attention elsewhere, she'd likely still be here.

I struggle with disbelief and shattered faith. All that spiritual stuff that I embraced about the seasons and cycles of Life seem empty and meaningless; just a different brand of magical thinking. Death is the end; without proof of an afterlife, nothingness is all I have. And still I find myself in a state of disbelief, as if all these images of her death are remnants of a nightmare; surely if I walk back into her room right now I will find her sitting at her computer. But no. I must always correct myself; she's really, really, dead. She's not coming back, ever. Apparently, my final act as her mother - going to the funeral parlor to fix her hair and makeup - was not enough to confirm the brutal facts. Handling her embalmed body was not enough to shake the doubt. Why? Because I was not fully present for any of it. I functioned on automatic pilot, never taking a moment to take a breath and SEE what I was doing. I simply DID it. I felt the heavy stiffness of her overly-embalmed body; I saw my Christina under the rigid expression of death; but I didn't accept it, as blatant as it was.

I've also come to realize that my sense of grief is primarily on behalf of her children. As her mom and especially as a mental health counselor, I realize the years of bipolar depression took its toll and that she could not have been expected to carry that psychological load forever; I find relief in knowing she found an end to her chronic pain. But for her kids, I cry. My tears are THEIR tears. But also my grandmother's tears; she too lost a mother when she was only a child (a car accident, according to the family story, but recent generations have suspected possible suicide). My grandmother mourned the loss of her mother until her own passing. My tears are also a return of the tears I cried when my own mother came within minutes of dying when her appendix ruptured. I was not even 9 years old, but I overheard how close she came to dying - and I was profoundly traumatized by the experience and by the realization of the fragility of life. Here one moment, gone the next. A lot for a child to ponder. And, my tears are also for my paternal grandmother who lost a son. His death was brutal and preventable; it was the result of repeated incestuous rape and subsequent colon perforation and hemorrhage. And since Christina died, my tears are also for every sad story I hear: suicides as a direct outcome of bullying; missing children; murdered children. My former optimism is fading.

And then the paradox: Even while I struggle with these issues daily, internally, and often subconsciously, I am functioning. I have redecorated, turning this house into more of a home. What was a living room unused is now a freshly painted and redecorated office complete with new bookshelves and desk. What was formerly just the-room-with-the-pool-table has become the freshly painted living room with new laminate flooring, a flat screen tv and console soon to be delivered, and new sofa/sectional soon to be purchased. And it fills me with joy to successfully complete a creative project like these. And then there's school. Another semester begins in just a few days and I am eager: textbooks are purchased, new folders have been labeled, and I found a great deal on a lambskin leather briefcase that I'm absolutely smitten with! In spite of the tears and often along side the grief, Life moves forward. I find moments of happiness, joy, satisfaction, and love. Perhaps they are not QUITE as grand as they once were; perhaps they are more fleeting or are tempered by the underlying pain...but they're there.

So I unload the pain with my words and sigh with the relief that comes with purging, with telling the story, with redundancy, and wish it could've been that easy for Christina to find HER relief.

OH WHAT A YEAR

Now that we have officially entered into a new calendar year, I've been thinking a lot about last year. Last year will be forever marred by Christina's suicide. So, when I think about 2011 and the Life Lessons I have learned, it all revolves around what losing Christina has taught me.

I suppose the biggest lesson learned is that bad things happen and no one is immune. Prior to losing Christina, I was very optimistic. I believed the statistics favored me; I would likely get through life without ever being a victim of crime or losing a child. In spite of the odds, I was touched by tragedy, leaving me forever changed, much more paranoid, and by far less optimistic.

I learned other things too. While I realize that what Christina did is not directly MY fault, I also know that there are things I should have done and things I shouldn't have done all throughout her life that just might have made a difference. The most important lesson I learned is that a mother should always, always, always put her children first. I failed in that respect; I allowed myself to get sucked into my own inner world of daily survival, marital discord, and self-improvement. I became too self-absorbed and was often oblivious to what my children were experiencing. I can't change that; all I can do is experience the regret and sorrow for having made such an alarming error. A mother is is the hub in the web that is her family. What happens to the mother happens to the children. Or, as so many have said, "If Mommy isn't happy, no one is happy." I was not happy for a long time and MY sadness, MY discontent, MY depression and confusion all had detrimental effects on my children.

I learned just how serious mental illness can be. I learned to never become complacent about a person's threats to end their life. In so many ways, Christina was like the Boy Who Cried Wolf. She verbalized suicidal ideation often enough that I became complacent. Wrong! Wrong response! All I can do is beg her forgiveness and hope that she exists in the Spirit realm, if there is one, and that she has forgiven me.

I learned also just how fragile spirituality can be. My faith and my beliefs have been shattered. I want proof of where she is...IF she is...and there is none.

Still, in spite of me learning all of these various Life Lessons, I still question it all. Why?? Why did I need these lessons, and why like this?? I am still unsure of the answer to all that. It seems unnecessary. And it's not just me, but our whole family: Why do WE need to face these lessons? Why do WE need to grieve a loss like this?? I was fond of saying that "everything is as it should be," but is it, really?? THIS should not be. I cannot accept that losing Christina was in everyone's best interest. I'm not convinced that it was in HER best interest either. People have said that her pain was so big, so overwhelming, so intense, that at least she is at peace now, released from her emotional and psychological trauma. Perhaps. Perhaps my wish that she could still be here is selfish. I will need to think about that more because right now, I just want her back.

So, a new year begins. The lessons are never over; there is always more to learn. Last year, I had to learn how to cope with her death. This year, I will need to learn how to cope with her absence.