A NEW STORY EMERGES

These past several months, I have been speaking regularly with a counselor as I try to process the events in my life that ultimately brought me to the day in 2011 when my youngest daughter took her own life. I had come to believe that at some level, I must be at least partially to blame for what she had done; I believed that if I had done a good job of parenting, Christina would not have been so unhappy to have caused her own death, leaving behind two small children, a man who loved her deeply, siblings who cared about her, and parents who will be forever changed as the result of her death. I looked back over my parenting years and saw one mistake after another, leading me to feel like a failure. This perspective has lead me to have numerous regrets, to like myself less than ever before, and to feel totally jaded and pessimistic about Life itself. If wisdom comes with age, it is a cruel twist of fate; by the time we become wise, it is much too late – the damage has been done.

 

But tonight, I wonder: I wonder if that is all there is to the story of my life. As I look back, searching for perhaps a new perspective, I am finding that there is much more to the story. My life is not the story of repeated failure, but the story of never-ending determination. It is the story of having the inner strength and motivation to pick myself up off the floor every time I had been knocked down. It is the story of survival.

 

I survived and recovered from being molested by my father. I survived and recovered from poverty. I survived, walked away from, and recovered from extremist religion. I survived and recovered from mental illness. I survived, walked away from, and recovered from an emotionally wounding marriage relationship. I survived and recovered from a severe car accident that nearly killed me and by all rights, should have left me brain injured beyond recognition. I survived and walked away from marijuana addiction, cocaine use, and alcohol use.

 

Mine is a story of continued motivation: The motivation to be educated: about childbirth, about nutrition, about health in general. About history, about mythology, about religion and spirituality. About elementary education, about psychology, and now about professional counseling. Always motivated to learn more, to know more, to become more capable. In spite of criticism and in spite of doubt, I persisted. Yes, there were times when I felt broken. There were times when I retreated to lick my wounds. And yes, there were even times when I gave up…temporarily…because in the end, I always, always got back up, sucked up the tears, turned my back on those who said I couldn’t (or shouldn’t), and said, “To hell with you all – I’m going after what I want.” In the end, my inner motivation pushed me forward – in spite of obstacles, roadblocks, and brick walls. In spite of Life’s innate hardships. I kept going.

 

More importantly, I believe this story could be equally applied to my children, but it is a story they have yet to hear. Currently, my children continue to live out the story of being doomed to failure when in fact, they are survivors…survivors who are motivated to reach for more rather than to settle for less. Many would have given up by now; Christina certainly did. But my other five children refuse to settle and continue to strive for bigger, better, faster, more…and it makes me so proud!! Why? Because I have been their example. They have seen me repeatedly struck down, and repeatedly I have gotten back up. They have seen me trapped by countless brick walls, and they have seen me scale those walls, or plough right through them when I had to. Whether it was insisting on learning to drive a car, filling out applications for financial aid to go to school, walking away – loudly – from a set of religious beliefs that were destroying us, or simply saying out loud, “No, I want more. I want better than this. I can do it. I deserve it.” They’ve seen me do it – and whether they realize it yet or not, they have learned from me to do what others have told them is impossible. Whether they realize it or not, they already know how to beat the odds and to never give up. And whether they realize it yet or not, they will achieve great things.

A HALLOWEEN VISIT - FROM THE OTHER SIDE

It's Halloween morning and I just woke up - in tears. I dreamed about her: She came to me in my dreams this Halloween morning - her favorite holiday! I got to SEE her. I got to hear her VOICE! I got to HUG her! My Baby Girl! My Christina!

In the dream, I had been looking for her and had somehow found her - a phone number. I called her. She told me where she was (Florida??) and told me that although she could not come home, that I could come to her...but it would be risky. She was being held, somewhat against her will. She said she was well-cared for, but that it came at a hefty price: she could not leave. So I went to her.

I found her living in a very nice apartment. She looked good. She hugged me, and it felt so good to hug her back; I didn't want to let go. We visited and she told me about her new life: A man was keeping her there. He treated her well, but kept her from leaving. And she had to manage others that he was keeping...others who were often trouble-makers. Drugs?? Illegal behaviors?? But she did it. She had no choice. She could not return. I wanted to stay. I didn't want to leave her there.

The man (boyfriend?) came home. He was young, attractive, but as crafty, powerful, and manipulative as he was charming. He treated me with respect and told me I could stay - but that if I stayed, I would not ever be able to return to the rest of the family. I worried about Ada. Christina told me I should go back home - and to not worry. I didn't want to stay, but I didn't want to leave. I just wanted to take her back home with me. But I couldn't. I HAD to leave. And so I did. I thought I could perhaps find a way to rescue her, but it seemed impossible. We couldn't talk on the phone because he would KNOW; he would find out, and then I'd never see her again.

As I was trying to find my way back home, I changed my mind: I decided to go back to her. But then I couldn't. I couldn't find my way back. I was asking people on the street for directions, but the directions I got were conflicting - and I got the impression the people were intentionally mis-directing me; they were not to be trusted.

I woke up in tears - LOTS of tears. It's what I've needed to do, these past 29 months. I've needed to cry. I've needed to sob uncontrollably. And that's exactly what I did. I miss her. It hurts. But, even if just in my dreams, I got to be with her. I got to see her. I got to hear her voice. And I got to HUG her!

DAWN IS A FEELING

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight,
Red is gray and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?
Pinprick holes in a colourless sky,
Let insipid figures of light pass by,
The mighty light of ten thousand suns,
Challenges infinity and is soon gone.
Night time, to some a brief interlude,
To others the fear of solitude.
Brave Helios wake up your steads,
Bring the warmth the countryside needs. 


It's been a long, dark night but I think I finally see light emerging on the horizon of my life.

It's been over 2 years since the darkness of night fell upon me. That Morning - when Christina died - I was thrust into a darkness that I had never experienced before: a dark night of the soul. I've been wandering around in the dark, alone, in a foreign land.

Since That Morning, I have often stated that when Christina died, she took a part of me with her. More specifically, I felt like she took my spiritual self with her. Prior to losing Christina, I was a spiritual person. In fact, from my earliest years I have been spiritually aware. But when she died, that all seemed to change. That day - from the moment we released her from that noose until 18 hours later when the coroner took her - I looked for her...for her Spirit. I remember I kept lifting her eyelids and looking into her eyes - looking for her - but she was not there. Her body was empty. She was gone. But gone where?? As a mother, I needed desperately to know where she had gone.

Spiritually, and at a very deep subconscious level, I expected to be able to sense her presence. I remember looking up to the ceiling as if I would see her spirit floating above us; I saw and sensed nothing. And I think that is when my beliefs in an afterlife began to deflate: Christina was dead. No part of her remained. She was simply...gone.

Still, I continued to look for her. I spoke to her via the Tarot the day or so after her funeral - and it seemed like perhaps she responded, but there was no "magical" feeling of her presence. I needed more. I needed proof that she still existed.

I remembered her promise to me and Mary: "Well all I know is that if I die before any of you, and it's possible to communicate with the living from the other side, you can be sure I will haunt all of you!" That's what she said. Just weeks before she left us, she said that to Mary and I while we were discussing the paranormal; we all agreed to do the same. I began to hold her to her promise and over these past two years, I have both begged her and dared her to haunt me! But she has not. Nothing.

It's been a long, dark, night.

In desperation, I got a Ouiji board and once again begged and dared her to make herself known. But she did not. I got nothing.

My jaded pessimism deepened. I felt ripped off: Religion and spirituality are simply the lies we tell ourselves to make things like death more palatable. "Your baby girl is in Heaven now, looking down upon you, watching over you." Oh yeah? Prove it! "She's in a better place." Really? And where exactly might that be? "God needed her more than we did." GOD needed her more than her KIDS needed her?? THAT's fucked up!

I expected to experience Death in a more spiritually profound way, prior to losing Christina. I expected Death to be as deeply profound as Birth. I expected to feel it in my soul. When Christina died, I experienced it emotionally; it hurt like hell; but I didn't feel it spiritually, supernaturally, or paranormally - and that is why I felt so abandoned and betrayed by my former spiritual beliefs.

Yesterday however, a glimmer of light appeared on the horizon. Yesterday, I was brought to a realization that I DID sense her Spirit Energy when she died. And Stone did too. We felt it That Morning. We just didn't know it at the time.

That Morning. The morning she died. That morning there was a 40 minute window of time that passed from the moment we last saw her alive to the moment we discovered her lifeless body. And it was during those 40 minutes that we sensed her presence without realizing that's what it was we were feeling. It was during those 40 minutes when Stone was sitting in his room and I was sitting in my room with Ada that we both experienced what we have described as the loudest quiet we had ever heard. We both struggled with the heavy feeling that "something" was different. There was a feeling, an energy, an urging to get up and go to her...always coupled by the logically retort of "no, she'll be fine." We both wrestled with the need to get up and go to her but at the same time, we were both immobilized, unable to move. I now believe what we felt that morning was Christina. Her spiritual energy loomed over us and around us. She was there. We felt her presence. We just didn't recognize her. Maybe we knew. Maybe we didn't WANT to know. But we felt her. She didn't die in the hospital while on life support; she died hanging from that damn beam. Her spirit wasn't in the hospital; her spirit lingered in the house with us, with her kids. And THAT is why Ada asked Brian about Cheryl That Morning before Brian found Christina: Cheryl was there too that morning...

Realizing all of this has brought with it a glimmer of light; my Dark Night is coming to an end. We ARE more than just physical bodies: at our core, we are spiritual energy - very loud silent energies. And that energy survives the death of the body. The body may die, but the spirit is eternal. And for that, I am truly grateful.

WHAT LITTLE REMAINS

In the nearly two years since my Christina died, I have so often stated that since her death I feel a spiritual void. Life has lost its magical qualities. I have become jaded and my hypervigilence keeps me in a state of fearful anticipation of Life's worst possible outcomes. Optimism has been uprooted and skepticism has taken its place.

Yet, every once in awhile, I notice my former ability to see Life with wonder shine through. What happened today is an example. Yesterday, Brian took Christina's little Ada with him while he did some errands. While they were out, they got some flowers and brought them to the cemetery for both Christina and Cheryl. Ada handles the experience in a matter-of-fact way. But then today, she found a black feather outside which really excited her. SHE sees the magic in Nature. Full of ecstasy with her new feather, she showed it to me, beaming with delight. And then MY former magical way of thinking kicked in: Was that feather a gift from Mommy to daughter? Christina loved black feathers! And I told Ada, "Maybe it was a special present from Mommy!" Her face lit up even more; she agreed, seeing the magic.

True, my skepticism kicked in automatically, after stating my intuitive observation: No. It's just a feather. Most likely evidence that a feral cat caught lunch in a nearby nest. And then the magic dissipated. It's just a feather. Christina is gone. She can't send gifts. But did I sense her presence, even for just that one magical moment?

Someone suggested that I should simply begin to act "as if." Act as if my faith still existed. Read the cards again. Look for the magic in life and tell my skepticism to shut the fuck up. Stop listening to those daunting-yet-rational voices in my head. But I can't. Not yet. I continue to obsessively watch all those silly paranormal shows, wanting proof, but finding none. And let's face it: If there WERE proof, it would've been discovered long ago. Still, I want it. I want evidence. I want to know where she is.

I think of that promise she made, only a month or two before she died. She promised if she died before any of us, and if she could reach us from "the other side," she would. In fact, she said if it were possible, she would haunt the hell out of us! So why hasn't she? Is it because she still exists but communication from the other side is not possible? Or is it because she no longer exists? THAT is the question that torments me.

In my former, more spiritual days, I would have been relatively certain that she, like all people who have passed, still exists. My relative certainty was enough; I didn't need more than that. I knew it was speculation, but I accepted that some things are unknowable. I would've believed that the dead sometimes remain connected to the living (hauntings), but that most move on to a reincarnated life. I still believe that reincarnation is the most likely after-death experience. And I still believe that hauntings are possible. I am open to the possibility. Hopeful even. And that vague suspicion is adequate when I think of those who have passed in general; but it is not adequate when I think of Christina. Christina was my daughter and the mom in me needs to know where/if she is.

So I continue to beg her to haunt me. But not with feathers that can be easily explained away. I want something profound to happen: I want to see her, hear her voice, feel her touch. I want her to move something right before my eyes. I want something to happen that I cannot explain or rationalize. But so far, that has not happened. So far, it has all been bird feathers. No mystery. No unexplainable, irrefutable experiences. I don't care if it scares me; I don't care if it makes me cry. I just want her to reach out and haunt me.

DISCLAIMER

I've been thinking about my lifelong history of writing and specifically, about all the times I was interrogated about my written accounts. I've been asked to qualify, explain, and even retract words I have written. And so, I feel I must add a formal disclaimer so that my readers will fully understand the context in which I write.

My written essays are based on my thoughts and feelings at that given moment in which an essay was composed. It is important for the reader to understand that my thoughts and feelings belong to me and I share them for others to consider. Yet, the reader must understand that even words are often inadequate. As they are read by the reader, the reader injects verbal intonations - which may or may not echo my own. Written words are tricky that way.

Because my written words represent my thoughts and feelings in a specific time, they may not remain forever true; thoughts and feelings change. Keep this in mind.

As Steven Tyler lyrically pointed out, "Life's a journey, not a destination." My words reflect my journey and therefore reflect where I am at a given time. While some of my thoughts and feelings remain relatively constant throughout the journey, some do not.

I remember getting into quite a bit of trouble for having written that I had "slept with my boyfriend." I was only thirteen. The parents demanded an explanation. Yes, I had slept with him...as in "we took a nap together in the same bed." Imagine their laughter when they realized their erroneous interpretation of my words. Imagine my humiliation.

So perhaps it is the fear of future humiliation that I post this disclaimer. I am mortal and will not always be here to qualify, quantify, and otherwise explain what I have written. But my words will linger. Because I will not always be here to defend what I have written, I place this disclaimer: You, the reader, may not always fully understand what I have written. You, the reader, may not always comprehend the context in which I composed an essay. You, the reader, may not have known me well enough to formulate an accurate conclusion about who I am or the thoughts and feelings I once possessed.

As my children and I are quick to point out: Don't jump to conclusions!!

ETERNALLY TWENTY-THREE

Today she would've been twenty-five. Instead, she remains twenty-three. Forever twenty-three. Life has not stood still and the rest of us continue to age, without her. It's simple and incomprehensible all at the same time. Paradoxical.

Less than two years since her departure and still I wrestle with the unsolvable mystery of it all. Who was she? Why was her life destined to be so short? Was it destiny, or was it preventable? Was it premeditated or was it impulsive? Did she leave as an act of selfless love to spare her kids the inevitable trauma of growing up with a borderlined, bipolar mother? Or did she leave in spite of her kids? And who can I blame? Can I blame the people she called friends? Can I blame genetics for having assaulted her from both sides? Can I blame myself for being so unaware, so self-absorbed, so medicated all her life? Or, is there some sort of lifescript that we must all succumb to? Was it, in fact, the final chapter in Christina's lifescript to take her own life?

Today, my tears are fresh, but sharp like shards of broken glass. I cry the tears I held so tightly in those minutes, hours, days, and weeks after she died. I was in shock and I was in denial. The paradoxical blending of disbelief and acknowledgement tightly wrapped in trauma kept me in a state of other-worldness. I...had become...comfortably numb. But today, Monday, January 7, 2013, what would've been her 25th birthday, the psychic anesthesia has worn off and I cry for her. I want her back. I want this craziness to be over. I want to wake from this nightmare. I want her to be alive again and I want to make her let us love her. Why wouldn't / couldn't she let us in?

Today, she would've been twenty-five. But she's not. Instead, she is now my twenty-five year old twenty-three year old daughter.

Why, Christina? WHY???