The Spirit of Christmas

Hi All,

I have been so consumed with the recent death of my Dad that I have not even had time to mention my amazing new job. I am working at a DV Shelter. It is an amazing job, filled with amazing women and kids, and possibly more amazing colleagues. I do not think it was an accident that just when I need them the most I would be surrounded by survivors. Truth be told I didnt need my job to find survivors because I live with one and, in many ways, am surrounded in my life by survivors of all sort of things, all of the time. This past week at work I had the opportunity, blessing, good fortune to be asked to help wrap Holiday presents for some of the residents, the night before I attended the Holiday party for both former and current residents. That night and the next day something happened to me. I felt around me the genuine selflessness that to me is sort of what Christmas is about.

For those maybe 12 hours I forgot myself. I forgot my own pain, my own loss, my own story. For that time I was both in other peoples stories and also a silent observer of their stories. I felt somehow transformed leaving work that day. I felt something had happened to me. That I had had this experience of waking up in a new job, with a new life, and with the very real understanding that I am not, nor have I ever been, alone and that this pain that I feel, this understanding that I now have of the fragility of life, this knowledge that I have now is something precious. It is not a bitter knowledge. It is a gentle nod.

I nod to the survivors all around me who know what it means to pick themselves up and begin again. I will happily share my time with these women for as long as it seems to be helping them. I will know deep down in my soul that there is some divine order to how things have unfold and how I have ended up here, now.

I think often lately of what my life is all about. I think about what I want it to be about. I think about my Dad and what his life was about too. I think of his quick humor or his thoughtful cards or his ever present phone calls. I think about how at the top of my own salary scale in my late twenties I was showing him my $400 wallet. I thought he'd be so impressed. He then asked me when I was going to get a new watch to go with it? He asked me when it would end--this quest for the best stuff? He was smiling, but I felt silly. I didnt know what to say. I knew right then that he was right. Deep down I knew that my Dad understood something fundamental about values. About what was important and what was not. It was less than a year later when I left NYC, black pant suits, and the advertising industry. I think I made my Dad proud when I did this. I think he knew that I had heard him. xxK

Feeling feelings.

Hi Friends,

Today is Tuesday. This past Friday there was another tragedy that impacted me. This one on a national scale, of course, the Sandy Hook Elementary School Shootings. The  impact that this tragedy had on me was predictable since what parent didnt feel this on a primal level but also was sort of weird in how it intersected with my already broken heart. I felt like I was just starting to get back up and got knocked down again. I felt broken down by the tragedy, the pointlessness, the violence, the horror. What did happen for me is that it woke me back up to the very real notion that I am certainly not the only person to feel pain, to feel loss, to feel trauma. People all over the world and every single day feel these painful feelings and deal with not only loss similar to mine but sometimes far worse. When I thought of this I felt briefly determined to see my loss in the context of all of our lives that are each filled with our own unique, but equally painful, unexpected pain and loss. The danger it seems for me is to somehow make my pain unique and different when really it is not that unique, not that different.

Today I cried a lot. I dont know why. I thought I was doing better and then I just wasnt. The roller coaster quality of grief apparently is a fairly universal thing but really is hard to handle. Sometimes I feel like I am riding the mechanical bull of grief just holding on and hoping for the best. At some points I have felt sort of ok only to five minutes later get thrown off the bull. I find myself really just learning as I go. Trying to practice the principles I've learned in recovery and praying for the continuing willingness to work hard on not just surviving this but someday, somehow, growing from it.

When I looked in the mirror tonite I could see on my face the pain, the loss etched into my eyes. I would swear that I have not looked like myself since when this horror story really began sometime around my birthday in mid November. At first this made me feel bad but when I really think about, really take the time to consider it, I dont feel bad that that pain is there. Visible. I feel that this is me, this is my face, this is where I am at now. I am glad I am not Xanaxed into oblivion looking happy when inside I am breaking up. I am glad I am not drinking 4 martinis while explaining to a stranger that my Dad just died. I am glad that I look like I how I feel. I am glad I feel how
I feel.

The first step of AA that says, We admitted we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable. I would amend this, for me tonite, to say that I admitted I was powerless over my grief and that my life was becoming unmanageable. Of course the second step says, We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity, and third,  Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him. That is where I am at. I making a decision right here tonite to give this loss, grief, sadness, anger, confusion  to the God of my understanding. I've done enough damage to myself with it and now I think I am ready to turn it over. I know my Dad wouldnt want me dragging this stuff around either. I'll keep you posted on how it works out. xxK

Between the black and white

Hi Friends,

Today is Thursday. It has been 3 weeks since that Thursday. It feels like it has been 100 weeks. It feels like it has been years since that Thursday, years counted in sleepless nights, restless nights, tears, no tears, sadness, and anger. When people ask me how I am doing I am not even sure what to say? I want to say I'm standing here aren't I? That about sums it up. I am standing. I am doing what I am supposed to. Getting thru it. Putting one foot in front of the other...moving...maybe moving slow but moving.

I have been going to a shit load of meetings. Tons of meetings. I realized that meetings are my church. Meetings are my sacred place. My place where everything around me stops and I can just be there with people who are also there. I feel very present in meetings and very grateful. Not just for the sacred place but for the fellowship, for the honesty, for the skills that I have learned from all of the people that surround me there. I spoke last night at a meeting and I told my story and included my most recent loss at the end. I wanted people to know me and who I am right now...I wanted them to know that it is because of the fellowship and the 12 Steps that I am sane at all in the last three weeks. It is because of the fellowship and my sponsor that I am at a job that I seem to love and that I can show up even when my heart is broken and be ok.

After the meeting last night a man approached me. Because I am getting used to people approaching me I just knew he was going to tell me that someone close to him had killed themselves. I could see it in his eyes, his kindness, his sympathy...he knew. I was right but what I didnt anticipate was that this man shared that this happened to him when he was young. I think he said his early twenties. His Dad was only 40. He said he drank for the next 20 years because of the pain, trauma,loss. He also said his father shared the BiPolar diagnosis and that he has come to see his father's death as a symptom of this mental illness. It struck me that this man appeared at peace. He didnot seem sad, angry, lost. He seemed to have acceptance.

Then it got strange because the man told me that he admired his Dad for having the courage to do it. I was totally speechless at this point not because what he said particularly surprised me but because I have gone over this point in my own head a good amount lately and it confuses me. Cowardice or Strength? Courage or Weakness? This man went on to tell me how he and his girlfriend argue over this. That she had been also close to someone who killed himself and that she saw at as cowardice, weakness, giving up. I finally stammered out that I just dont know. I dont. I dont know. I want to know but I guess this is one of those things you could debate indefinitely

Here is what I do know though. I know that my Dad saw suicide as courageous. He told me so. He told me that he viewed his own mother's suicide as courageous, he made it sound noble. I know that when he said this it terrified me. I know that when this man said it last night that it scared me too. What scared me? I am not totally sure. Black and white thinking scares me. Only seeing an act as how it affects me scares me. Not recognizing that our lives are connected to many many other lives really scares me. Isnt this just how we hurt and get hurt the most? When we fail to see how our behavior impacts others not just ourselves we fail. If I fail to see that my father's death though increadibly painful to me actually ended his own suffering than I am not seeing the whole picture. If he only sees his own peace and does not recognize my pain then he has failed me too. And so it goes.

We fail people that we love. The people that we love fail us. In a black and white world this would not happen. But I've always appreciated a nice gray myself. xxxK



 

Still Standing

Hi Friends,

Today is...Sunday and I just finished putting up the Christmas Tree. It was...fun? Though I confess to not really knowing what that even means. My new version of fun I guess is not my old version of fun. My new version of fun is I am not crying, I am not totally numb, l am not totally sad, I am not actively fighting tears. I am almost in the moment. I am almost connected. Or I at least want to be. I have the desire to be connected. I vaguely have the desire to be present. I want to be doing better. I am still so irritable, so sad, so...almost, but not quite, decimated.

How I feel today is that the phrase One Day at a Time might be the most wise and brillant phrase of all time. This morning I woke up for a little while and seemed to have forgotten what happened. I was lying there sort of waking up and then I remembered--and it was just a strange thing to remember your own pain. It is sort of better when I am thinking of it right when I wake up. I am not sure why this is but I will say that the phrase that get me out of bed is One Day at a Time. Each morning since my new normal my feet have hit the floor and I have thought--I can do this, just for today, I can and will.

Anyway, tonite my son said to me that it was not fair that adults get to do whatever they want. This simple phrase almost caused a full blown breakdown except that since he was referring to my not allowing him more Hannukah gelt it was sort of funny. But his little face, pouting, looking mad, throwing himself on the sofa--saying its not fair that adults get to do whatever they want really knocked the wind out of me. I said, Sam, I really know just how you feel. And that's the thing with losing a parent that I realized tonite--it makes you feel like a little kid. And that is how I feel. Like a small child who wants to throw an adult sized temper tantrum because it really is not at all fair that adults get to do whatever they want. This is true even more when the adults getting to do whatever they want are your parents, and really  even more true when what they are doing is jumping off of a bridge on Thanksgiving Day while you sit unknowingly somewhere eating Turkey.

So there it is for me and my day. Did I get up and go buy a Christmas tree today? Yes, I did. Did I get ready for and attend my mother in laws super nice and sweet Latke Party, Yes. Did I sit and eat and act normal and make small talk. Yes and yes. I learned I can do all of these things. I can play normal. I can pretend with the best of them. Inside am I still screaming in the backyard at the starts? I am screaming No, No, No but on the outside I am and will continue to be yes. Why? Because Yes is where it is at for me. Yes, this did happen. Yes, I do have to accept it. Yes, I do have to still be a parent to my own children. Yes, I still have to be a wife. Yes, I still (thankfully) have to be a daughter and sister too. Yes, Yes, Yes. Is it hard? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Yes.

Thanks for listening friends and hope someday this makes more sense or any sense. xxK

 

Angry.

Hi Friends,

I apologize for the increadibly not creative subject of this post. I just feel so angry that that is all I can think about or feel. I had to write about it because who wants to talk about someone elses anger and what really is there to say? I wanted to talk about this experience I had right after I got the terrible news about my Dad. While I was sitting there trying to process the information--I had this almost dream or vision of myself running out into the dark night and screaming as I spun in circles at the stars. I felt such intense anger at...the universe. I felt so deeply angry that it was searing. I wanted to split open. On the outside I know that I appeared calm, numb, disconnected and likely was in some real shock but truthfully my insides in some deep place were screaming. Splitting open and screaming at the dark sky. How and Why did this happen? I think that is what my scream would have said. Or maybe my scream would just have said, NO...No, I will not accept this, No, I cannot accept this, take it back, now.

Somehow or somewhere along the line I lost that scream or it went away but the vision stayed with me. I got tired. The numbness spread and I walked around like a talking zombie for a few days. Then I got sad. Then I cried and cried and cried. I stopped crying and then started again. I cry every single day. Sometimes I cry a little and sometimes I cry a lot. I think if I didnt cry I would feel weird at this point. I think just thinking I have not cried today might actually make me cry. Anyway, the crying is not surprising and seems normal. The numbness seems normal and also is not surprising but the anger. The anger is surprising, and though I've read it is normal, is much harder to manage. Mainly because I dont want to be angry. I want to be accepting. It seems so much healthier and saner but pretending I am not angry when I really am does not seem sane so...here I sit, typing. Fuming.

I wish I could sort out what I am exactly angry about or who I am angry at? The simple answer is that I am angry my Dad took his own life and is gone. The longer and more complex answer is that I am angry at mental illness, the healthcare system, myself, my Dad, and every single circumstance that lead to him taking his own life. I am angry at what has happened and what I am forced to accept. And I am angry that I am angry about it. I want to run and scream and scream and never stop. I want to act out. I want to wear black nail polish and dye my hair black and only wear black torn dirty clothes. I want to drink Tequila while smoking a million cigarettes and listening to angry loud music while angry mean people sit around me. I want to act the fuck out. I want to wear a shirt that says I hate people. I want to say fuck off to every single person who looks at me like they feel sorry for me. I want to say dont feel fucking sorry for me because I hate you.

But as much as it was fun to write that, fun to read it, and fun to imagine it. I dont do that. I dont really want to do that. This is what I do do. I wake up when my alarm goes off. I drink a cup of coffee. I take a shower. I dry my hair. I wake my kids up. I make them breakfast and nag them to eat it. I get them dressed. I get myself dressed. I put my daughter on the bus. I drop my son at pre-school.  I drive to work and cry. I pull myself together. I go to work. I sit with nice people who actually care about the world and want to make things better. I say and do things that would imply I actually also want to make things better. I drive home and cry. I think about my Dad and how he is gone. I think about the Universe and what that means and try to figure out why? I think I need to learn how to accept this. I think I need to learn something. I think I will write my blog because maybe I will learn something.

I write my blog. I learn nothing much. I think it is important that I clarify that I am not going to drink Tequila nor have I seriously considered it. I think how shitty it is that when I am angry the person I still think to hurt is myself. I have a brief moment where I feel proud of myself that though I did imagine this scenario of self destruction--I did not actually particpate in it. I think this is progress in a somewhat profound way and feel something like happy for a moment or moments. I realize I am ok. I am angry but I can feel that feeling and not hurt myself and not hurt anyone else either. I am angry and I know it will pass and realize it mostly has. My anger, it seems, likes to be aknowledged and dealt with. My anger likes to be validated and the written word seems to have done the trick. I still see myself screaming at the stars in my own little nigthmare and that vision is burned into my brain. That vision is how I feel. Split open and cracked apart. Screaming at the universe. And waiting for an answer. xxK


 

Thru the pain...One Day at a Time...

Hi Friends,

Today is Sunday. Tomorrow I start a new job. I cant even believe the strange timing of having lost my Dad a week and three days ago and starting a new job tomorrow. I am glad to be returning to work though since I think I've proved to myself that I can feel my feelings and am thus ready to be distracted for 8 hours a day and hopefully feel less.

Lately I have just been feeling weird, good, bad, angry, confused, disconnected, connected. You name it and I have felt and then felt the opposite of it too--often in the same day and sometimes in the same hour. For a person who is pretty used to self analysis I finally have to throw in the towel and just let the feelings come and go. Trying to footnote each one and put it in a special spot just doesnt work and is exhausting. This was my epiphany today. I am totally fucked up and I am allowed to be and I am not going to get upset about it or judge myself. I am going to continue to honor the obligations and responsibilities that I have to myself and to my family but I am not going to hold myself to some crazy standard of emotional health--at least not in the next few weeks. I am going with feeling accomplished and (maybe even proud)when I am able to show up for my life and, so far, I have been showing up.

In the last ten days I have showed up for a lot of things that I might never have thought that I could if you had asked me before all of this. So when my friends or family is telling me that I am strong--I think quietly that I am not so much strong as just showing up. Maybe showing up is strong? Or maybe it is just what you do when you are a sober adult? Or maybe the showing up makes you strong? Perhaps this is it. Maybe I was not as strong last week as I am now? I have walked thru things in the last ten days that were painful, horrible, tragic. Have had to deal with the physicality of death--the death certificate, the autopsy, the medical examiner. And maybe even more strange I have had one of my greatest fears realized and I am still here. I did not dissolve, fall to pieces, or disappear. I am still here. I am still ok. I thought a long time ago that I would never be either of those things but I was wrong.

So what have I learned thru all of this? I have learned that 34,000 people a year kill themselves in this country. I have learned that on average 5-6 peoples lives are impacted by each person who takes their own life. I have learned that I am now one of those people and I am trying to figure out exactly what that means for me. I am not sure right now. I have learned that I am not alone and that I have amazing family and friends who have reached out to me and continue to amazing me at their warmth, affection, and empathy. I have learned that my kids actually hear what I am telling them since just yesterday my daughter said to me that I should think about the good things in my life (because she said I looked sad). When I told her that was pretty smart she said that I was silly since I told her that.

Finally, I have learned that speaking my truth makes me feel better and it truly never ceases to amaze me how often when I speak my own truth that someone else tells me theirs. To the persons who recently confided in me their own stories of suicide in their immediate family--I can only say thank you for being strong enough to share this. I will end this post by saying that my infinitely wise sponsor said these words to me when I said I was worried that I would not be able to get thru speaking at my Dads service without breaking down. She said--you are very connected to God. You have grace and dignity. You will do fine. It truly was one of the most perfect things that anyone has ever said not just because it helped me but because we ALL are this. Connected to a higher power and full of grace and dignity. xxxxK