AND THEN THERE ARE GOOD DAYS

With all that has been going on in my life, this has been a Summer without an abundance of good days. In fact, I've been in such a fog that I barely notice much of the world going on around me. Today however, was different.

Today I needed Brian to take me to the University so I could complete some paperwork in preparation for the Fall semester and so naturally we brought Damien and Ada. I prepared them by asking them if they'd like to go to my school.

At first they simply said yes, but without much enthusiasm. So I began to tell them what to expect.
 "It's a big giant building and it has a swimming pool and a gym. There's lots of people there, but there are big stairs and even lots of elevators!" Suddenly they became more excited. "And there's computers and a giant library with lots of books. Oh, and outside the school, there is a lake that has fishies and duck-duck-gooses!!" Now they couldn't wait!

Fortunately, my paperwork took only a few minutes, during which time, Brian took them for a ride on one of the elevators. From there, we went to the cafeteria where I told them all to pick out whatever they wanted: pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, salad, pizza puffs, nachos and cheese...the options were endless. Damien wanted a Mountain Dew and ONLY a Mountain Dew. Ada wanted a yogurt. For Brian and I, it was a no-brainer: We each had a White Chocolate Mocha WITH whipped cream! Yes, there's a Starbucks in the cafeteria!!

When we finished our snack, we explored the university: The kids learned what raquetball is and saw the fitness center. They smelled the pool, but it was locked so we could view it only through the window. We walked outdoors for a bit, around the perimeter of the university which is kept well with indigenous wild flowers, nice lawns, and shady trees. Along the path there are various sculpts made from steel and i-beams. I've never cared much for them and they remind me of the Picasso that we have downtown. As we approached one, I asked Damien what it was. He said he wasn't sure but that maybe it was a slide. I told the kids they could go check it out and so they ran on ahead. As Brian and I caught up with them, Damien had been inspecting the sculpt up-close and had examined underneath it as well. He came out and dusted his hands and reported, "Well, nothing useful here!" and Brian and I laughed at his brilliant observation!

We continued walking and Ada found some big flowers to smell. "Do they smell good Ada?" I asked her. "Yeah," she replied, "They smell like butterflies!" Well, of course they do!

Further along we spotted a circular outdoor stage where Ada couldn't wait to reach. Once we got there, she and her daddy danced and Damien showed how he could jump from the 2nd step. Ada showed off and jumped successfully from the third step and then Damien had no choice but to pull on his big boy pants and do as his little sister had done.

Next we came across a dumpster. Damien wondered out loud what was inside and naturally Brian and I assured him it was just garbage but - too late - Damien had already reached it and glanced inside. "Nothin' in there except a porcupine" he reported. A porcupine?? Well, no, there wasn't a porcupine in the dumpster, but there was a rather large racoon in there!! Apparently, Damien wasn't impressed; he responded as if EVERY garbage dumpster holds wildlife! Naturally, we let Ada take a peak.

Before leaving the grounds, I showed Damien and Ada a particularly beautiful pine tree and plucked a pinecone for Ada. "It looks like a pineapple" she noted; actually, it kinda did.

Throughout the excursion, we talked about school, being a grown up, and how when you become a grown up you can be whatever you want to be: a doctor, a garbage truck driver, a newscaster, a veterinarian, a fisherman on big ships, a gas station attendent...anything! Damien decided that he will work as part of a SWAT team - as long as he is able to get $1000 or even $2000 for doing so because he wants so much money that he can buy whatever he wants. Not only that, but he informed us that he will make so much money that he will share and put money in his dad's money jar, in my money jar, in papa's money jar - in lots of people's money jars!! "I'll HAVE to give some of my money away dad, to make room for all the other money I will keep making!" Ada also expressed her career goals: "I will be a fireman and a ballerina!!" That sounds like a plan!!

So I had a wonderful, delightful, even magical day where I was able to put my pain aside, stay in the moment, and enjoy the time spent with Brian and the kids. Brian and I had a chance to talk about the kids and how they're adjusting to Christina being gone, and we talked about ways to prepare Damien for school - which is only weeks away. I couldn't have asked for a better afternoon.

Oh, and it looks like I will have adequate funding for school this year so I am now fully enrolled and my tuition and books will be paid in full. Even when Life throws shit at us (and it always does), the squeals of my grandchildren's laughter, their  insanely accurate observations of the world around them, or just the smile on their faces  can often more than compensate!

EMPATHIC GRIEF...AN EPIPHANY

I have had a bit of an insight...and epiphany...about my grieving process, and so I shall share. You all know that I write for the cathartic effect; the sharing is actually a byproduct of the technology.
I have come to the realization that I would likely be further along in my grieving had Christina not been a mother. Had she not left two children behind in my household, I think I would be more able to cope with her leaving. In essence, I am grieving the loss of my daughter, but I am also grieving empathically; I grieve on their behalf.

I noticed that since Christina took her life, I have needed my own mother much, much more and am grateful I have her to turn to. And today, I realized why:

When I was in 3rd grade...I was 7 years old...my mom's appendix ruptured. She went to the ER, but they sent her home, erroneously. Later that day, her pain became even more unbearable and she returned to the ER. This time, she was properly diagnosed and the appendectomy was performed. I was devastated by my mother's hospitalization; deeply traumatized by her absence. That first night when she was in the hospital, I was laying in my bed with my usual insomnia. I could hear the adults in the house talking about what had happened. And I remember my father telling my uncle, "...and the doctor said if we had waited another 15 minutes to get her to the hospital, I would've had to kiss my wife goodbye because she would've been DOA." While I did not know what DOA meant, I understood exactly what he was saying: My mom came within in minutes of dying.

The fear of losing my mom originated much earlier than her ruptured appendix however. Even prior to that, I remember being told about my grandmother's tragic childhood. HER mother had been killed when she was struck by a car walking home from work one night. My grandmother was only about 8 years old at the time she lost her mother and she carried her grief with her throughout her entire lifetime. I could see it on her face and hear it in her voice; even when my grandmother was happy, she was sad. And knowing her story very early in my childhood triggered a lot of fear and separation anxiety within me; I knew from an early age that fate alone could take a mom forever.

The remainder of my childhood was filled with the fear of losing my mom. Then, as I became an adult and had children of my own, I feared that something would happen to me that would leave my own kids motherless. Being a motherless child has been my greatest fear...for myself, then for my own children, and eventually for my ten grandchildren.

And then IT happened.

While there is no doubt that my grief has everything to do with losing Christina, I believe it is amplified by this deep-rooted childhood trauma-based fear. What I have feared most in life has occurred. Yes, I lost my daughter. But in addition to losing my daughter, Damien and Ada have lost their mother, just as my grandmother had lost hers and just as I had nearly lost mine.

Strange, how my life...and even my generational history...has primed me for this experience. A common thread. There are some in the family who suspect that my grandmother's mother's death was not an accident, but a likely suicide, but we'll never know for certain.  All we can do is speculate. But whether she died due to a mental illness like Christina did, or died as the result of being struck by a car, she died leaving my grandmother forever a wounded child. She often told the story of her mother's death: how she was waked in their home without being embalmed, how my great-grandmother had been dressed in a beautiful pink satin dress, and how my grandmother had been brutally traumatized when blood began to leak from her mother's nose and got all over the pink dress as they were getting ready to transport the casket to the cemetery. And how my grandmother never recovered from losing her mother.

While Damien and Ada never saw Christina that morning the way WE saw her, nor did they see her attached to all the life support equipment, they will still forever be motherless chidlren. The Christina that they saw at the memorial service looked sort of like their mom, and sort of NOT like their mom. Even though she shed no blood as my great-grandmother did, it still could not have been anything less than traumatic - though necessary - for them to see her that way on the day we buried her. And so I mourn, on their behalf, fearful that they will forever carry that trauma, as my grandmother did and as their father does (for he is also traumatized by the unanticpated and tragic loss of his mother during his teen years).

So I grieve, exponentially and empathically - for my motherless grandchildren, and for motherless children everywhere.

BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT YOU WISH FOR...

...BECAUSE IT MIGHT JUST HAPPEN!

Well, that's what my mom has always said and I have found it to be true.

Tomorrow morning, my youngest daughter will be moving from our home in Illinois to Texas and she will be taking her two children, Damien (5) and Ada (3). I am heartbroken.

Everyday I have felt overcrowded and overwhelmed by the size of our household and have both dreamed and wished for the day when the grown kids would finally be able to move out. Perhaps my desires weren't specific enough because although I longed for the solitude, I never ever wanted my kids and grandkids to move all the way across the country.

I am consumed with worry, as only a mother can do. A million "what-if's" run through my head and my anxiety reaches a fevered pitch. What if the kids are traumatized by leaving the only home they have ever known? What if Ada cannot cope with being suddenly away from her daddy? What if the man my daughter will be living with is not friendly with the kids? What if someone gets seriously hurt and I cannot get to them quickly? What if my daughter cannot handle full-time parenting without the relief that she's known here with a houseful of available adults?

And then there are the "what-if's" about me: What if I cannot cope with their absence? What if I cannot find happiness in the solitude I've craved for so long? What will I do with my time, now that my daily housework load will be greatly reduced? Will I do all the things I've longed to do? Or will I be consumed with melancholy sadness missing my son (who relocated to Phoenix nine months ago), my baby girl, and my grandchildren?

No. I must be strong. Certainly I am not the first parent/grandparent to experience this. In today's world, families separate and move far from each other all the time. I am not alone. But I don't like it. Parenting was so much easier when I could control where they went and what they did.

A lesson to be learned here, I am sure.

I want only the very best for my children. I want them to create their own lives just as they would like it to be. I've always wanted them to realize that there is a whole world outside of southern Cook County, and so I should feel a sense of satisfaction that, in spite of anxiety, two of my six children have ventured out into the world and are chasing down their dreams far from home.

And yet, tomorrow morning as they pull away, I will be crushed and I will be wondering if my constant longing for solitude is the reason for their leaving and I will be asking myself, "Did I cause this?"