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!

LIFE SUPPORT or SUPPORTING LIFE?

Today it has been 10 weeks since Christina died. I still ruminate about that morning and all that has followed. Regrets accumulate as I look back with 20/20 hindsight, but what did I know? I acted without thinking, allowing pure emotion in my driver's seat. Looking back, I now wish we had not called 911 upon finding her. What was I thinking? Did I really think she was still alive? Did I really think the paramedics could somehow reverse what she had done?

Instead, I wish we would've waited. I wish we had simply taken her down, moved her lifeless body to my bed, and called family first. By calling 911, we relinquished all rights. Once the paramedics and law enforcement arrived, Christina no longer belonged to us and our opportunity to process what she had done was amputated. If we had laid her in my bed and allowed family and friends to spend time with her, I believe our grieving process would have been easier and more humane. By keeping the authorities at bay, we could've provided a more holistic opportunity for her children to see her and understand that she had died. Instead, they never got those final hugs. All they got was a poorly designed replica of their mother.

Once the paramedics arrived, they took it upon themselves to decide what to do and they artifically injected "life" back into her; well, a pulse anyway. Then the hospital. Using all of their finest samples of life support technology, they made her heart beat, her lungs expand and contract, and with the help of a heating blanket, they kept her warm. But that is not life. Christina was not alive; her body simply simulated life. And, because we were never consulted nor asked our opinions on what should be done, the medical profession took hold of her simulated final hours. She may have been on life suport, but that system does not support life. It kept us at bay. How could we hold her and hug her with all of that equipment in the way? She belonged at home, in my bed, where we could've grieved and said our goodbyes more naturally and with dignity.

Prior to Christina's death, I was intellectually and theoretically in support of the green funeral movement and the old ways of caring for our own deceased. Now, I am fully convinced, both intellectually and emotionally, that we must return to the more humane traditions of allowing the family to care for their departed - at home. While the medical profession and the funeral industry has their merits, it should not be routine. I am more convinced than ever before that when I die, I shall remain at home, not be embalmed, and buried as God and nature intended. I do not wish to be preserved with toxic chemicals that will render me unrecognizable. I do not want to be sealed in an airtight crock pot of a casket. I want simply to be placed in a biodegradeable wood box and buried, allowing Nature to take its course.

Once again, I must apologize to Christina - for not thinking, for not taking control of the situation, and for not allowing her the dignity to be mourned in her own home. But, what did I know?

TEN WEEKS GONE

Tomorrow it will be ten weeks. Time has become marked by that day: It has either happened before Christina died, or after and the after-time is chronicled in weeks. In spite of all that, it still does not seem true. The fact, "christina died," seems like one big farce; a sad Lifetime movie, a nightmare, an impossibility. And yet, the rational part of my mind knows it is true. The logical, functioning part of my brain continues to inform me that yes, Christina is gone - forever. If ten weeks feels like forever, how will I cope with every single day and upcoming months, years, and decades without her? Forever is way too long.

Tonite, I found myself desperately wishing that I could just believe in religion - any religion - with the promise of a magnificent afterlife where we shall all meet again. What a comfort that would be! But I don't. I can't. I need proof. I want so badly to know without a doubt that I will encounter her again, that some part of her still exists. I want to be convinced that she is somehow aware...of me, of us, of life as we know it. And more than that, I want proof that she is somehow still...somewhere. What we buried was not her. Or was it? Was her body all that was left?? That is so painful - too painful - to comprehend fully. Yet, it could very well be reality. There's just no knowing.

Yes, I spoke with a psychic intuitive. At the time, it seemed possible. At the time, I felt like perhaps the things she said were authentic; now, I'm not so sure. It could've been all wishful thinking and emotionally fed. I needed to believe the things she told me that Christina was supposedly communicating. I still want to believe it; yet, I'm a skeptic. If Christina was able to communicate with Pam, why not directly to me? 

Last night - or perhaps the night before - I dreamed about Christina. I dreamed she was still a child and her father and I had taken her to the doctor regarding her diabetes. The doctor confirmed it and we were told we had saved her life by bringing her in. Now, as I remember the dream, I don't know what to do with that. Ultimately, it triggers more guilt and regret. David and I failed as parents. We did not adequately provide for our kids. Christina needed medical intervention back then, but where were we?? Why weren't we seeing the depth of her trauma and pain?

I'm reading about PTSD and am realizing the multi-faceted nature of the trauma I've endured. Along with flashbacks that continue to occur daily, I am equally traumatized by all the what-ifs. Not just the guilt that comes with thinking about the things I could have / should have done differently that may have kept her alive, but all the other scenarios that could've made this traumatic event even more debilitating. What if the kids had found her? What if she had used a gun? What if the kids will be psychologically damaged beyond repair as they come to terms with her death? What if I die prematurely? What if there is another family calamity? What if I lose another child...or grandchild? My thoughts torture me. But that is the nature of trauma.

Tomorrow I see my doctor for medication refills. I will be asking him about a referral to their psych department or perhaps to Aunt Martha's (if they can do that). I feel like I need some help processing all of this. True, I've had some "good" days recently - days that felt almost normal. I realize I will never be who I was before Christina died; I will simply change and adapt and hopefully learn how to live with the pain. But will I ever be able to release the guilt and regrets?? Isn't the guilt legitimate??

Ten weeks. Ten weeks gone and I am ten weeks into trying to unearth who I am in light of losing her. Ten weeks of magical thinking, feeling not fully present, and wondering about the afterlife. Ten weeks of feeling numb and wanting to hear her voice (what if I forget her voice over the years???). Ten weeks of wishing this wasn't true. Ten weeks of alternating between tears restrained and sobbing uncontrollably. Ten weeks. A microscopic dent into forever.

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.

TOSSED OVERBOARD...AND LEARNING TO SWIM

With all that has happened - losing Christina - I feel like I have been thrown into my worst nightmare of being tossed into a black, churning pool of water and cannot swim. Drowning. My worst fear. Just when I come up for air and feel like I just might make it, I find myself pulled under. I cannot see and cannot tell which way is up. That is what grief has been like for me. I am out of my element and worry that I will not be able to save myself.

But perhaps...maybe...I am learning to swim through the grief, pain, regret, guilt, and sorrow. I've been reading a lot and that always helps me. But I still find myself shocked that I must become knowledgeable about the grieving process and losing someone to suicide. Although I've always worried about losing a child of mine in a tragic way, and although I had often worried about Christina killing herself because of her chronic struggle with her emotions, even then...even when I worried, I never truly thought something like this would really happen. Or perhaps, I never allowed myself to believe it. Every mother's nightmare, to have to bury her own child.

Yet, here I am, learning, reading, processing, assimilating. Sometimes what frightens me the most is just how prevalent suicide really is. Knowing that I am not alone offers some comfort, but also adds to my pain: empathic pain. Pain on behalf of all the other moms and dads, siblings and children who have lost a loved one this way.

I've been through many, many rough spots in my life. I have dealt with having my heart broken, living in poverty, and losing my home. I have survived being sexually abused as an adolescent and finding out that two of my six children were sexually abused.  I have mourned the loss of my hometown, my youth, and have survived two broken marriages. I have wrestled with child abuse, toxic faith, and depression. And yet, every time I was reduced to being nothing more than a wounded puddle on the floor, I somehow found the will and determination to pick myself up and try again.

Yet, in spite of all the previous traumas, nothing seems to compare to this. I will never, ever be able to remove that image from my memory of her lifeless body, still warm, but clearly void, hanging in her room. And I wonder: Can I do it yet again? Can I find the willpower and determination to overcome, to heal, to rise above, to accomplish restoration, and to move forward? Honestly, I believe I can, and I will. Somehow. I remind myself that I have five other children - and ten grandchildren - even though right now, the only one I can think of is Christina. I remind myself that I am at the threshold of starting to work on my master's degree and have vocational dreams to pursue. I remind myself that Life IS worth living, even while wishing Christina could've felt the same way. Somehow, in spite of being tossed overboard, I am learning to swim and am struggling defiantly to stay afloat. If I can survive this, surely there will be nothing left that I cannot do. Surely there will be no roadblock that I cannot plough through. Surely there will never be a wall to high for me to climb.

And so I continue to make my attempts to surface and take a life-saving breath. Yes, I still plunge into the depths of despair from time to time (as I did Sunday); but they are temporary submersions. As I continue to read and consult with other parents who have lost children via suicide, I get support and encouragement that although this is hard - very, very hard - it is not impossible.

Look: I see the shoreline. I will be there soon.

EMPTY

Tonight I'm feeling sad, frustrated, angry, and stuck. I feel empty and tired of Life's constant assault. I take responsibility for my part; I know I have never really gotten into the Driver's Seat of My Life, and that is why I am always at the mercy of others. I accept that. But even so, I feel so used up, so tired, so empty.

I love my tribe. I really do. But in spite of my love for everyone I am tapped. I crave only solitude. It is the only time I am at peace. And I feel like I am living on borrowed time. The end could come at any moment. I realize that. I realize how fragile my life is and how I am at the mercy of others. I'm trying though, as quickly as I can, to take the reigns. But even so, there are limitations; I can't go any quicker than life will allow.

Like I said, I'm sad. Of course I'm sad. No surprise there. And I'm frustrated...about so many things, but mostly about Life in general. I'm frustrated that I grew up in a world that no longer exists. I'm frustrated that I made self-destructive choices in my life and that for so many decades it has been just about simple survival. I am angry; I am angry that I do not have the freedom to be me and that no matter what I do, there is always someone who feels they have the right to critisize and editorialize about who I am. Is it any wonder then that I am so solitary?? And I feel stuck. The foundation that I have created does not readily allow me to be more than a passenger in the life of others. My fault. I know. Just, let me out here. No need to go any further. I'll walk, thank you very much.

Like I said, I realize I've forged my own life. I can't blame anyone but myself. But I'm tired now. Losing Christina seems like such a pivotal point for me. I am struggling with my sadness, trying to sort it all out: the grief, the guilt, the sadness, the pain, the consequences. I'm even looking for the silver lining in an effort to turn something really, really bad into something with the potential to be really, really good. I see it, but can I reach it? Can I make things work long enough to get me through??

And then there's all the regrets. Can't change a thing. But I can be vocal, stubborn, and bitchy, stating my point of view regardless. But when I do that...when I am authentically me...I put myself in a precarious position. I risk it all. So for now, once again, I must do what I must do to keep me afloat. Survival. Suck it up. Do what it takes. Just a little longer. I'm so close.

But in the meanwhile, as I struggle to reach those goals of self-sufficiency, I am empty. Worse than empty, now that Christina did what she did. I am functioning on a deficit. Or not functioning. Not really sure. People ask me how I'm doing...and I'm never quite sure. Of course, it's just a polite question...it's not like they really want to know! Still, it gets me thinking. I find myself asking myself, "How AM I doing?" I tell others I am doing well, all things considered; but in truth, I am broken, confused, heartsick, aching, and done. So very done. I feel like a wounded animal searching for a secluded place to nurse my wounds. But really, I am more like a trapped animal, subjected to the Alpha Males of the world. I must submit...for now. I must relinquish, for now. I must grin and bear it, for now. I must.

And so I grab hold of whatever I can, to stabilize, to maintain my balance, to keep myself from going under. And I gasp for air, hold my breath, and hope I can make it until I reach the surface once more. In fact, at this point, I just hope I CAN reach the surface in time.