THE LONGEST NIGHT

The Winter Solstice. The longest night. How very appropriate, to end this calendar year honoring the longest night and the darkest half of the year. Since losing Christina, I have been wandering in a darkness - a place I've never been before. Oh I've been in dark places, but not THIS dark place.

To those on the outside, looking in, I must seem fine. You know: Well-adjusted, coping with the loss, managing the tragedy. But inside...in the basement of my soul...there lies the scream, the tears, the guilt, the agony, and the little girl who - like Christina - wants her mommy. How ironic: by taking her life, she left ME hanging.

And it's been a long night. A long, restless, sleepless night. Sure, I still accomplish things: the house is clean, a semester has been successfully completed, I periodically wash the gray right out of my hair; but have I accomplished my grief??

So I wander through this darkness, searching desperately for the Light that I once held as if I owned it. Searching, as I wander, for a sign. And inviting, tempting, daring, the paranormal. I get nothing. Void. Empty spaces.

"Christina, where ARE you?!" My voice echoes in the emptiness. Nothingness. I conclude that it's all a fabrication; since the beginning of time we have collectively struggled with the not-knowing. What happens when we die?? And so we've fabricated stories to make ourselves feel better. "She's an angel in heaven now." Or so I've been told in loving, consoling tones. "God has her now." Really?? Why did he take her in the first place? No. When we die, there is nothing, and thus the empty spaces. No reply.

I've been told to be patient; she'll contact me from the other side, eventually. I've been advised to notice the small things...little signs, like a song I hear or a scent that suddenly appears. Really? And if I step on a crack, will I break my mother's back? Should I cross my fingers, just for luck? And what about that rabbit's foot and my silver dice...if I carry those around, maybe THAT will help too.

It's been suggested that perhaps my shattered sense of all-things-spiritual is actually Christina and that she is telling me, from the other side, that my former beliefs were wrong. Really?? Why wouldn't God just tell me directly? He's done it before...supposedly.

The Longest Night.

I try to hold on to the scientific fact that the longest night is followed by the slow return of the Light and attempt to apply it philosophically to my own Dark Night: after a time, the Light will return and warm me once again. Rebirth always follows the dead/dark time. I long to be reborn. I want to come back to life. But it is not time, yet. This continues to be a time of Dark Rumination for me. The record must be played and played and played until the grooves are well-worn and deeply engraved and I know the lyrics by heart. And so, like a needle on a LP, I continue to wander in circles, digging deeper each time around, creating static, and entrenching myself, but all the while, still hanging there, as she was on That Morning: warm, but lifeless and yet, resolved in her exit.

And my first response remains: "WHY Baby Girl?? WHY??"

READING, LEARNING, PROCESSING

Throughtout my adult life, when faced with new experiences, I must read about it to fully understand it and process it. When I was in my childbearing years, I read compulsively about pregnancy, giving birth, breastfeeding, and childrearing until I knew much more than the average mom, more than most obstetrical nurses, and even more than some physicians. I was able to birth my babies in the comfort of my own bed, and was even capable of helping a young mom with a very difficult and risky home birth of her own.

When I became a Christian Fundamentalist, it was not enough for me to simply "accept Christ;" I had to read all about what it meant to be "born again." And, when I reached the point that I realized Christian Fundamentalism was a toxic, dysfunctional religion, I again filled my time with reading about religious history, feminine spirituality, mythology, and ancient history until finally I was able to create a functional, healthy, nature-inspired spiritual template that was realistic and psychologically beneficial.

As I began to learn more about who I really am, I began to explore my sexual identity and finally admitted - to myself and others - that I am bisexual. Once again, I had to read coming-out stories, the history of gay culture, and what it meant to love women. In the process, I learned to love and accept myself more fully.

During the cumulative twenty years of homeschooling, I read, learned, and processed how to teach, how to create multi-level, cross-curricular lesson plans, and even reacquainted myself with basic english, mathematics, science, and history.

As I began to reach my forties, I realized that life doesn't last forever and suddenly I felt compelled to understand the funeral industry and how to plan for my own death. It was then that I discovered the Green Funeral Movement and realized through my research and reading that my desire to be buried in a simply, hand-crafted wood box without being embalmed was not unique; there is an entire movement of people who are desiring the same thing.

Then, as I committed to pursuing my Master's degree in counseling and clinical mental health, I began to read about personality disorders, treatment plans, psychopharmacology, psychological assessments, and counseling methods.

And my personal library is a testament to a lifetime of reading, learning, and processing. With just over 500 titles that address everything from Pagan rituals and holy days to whole foods, from mindfulness to caring for the dead, my bookshelves are a tangible expression of who I am, where I've been, and what I've done. There are books about reincarnation, feminism, paleolithic societies, everyday life in early America, the 20th century, and how to interpret Tarot cards. But I never imagined that someday I would need to incorporate a new subject to read about, learn about and process. I never imagined that I would need to accumulate books about suicide, grieving, and losing a child this way.

And yet, it almost seems as if my life has prepared me for this - at least to some degree. It is as if all I have experienced in my life have been prerequisits for this event. I have a deep understanding of the paradoxes of life from all of my prior explorations in religion, philosophy, and spirituality. I long ago gained an appreciation for the complex nature of human psychology and mental health. And, having given birth at home and having recently approached the subject of natural funerals and caring for the deceased, I am at ease with both birthing and dying.

While my exposure to all of these subjects did not necessarily make losing Christina easy, perhaps it has given me a sense of peace and acceptance - even while I struggle to process - for the messy part of Life and for the endless paradoxical nature of the Human experience. On the one hand, I am relieved knowing that Christina is no longer in mental pain and anguish; on the other hand, I cannot fully accept her absence and wish she was still here. Perhaps all of my prior learning has given me an appropriate and suitable foundation on which to bear this loss. Yes, I grieve. I cry, mourn, and feel anguish when I realize I will never see her again, hear her voice, or watch her dance to Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots are Made for Walking!" It hurts. The pain will never end and I must now learn how to live in spite of the pain. I am forever changed, but I am realizing, as I process, that every life experience has left me forever changed.

So my personal library continues to expand, along with my Life experiences. I wish suicide was not a part of my experience, but it is. As I move into the realm of counseling and clinical mental health, I suspect the knowledge that has been thrust upon me when Christina took her life will be an asset; I will have both professional knowledge and personal, first-hand experience with the subject - and this will likely benefit my clients and make me more professionally valuable. A silver lining, perhaps, to an otherwise very dark and dismal black cloud.

TRYING SO HARD TO FIGURE IT ALL OUT

I realize that in Life, some things are just unknowable. Certain aspects forever remain a mystery. Yet, four months after losing Christina, I still wonder. I wonder who she really was. I wonder, considering all the now-apparent foreshadowing, just how much is pre-ordained. I wonder if this truly was all "meant to be" or if there was some way it could've been avoided.

I suspect that Christina often felt like the Black Sheep of the family. She often said that she felt she was my least favorite child. I always disagreed. Christina was never that. But she seemed to identify most strongly with being the unloved child.

I have come to believe that I mis-named her; she was not ever truly Christina. Was she Katherine Elizabeth, as I intended to name her while pregnant? I'm not sure. In fact, I suspect she was not; when she was born and I looked at her, my first thought was that she was not who I expected and she was not, therefore, Katy Beth. But neither was she Christina Danielle. But who was she? Honestly, I do not know, and I fear that I may never know; but the closest I came to properly naming her was when I called her Tani. That is why I want to get a tattoo of an apple with "Tani" inscribed across it. It most truly reflects who she really was. She was my Tani Apple.

So I wonder then: Can mis-naming a child cause such lifelong stress? Can it cause them to struggle with their identity the way Christina struggled with hers? And, if that is possible, then doesn't that imply that when a child is born, they come into this world with an identity and it is up to the parents then to properly name them and recognize who they are??

That's a lot to expect from a new parent.

WHERE ARE YOU??

I miss you Christina and I suppose I am beginning - just beginning - to realize that I will never see you again and that as we all age, you will forever remain twenty-three.

It's been nearly four months - which feels like both a short time and a really, really long time - and still, I mourn losing you like this. Sometimes, I must remind myself: You aren't at CCDOC (because that is what your absence reminds me of); I must actually remind myself that you're not just "not here," you are no longer alive; we laid you to rest. Physically, I was there; but mentally I was gone. I functioned on automatic pilot that first week. I remember your funeral as if it were a bad dream. Perhaps that accounts for the trouble I am having accepting your death: I was not fully present from that moment we found you. And so is it any surprise that I find myself wondering where you are?

I found your journals today and started reading them. The two I read today were from ten years ago. As I read it, I thought, "She seems like she was just a normal adolescent." I didn't read anything that surprised me, although I read a lot of things I didn't know about. And I noticed, for the first time, that your penmanship is a lot like your dad's. In fact, at first I thought he had actually written in your journal, until I realized it was in fact your handwriting.

Yesterday we had guests here and one of the women mentioned liking shoes - especially boots. I showed her some of your collection and wondered if Ada will like them when she's older; there's no way I can part with them because I know how much you liked your shoe collection. Your daughter will inherit them. I wonder what she will think of them.

I've learned a lot since you've been gone, Christina, about things I didn't ever think I'd have to know. I've learned that grieving for someone who took their own life is more difficult than losing someone to natural causes; it's traumatic. I've learned that the grieving process can take a long, long time - several years - when a parent loses one of their own the way I lost you. And I learned that the pain will never go away; I will simply have to learn to live my life in spite of the pain. I believe you took part of me with you That Morning and that I will remain forever changed.

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.