the blond must be yours

At work I have a cork board full of pictures on my wall.  I change them out every few months.  Mostly keeping pictures of the grandkids relatively current.  Sometimes updating the kids pics  or new pics of something we have done recently.  Stuff like that. 

Today a young man (25-30) from another office was working in my office.  Somehow the conversation got onto parents and how since his parents have retired, they are more pushy with him.  I was sort of half listening, half working, but I remember him saying they (his sister and him) had gotten their parents dogs so they would stop bothering them about grandchildren and marriage.  He mentioned that every time he dated someone they would get excited hoping she was 'the one'.

I laughed and said I understood that, but I was lucky, because I had lots of grandkids already.  He pointed at my board and said 'I see that, but I wasn't sure which was which, how many kids do you  have?' I laughed and said the adults are ours and the kids are grandkids (not a strange answer because two women in my office, near my age have kids younger than my older grandkids). 

I gave my standard answer that my husband and I have 5, we're a blended family and we have 5 grandkids.  He kept asking questions, which even at the time I thought was a little odd (I have actually known this young man for awhile), but I just figured small talk, whatever, we're stuck in a small office together for the morning. 

Then he said, 'the blonde looks like you, she must be yours'.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Nobody says that.  Not from a picture.  I recognize that indeed, if you analyze our features, she has a few of mine, but mostly we don't even look like we are from the same country.  Usually people looking at the five kids pictures would pick Brandon and Mistina as mine (because I had said two were mine).  I was so confused that I pointed at the picture closest to me, one of Mich and Heather, and said this one?  And he said, the one in the yellow shirt...a different picture of Mich.  Then he looked at the one I pointed at and said yeah, that one.  I said, yes this one is mine and the other one is my husband's. 

Then I said, she died in a car accident several years ago.  He said he was sorry and the conversation turned to something else.  Diving, I think.  And on my day went...busy, strangely unique, and frustrating.  I didn't think about the conversation again until bedtime.  And as I pondered the thought that someone thought my daughter looked like me, I realized the truth.

He didn't think she looked like me.  He simply wanted more information about her...like is she single?  I am always so desperate for a chance to talk about her, think about her, have somebody recognize her existence that it didn't even cross my mind at the time.  Young, good looking, personable, polite, well employed, just the type of person I would have dreamed of for my daughter. 

If she was alive, I most certainly would have recognized his words for what they were, a quest for information.  Funny how we hear things through the filter of our own experience.

Dear Michaela,

Well, another year without you is coming to an end.  I decided to day was the day to write you.  This last day of the year, even though I hate starting my day with tears, I have come to know that the tears do stop eventually.

Things are changing down here as I'm sure you know.  Sometimes I wonder if you are glad you aren't here to see the hate and the ugliness, particularly associated with politics and bigotry.  But then I remember that you probably do see it, but you see it from a completely different perspective and I hope it is one far more peaceful.  More, I hope you just see love.

The holidays are winding down now.  Your brother was here and just went home.  It was a good Christmas.  Things are never perfect, but I have given up my need for them to be and my need to control everything around me (mostly).  It has been a big step for me, but it certainly makes my life less stressful.  When I feel the urge to nag about the things I don't like, I try to remember that if it isn't my life, it isn't my business.  Although I will speak my mind, sometimes I just must.  (But if you could get your brother to quit smoking, I would be most appreciative). 

Dave is living with Misti and Luke now.  Things are going well for him.  Getting the ball rolling as an artist isn't easy for anyone, but he is so optimistic about that.  Everyone knows he will be successful and he gets lots of support.  On the personal side, I'm hoping that living with them and the kids somehow helps fill the hole in his heart, at least a little bit.  He hasn't found the right person to love yet, but he will.  He is not making good dating choices yet.  Lol...but what young man does?  He will find someone fun and lively and able to put up with him eventually.

Haylee joined us a couple weeks ago too.  Of course I wonder if you met her before she came.  I wonder what you would have told her about the family she is about to join?  I watch Miley too, for some indication that she knows who you are, but she hasn't said so if she does, lol :).    She did climb up and kiss your picture of Mexico, the one you painted when you were 10, during that hard summer before I went to Korea.  That was a little strange, but I don't try to read into things. She turned two this year of course.  She is like a balm for my soul. Another friend is certain that her baby girl knew you and that makes me smile..

Anyway, the holidays were good.  We didn't do any kind of big deal.  We didn't even really exchange presents except with the babies. Christmas is for the children anyway.  Well, it is for the adults too, but in a completely different way.  Christmas day was a quiet day of simple family visiting.  Everyone got along and there was so much laughing.  It was nice to see everyone get along and put aside any differences between us.  It just isn't worth it to hold on to that stuff. 

It was also the first year that I was able to bring myself to hand someone a picture of you to hold in our family pictures.  In past years, I couldn't do it.  I wanted to, but I didn't want to make anyone sad or uncomfortable at a point when we were all on the edge anyway.  This year didn't have that feeling; the feeling that it could all fall apart in an instant.  Dave held it and I didn't ask how he felt about it, so I don't know.  Everyone is still reluctant to talk about you much.  I think you understand why.  It is hard to cry in front of people.  And even if the tears are normal and not always sad, they are still tears.  I make sure I throw your name out there every now and then.  Someday, someone will pick up the ball and the conversations will happen.  For now, just remember that they are young and missing you is impossibly hard.

Speaking of letting go of stuff, I'm sure you know Karen and I had a spat.  That can't have made you happy.  But we put that aside as well and everything is fine.  Life is too short to hold on to anger of any type. You would think I would know that well.

I still follow a lot of your friends on Facebook.  Sometimes I think of cleaning up my friend list, but then one of them will post something insightful or meaningful and I remember why I 'watch'.  It is interesting to me to see where the people you loved are going and what they are doing with their lives.  Plus, sometimes when I just need to see you, there you are...popping up unannounced in my newsfeed, reminding me that other people are still thinking of you too.  I don't keep in touch with many.  I chat with Erin every now and then and lean on her sometime when I am not at my best.  She is a good listener.  Non-judgmental.  You would be soooo proud of Sticks!  He is having another little one, so if you can find her and fill her in on what a great person her dad is!  Also tell her to brush up on bowling and basketball.


Grama and Grampa were down for a few days in December too.  We had fun.  Grama was lucky enough to still be here and be able to be one of the first to get to hold baby Haylee.  I have to laugh at Dave a little bit because he is falling into that trap of believing that the person he is now is the one he will always be.  We all do it, it is human nature...but I'm old enough to recognize it, so I don't bother arguing with him about it.  His life will happen just the way it is supposed to.  More and more I believe you were right about him.

I wonder sometimes if you are upset with me that I haven't done more with my photography.  I think now you would understand.  I don't have some vision for the world I want to share.  I don't have a story to tell.  I just like to take pretty pictures of things that I find beautiful.  I don't want it to be a job or a chore.  I just want to enjoy it. 

Overall the year 2013 had its ups and downs, but when I look back at the year, I think the downs were simply me taking things too seriously.  The fall months were a disaster for me, but when I look back at them I can't identify a reason.  Nothing was that bad.  I remember you saying that to me about your 'emo' stage...wondering what the heck you thought you had to be all emo and sad about.  Lots of good things happened this year.  Don and Kim got married.  We went to Peru.  It was beautiful, but I didn't feel you there the way I felt you in Africa, too cold for you?  I spent a day with my brother at the state fair in Iowa.  That doesn't sound like much but it was a pretty big deal.   Boston, DC, Gatorland, Disney, a visit to CT...we are so very blessed.  Chip and the girls came to visit for a week this summer.  And there was And I got Bill to go to a 3 day country music festival...that in itself is amazing, more amazing is that he wants to go back this year too.

The things I did for comfort after you left, I don't always do any more.  I don't check Post Secret very often.  Every now and then I check them, but I mostly find them full of gratuitous suffering.  The emo that didn't need to be. I feel for them, but they aren't exactly real any more.  I don't think you would still be following it either.  Instead I follow HONY, which I think you would love.  When someone is put on the spot and asked quick questions, their answers seem to be full of honesty...happy, sad, or otherwise. 

I still stop and take a picture, every single time I see a rainbow.  I listen for you to sing along when certain songs come on the radio. When I hear 'Sister Golden Hair' I wonder if you will come to me again.   I worry if I made the right decisions and did the right things for you and your memory.  I fight the guilt that we should have tried harder to make you come back to us.  But the absence of you, physically, doesn't consume my life any longer and I think that would make you happy.  So shortly before you died, just days, you wrote in that little book:  I hope your life is always fun.  What a strange thing to write.  I had the page out of the book on the refrigerator door and it drives me crazy that I can no longer find it.  I guess it got lost in the move somehow.  But I suspect it will turn up when I most need it.

On Sunday, I fell down.  Seriously it was an epic fall (and you know I don't use that word).  Definitely a 9 our of 10 on the klutz scale.  I was carrying a heavy glass pitcher, which shattered loudly into about 1 mill, 1 BILLION pieces.  And oh, yeah, it hurt...bad.  Heather ran in from the kitchen and stood there asking if I was ok...worrying, but unable to help.  Bill ran in from the garage and did what Bill does...he got a broom and cleaned up the mess (as I still lay on the floor rolling around in pain, lol).  But as the pain subsided (as much as it was going to), I thought of you.  I thought, the only thing missing is someone laughing at me...because I know you.  Once you knew I was going to live through it, you would have laughed your ass off.  And you would still be laughing at my inability to sit in this chair because of the pain in my butt :).  And your laughter....well, that is what I miss the most.

Love,
Mom

Condolences

As a bereaved parent, you would think I would be really good at condolences.  I even write this blog that sometimes talks about how to give (or not to give) condolences.  But in fact, I am terrible about it.  I was terrible at it before and I still am.  Oh, I can probably give condolences to someone face to face and not embarass them or me.  I certainly know what NOT to say.  But still, even for me, what TO say is hard.  (When at loss, give your sincerely condolences and not another word.)

What is also hard for me is cards.  Part of my job is to buy cards for all of our employees who have occasions...retirement, birthdays, births, and deaths.  I'm pretty good at the first three, but I find it harder and harder to do condolence cards.  And this is just for coworkers; I can't imagine how I am going to cope when someone I love loses someone they love. 

A few weeks ago a man I worked with lost his wife.  She was elderly and had alzheimers, but I knew her before that.  All I had to do was go into the card shop and buy a condolence card for the office to send to him.  It was damn near impossible for me.  Maybe, probably, worse, because I knew her and liked her.  It took me three weeks (unthinkable), to even walk into the store. 

Finally I did what I had been putting off.  I stood in front of the condolence card section in the store, looking for an appropriate card and I cried.  I saw all of the cards with their little white identifiers...Mother, Father, Grandmother, Grandfather, Son, and of course, Daughter.  And I just couldn't stand it.  Not just for me, but for all the pain of all of the people who are living with loss.  I lost my daughter and it hurts so much.  I can't imagine losing my husband, even knowing that it is a possibility someday.  I don't know how I could live through it.  I don't even think about the unthinkable possibility of losing one of our other children or grandchildren. 

After the trauma of the card store, the card sat on my desk for another week.  I just couldn't pick it up without tears.  Finally, I gave the blank card to my boss and asked him to send it.  I tried to explain why I couldn't do it, but I didn't make sense even to me.  He eventually did it.  I hope it was ok.  I don't know.  It seems like something I should have done myself.  That nobody could do it better than me.  But maybe .... oh, who knows ... maybe I'm the worst person for the job.

It seems so remote that the card shop puts them in categories with index cards.  I get it.  I understand that is how it needs to be.  It is the way of the world today.  But I can certainly see the beauty of the handwritten card of yesteryear.  Way before my time.  Where a blank card and words written from your own heart might be more meaningful to the recipient and even, possibly, less painful for the sender than having a "hallmark" moment. 

Where did my rainbows go?

I have written in past blogs about the number of brilliant rainbows I have seen sine Michaela died, the fantastic weather I have experienced, and my incredible good health. But now I am am lost and confused. I haven't seen a real rainbow in months, we had horrible weather while my family visited for Christmas, got rained on during a boat outing, and then I got the flu. All normal things that happen to normal people, but it makes me feel like I have been forgotten. Left behind.

An unsolicited medium, right after Mich died said she would be my guide, with me for 12 years. I was skeptical, but still held on to that number. Now I feel without her completely. It has been so long since I have felt her with me. I had dreams a few days ago, but they did not feel like she was with me, they just felt like dreams. I still appreciate them, they happen so seldom.

I was thinking of this yesterday while I was driving home from work. I was thinking that I still need these little signs...these tiny indications of hope. That if she thought I was ok and didn't need her any more, she was wrong. That I was sorry if I hadn't talked to her enough lately.

It was rainy of course. Why else would I be thinking of rainbows? And just as I pulled into my neighborhood a rainbow appeared. Just a thin, partial rainbow that lasted only a minute or two. It made me happy and sad. It made me feel like she is still there but leaving me. Like she loves me, but has to go. I felt a message there and I didn't like what I felt.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. It isn't fair. It simply isn't fair. I can't have what other mothers take for granted...a wedding, grandchildren, care in my elder years...but why should I lose my rainbows too?

Santa and Sandy Hook

I haven't blogged on here for a very long time.  This is our fourth Christmas without Michaela.  It is just as hard as the first one.  Maybe harder.  I certainly don't remember last year being this hard, but it probably was.  Last year, though, by now the house was filled with Children.  People were coming and going constantly.  The shopping was done early and the decorations were up.  It was such a frenzy of activity, I can't even remember it all.  We were packed in the house like sardines for weeks and I loved every minute of it. 

This year will be wonderful too.  It is just the lead up that is making me sad right now.  Family is coming.  Mom and Dad will be here Friday.  Dan, Val and Nathan (my brother's family) will arrive on Saturday (blizzard permitting).  We have plans for my birthday on Sunday with family and friends.  Christmas Dinner on Christmas Eve, a traditional Christmas morning and then some Florida time.  Dan's family can only stay three days, so that is a little bit sad, but we'll make the most of those days. 

We had the decorations up early this year, or at least some of them.  We had several redecorating projects going on at once, so really the house was in complete disarray for a few weeks which added to my stress.  But we knew these last few weekends were packed solid and for the first time in 4 years I am maintaining a full time work schedule.  The last few years I switched to a part time status around Thanksgiving and kept it to January.  That helped immensely.   But this year, although I was too busy at work to go part time, I have the luxury of being able to take the entire time off work while my family is in town.  So it will even out. 

But the build up and the preparations have taken their toll.  Even before the Sandy Hook tragedy, I was overtired, overstressed, and very emotional.  I took a couple of sick days, just because I really couldn't keep going, I needed sleep and I needed to be in my house.   I had to get things done that needed done (in my mind) or have a nervous breakdown.  After my mini-break I was feeling a lot better.  But Sandy Hook did me in.  Like so many other parents, grieving parents or not, it caused a physical reaction in me.  This is the first time I would say I had something like a post traumatic stress syndrome reaction, although I have been diagnosed with it for some time (no you don't just get it from war). 

I have had to turn off the news and hide certain people on Facebook.  I am very careful to read only the best, happiest news articles.  I take small bites of the Sandy Hook coverage.  I feel literally and physically for those families.  It was all I could think about for a few days.  The horror those parents have to live with forever.  I know how they feel.  I don't empathize, I know.  Because it doesn't matter how your child dies, the heart break part is the same.  They have the added burden that is was deliberate.  That is tragic.  They also have to deal with their child "lumped in" with 20 others forever, in a sense losing their individuality.  That is hard too, I think.  And the rest of us (grieving parents) have to admit we feel somewhere deep inside that our child's death was just as tragic (to us), but it wasn't on the media 24/7 and the president certainly didn't send his condolences to us.  But rationally, we know, the president will go home and the media will go home, and the friends and neighbors will go on with life and they will be EXACTLY like the rest of us.  Only living in a town where the rift between those who kept their children and those who lost their children will be a difficult one to face.  And so I cry.  Over every little damn thing. 

I commissioned a small piece of art a few weeks ago.  The artist called me today for the name of the art piece and I told her "Michaela".  She asked if that was after someone.  I said yes.  I could not say one more word.  I'm sure she found it strange, but if I had spoken another word, she would have felt awkward.  She handled it very gracefully.  I expect the art will be exquisite, Mishy has her way with things like that.

I have the luxury, as I said, of taking some time off.  I will rest.  I will eat right. I will destress.  I will make time for my grief.  That is the recipe for me to have a good holiday myself and provide a good holiday for my family.  I hope all of the other grieving parents figure out their own recipe and enjoy the holiday with their loved ones, living and deceased...I hope they understand that their loved ones really aren't that far away.  Set that place at the table and see if they stop by (rare private reference to a dear, dear friend).

We will be celebrating a 'normal' Christmas this year.  There will be too much food, too many presents, lots of drinks and talking and hanging out by a fire; but some part of my heart will be in Connecticut, in a town a mere 10 miles from where my own tiny grandchildren live, imagining the devastation of this Christmas on those families.  Hoping and Praying that they have love and support from family and community.  That nobody rushes them into anything and they are allowed to grieve exactly in the way that is right for them, for as long as they need to.

Art Festival Observations

When I announced my plans to go into business I promised to keep you all updated on how it was going and on the trials and successes of my attempts.  First thing I have learned is:  if you are going into a part time business, working a full time job, and living a normal life...well, there is little time to blog about it all!  But...

I did my first art festival this past weekend.  What a crazy business.  I’m hoping not all festivals go like this one did.  I have been assured by veteran festival artists that this show was not the norm, and I certainly hope so.  I jumped into this with both feet, probably a little too quickly and am learning some lessons through hard knocks.  But that is ok.  I’m not trying to feed my family or pay my rent with it, so this way may work for me. 

I love to go to art festivals to shop.  I never know what I am going to find or who I might be buying something for, but like most shoppers I went in with a pretty cavalier attitude.  Either I’ll buy something or I won’t, based on what I see. (admittedly I seldom go home empty handed)  I had absolutely no idea what goes on from the other side of the canopy.  I like to think that I was a courteous shopper, but there are times I may not have been.  I’m just going to share some information, I am absolutely not complaining, just hopefully widening knowledge and sharing some experiences and advice.

At this festival, much of the crowd was not out to shop.  It seemed they just wanted a destination for a family outing and the festival organizers catered to that need.  There was a kiddie area and an area with live music and food vendors.  That is a great idea.  It brings out people and people sometimes buy things.  I know, though, that I will look closely at festival plans in the future before I sign up to show there.  At this show, I was able to categorize the crowd into four distinct categories:  Lookers, Parents, Thrift Shoppers, and actual shoppers.  I have a request for each of you J. 

For the festival attendee (lookers), this is what I would ask.  If you have absolutely no intention of buying anything at all, no matter what you see, please keep your browsing brief or at least step to the side so others can also browse.  My tent is very small.  If you come in and want to talk to me for 15 minutes about your trip to Africa, your dream of a trip to Africa, what kind of camera you have, or where you took your last pictures, that is 15 minutes that I spend on you, while I miss people who might actually be shopping.  I will never be rude to you.  I will never ignore you.  Just please be aware I am not a guest at this event, I paid to be there and if I don’t make sales, I lose money.  Once, after listening to a man describe his own photography for about 20 minutes, I waved at a friend who walked by outside.  I never removed my attention from him other than that small wave, but he was offended, stopped mid-sentence, and walked out (no great loss, he wasn't buying anything, but I felt he was rude after commandeering my attention for so long).  On the other side of that coin, I had many people who came in, told me straight away that they couldn’t buy anything, but that my work was beautiful, who looked around courteously and seemed aware when so when a potential customer came near, they moved out of the way…thank you to these thoughtful people.

Parents, I know my pictures (primarily of wild animals) are interesting to your child and you are trying to make a hot, boring day bearable for your kids, please feel free to come in and point out the animals to your child(ren) for a brief stop, but don’t come in with 6 children and three strollers and spend 10 minutes monopolizing my space.  While you and your family are in there, shoppers with intentions to buy, walk right by.  They might peek in and make an intention to stop later if they like something, but they aren’t coming in while you are there and they won't be back later.  I watched one family in the booth of the mixed media artist across the street from me touch each and every piece and literally try to pull pieces off of the 3D work (parents and children).  So, to the parents who kept their littlest ones in the stroller at the entrance and to the side while pointing out the animals and  to those who were diligent about not letting their children touch, thank you to you.

Thrift Shoppers, please understand that art festivals are not flea markets.  I understand they look quite a bit alike, but the artists are not selling stuff they bought from a Wholesaler for pennies on the dollar or stuff they picked up from a garage sale last week.  We have to meet very specific criteria to even be accepted to show our goods at these festivals and we have very high relative costs for each show.  If a print from Walmart will do for what you need, then by all means go to Walmart and buy a print, but don’t expect me to match Walmart’s prices with a limited edition, signed print, a handmade leather bag, a hand carved flute or a one of a kind framed painting.  We just can’t do it.  Our prices are set mathematically to try to cover our expenses, compensate the time we took to create the object of your desires, and the 20 hours we are going to stand without so much as a potty break to try to find the perfect buyer for our unique creation.  Please treat our offerings with a bit of respect as we have our heart and soul tied up in them.  The five dollars you want off of the least expensive thing on my wall might be the difference between my making or losing money on the piece (or the day).

Shoppers (buyers), thank you so much for coming out.  I realize you are looking for that one special thing and may not find it in my booth.  You don’t need to patronize me with excuses or promises to come back if you don’t find anything else.  To the lady who admired a piece, asked the price, and then moved on, thank you so much for coming back and buying it.  You knew you didn’t need to say you might be back.  You, being a retailer, also probably knew if you did say that, I would disregard it, but also watch the crowd for you, hoping against hope that you would come back.  For the lady who agonized over two pieces, whose husband encouraged you to buy both and even had out his card to pay for them—who asked me to hold both pieces for you; I’m sorry you didn’t make it back, but I understand there are a lot of options out there; I hope you found the perfect thing.

Here’s some things I didn’t know before I ventured into this business.   First, I assumed that artists at these shows had less overhead cost than someone with a brick and mortar location.  Absolutely not true, actually probably the opposite.  Beyond the initial set up costs of purchasing a canopy and the structure to show your art, there are the fees for each show.  First is the Jury Fee, which is a non-refundable, $25 to $50 fee to apply to be at the show.  Judging consists of photos of three of your products and a photo of your canopy.  If you don’t have the “right” kind of canopy, you aren’t getting into the show.  For the high end shows that means a $3000 set up or more!  You also have to have the right kind of products…photographers who don’t do their own printing, mounting and framing, beware…the best shows won’t let you in, so don’t bother with that $3000 set up (something I wish I had known in advance).  If you don’t get in, then you are just out that money and need to make it up someplace else.

Assuming you are lucky enough to grab one of the limited spaces, there is the space rental:  $200-$500 for a weekend.  Just one weekend.  So if you do more than one weekend in a month, you have paid what a shop-owner would pay for a month’s rent for a much larger space.  Why does it make sense to do this instead of opening a shop?  First, for the built in crowds (hopefully, crowds with an intent to purchase).  Second, because you are an artist, not a retailer; you only have one product and don’t want to be buying and selling other people’s products.

And those are only the expenses for a show in your hometown.  You can’t make a living on two or three shows a year, so you are going to have to travel.  On weekends you travel, there is the additional expense of having a hotel or owning an RV.  Figure another $200 for the weekend for those costs and you have an artist who needs to make $450 to $750 in “profit” (over the cost of materials) just to cover their expenses for showing up that one weekend, never mind paying off that expensive canopy and having any money left over to pay your bills.

Also, like every shop-owner, we have to pay for credit card fees (about 3% of each sale), bank fees, insurance, inventory, materials and supplies, transportation, website, and hopefully a little money to buy a hamburger.  So please, if you are able, be generous with your local artists as well as with your local small businesses.  Uncle Sam Walton (Walmart) gets plenty of our money.

Will I stay in this business?  I don’t know.  But I’m not letting one event scare me away.  I have already been accepted for, and paid the rental space fee for events well into 2013 (yet another unanticipated fact… spending now for a possible profit 6 months from now).  The season in Florida lasts from October to May.  I will work as hard as I can this season and then reassess the situation.  I will look at other options to getting my work out there (thank you also to the retail lady who bought for also giving me her card to discuss showing my work in her home design shop).  And I will look at off season options. And I will ….well, let’s just see what the future brings.

 

The Power of Positive

Sometimes we are our own worst enemy.  It’s true.  It is obvious, if you have been reading my posts, that I have been having a difficult summer.  But what am I doing for myself to make it better?   The sad answer is nothing.  Ironically, I know things that make me feel better when I am down, I’m just not doing them.  Any of them.  After writing my last depressing blog and realizing that was at least three in a row, I figured it is time to step up and take control again.  I started by making a list of little things that help:

Get enough sleep

Read

Be in the Sun

Exercise

Listen to Music

Eat Healthy Food

Limit Alcohol

Chat with friends (especially others who truly understand)

Play with my dogs

Do something with a friend

Dress nice/wear make-up

Take a bath

Go for a walk

Plan something/Organize something (anything) 

None of these little things, on their own, are going to help me feel better.  Alone, each one might just feel like a chore.  But together, little things add up to big things.  If I want to stay off anti-depressants, I need some big things to change.   

Next I found an app that tracks my little things.  The little things that I need to make into new habits.  I put that in my iPad (already organizing something, check that off the list).  Then I started thinking about ways to make these habits easy to develop and fun to do.  Some of them are no effort, like listening to music.  There is nothing stopping me from playing music at my desk at work.  I just don’t think to do it.  Other things can be combined to happen at the same time, like reading or exercising in the sun.  Or exercising and walking the dogs.  Or exercising with a friend (and a dog, IN THE SUN!).  See how this is working?   

There is no way I will be able to do every single thing every single day, and most of these things don’t need to be done everyday, but by using an app to reinforce my plan, I hope to be able to see where I could improve.  I also would like to track bigger things.  Not daily habits, but things I should be doing regularly, that make me feel better like kayaking, going to the beach, learning new things, and taking short trips.  Those things that remind me that it is worth it to come out of the safety of my little cocoon in my house and join the real world.    

 

In another twist of coincidence (and we all know I don't believe in coincidence), my best friend, who has been going through a rough time of her own, through an entirely different process and with an entirely different catalyst, came to almost exactly the same conclusion:  that the way to make positive things happen is to do positive things and think positive thoughts.  Literally on the same day that I made the resolution to myself, she did the same.  This week our daily conversations have turned from a litany of complaints, counter-complaints and attempts to comfort and help each other (when neither of us had much to offer) into a snowball of positive thoughts and ideas, full of energy and optimism.  Breathing the air around me has gotten easier. 

I know this isn’t a magic bullet, but at least I’ll be doing something to help myself.  I know that I will still have down days to go with the up days, but if the power to negative can spiral out of control, than why shouldn't the power of positive? 

my life; a reality check

There is a commercial out for a movie (I don't know which one) where the parent sends the child off to school and says "Have a day."  Then he turns to the mother and says "I don't want to put too much pressure on him."  My husband said that to me before he left for work the other day and it made me smile.  Now, getting me to smile in the morning is quite a feat these days, so that is noteworthy, but really it was a bit of an ironic smile because of the truth in it. 

Most of the time this blog is all about rainbows and miracles and hope, but sometimes life is harder than my Facebook page makes it look.  This blog is a bit more honest and a little depressing, so if you are here for the miracles, you might want to skip this one.  The real truth of my life now is that with very few exceptions I don't have good days and bad days; I simply have days.  Sometimes it feels more like I have bad days and regular days.  And with time, it seems to get worse/harder, not better/easier. 

Morning is the worst part of the day.  I wake up.  I lie in bed and try to go back to sleep.  Can't do that, so I do what most people do (I think), I go over my plans for the day in my head.  If it is a regular day, not a bad day, my first thought won't be 'oh, crap, I had a 7:00 meeting this morning'.  Even on a regular day, it doesn't matter what those plans are, I don't want to do any of it.  I want to stay in bed.  I want to be alone.  I want to read a book.  I want to cry. 

Next I go over my blessings.  I have a wonderful husband, a son I'm proud of, super good friends, great step-kids, beautiful grandchildren, dogs I love, a beautiful home, enough money to live comfortably, a family that loves me, a cat that tolerates me, my health.  I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but the last thing I want to do is whatever it is I am supposed to be doing today.  No matter what it is.  No matter if I made the plan to do it myself because it used to be something I would enjoy.   I just don't want to go.  Don't make me.  (says the voice in my head)

I lose that battle (or win it, depending on perspective).  I get up, brush my teeth, shower, and put on my big girl panties.  I push all thought to the back of my head and go through my morning robotically.  I have already not done things that I keep telling myself I will do.  I did not get up 30 minutes earlier to walk the dogs, I do not put on make up or fix my hair.  I stand in my closet and look for the easiest thing to wear, not the nicest; what can I wear flat sandals with?  What won't feel tight around my ever growing tummy?   I drink a glass of tea and take my vitamins.  If I'm doing well, I will make a fruit smoothie to drink on the way to work and a veggie one for lunch.  If not, I just leave for work.

Now, I am a responsible person, don't get me wrong.  I do what has to be done.  I go to work.  I do my work.  If I make a specific plan to be somewhere and someone is planning on that, I will be there and I will do what I said I would do.  It is usually just myself I let down.  I don't get that workout in, I don't put out that extra effort to look nice, eat healthy, clean the house, go to that social function I said I would attend, or plan a nice dinner. 

What is missing is joy.  I don't have joy in my life.  I used to joke that David was my Pride and Michaela was my Joy.  I think I was right. 

I appreciate beauty.  I will stop for a sunrise or a sunset or a rainbow and enjoy the beauty of this world.  But I can't remember when I felt truly happy, or silly, or goofy, or fun.  I can't imagine something that would answer the question "what would I like to be doing right now, just for fun?"

I know I used to have a sense of humor. I know I used to make really bad jokes and laugh really hard at stupid things. I remember that I used to laugh until I cried on a regular basis (embarassing). I remember that Michaela used to call me cheesy for my weird sense of humor or roll her eyes at me as she laughed, saying oh, god, mom.    And I would try to convince her that it was funny stuff.  I know I used to dance, with my husband or just around the house.  And I used to sing out loud.  I remember that person and I miss her, but I don't think she's coming back. 

If you follow my Facebook or know me in real life, you know that I have had a series of successes lately.  A bunch of really nice things has happened in my life.  Things that should make me happy.  And they do please me.  But not like they should.  I sell an image and smile, but there is no little happy dance.  I am accepted into a huge art festival, I smile a little smile and post it on facebook so everyone will know how wonderful my life is and how much I appreciate my blessings.  But no happy dance.  No running out and shouting to the world.  No celebration.

On the other end of the spectrum, when something not so good happens.  I'm not talking tragedy here, just a little life annoyance.  I can't handle it.  It takes me down from whatever little perch I was holding on to.  I get angry.  I get sad.  I cry.  Sometimes I don't do things or say things because I just can't face the possible consequences...rejection, argument, whatever. 

Finally, comes the end of the day.  At night I reassess my day and determine that I could have done a lot better.  I kick myself around for the things I didn't do and maybe some of the things I did do.  I promise to do better.  I try to make a plan to do better.  I put off going to bed, I can't even explain that one.  I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, but I don't want to get into it at night.    But eventually I do.  And I sleep.  And it starts all over. 

So, no, I am not a crying, whining mess (most of the time).  The people around me seem to think I am ok.  That I am doing just fine.  That I am brave and strong.  That I am out enjoying life to the fullest.  They don't get that I don't feel anything inside but pain.  That I don't feel like I have anything to give, anything to offer.  No, I don't cry every day, but I could.  At the drop of a hat I could be in tears.  Every day.  All day.

Of course, what I just described is clinical depression.  There is no question of that, really.  So I should also say that I was on anti-depressants until a few months ago.  I hated them.  I felt nothing when I was on them.  I didn't cry, but I didn't laugh either.  I thought being off them and being able to feel would be better.  That I would feel more pain, but that I would also feel more joy.  I was willing to accept the downs to get the ups back.  I was wrong.  I feel the pain, but the joy is still gone.  I have been debating going back on them.  At least on them, I had the energy to try to live.  I suppose that is the answer to my own question, right here in black and white.

-- I thought about not sharing this blog because it is such a pity party.  But I know there are a lot of bereaved parents out there who read my blog and I feel it would be a disservice to them to not acknowledge this part of my (our) life.  They should not feel like they aren't coping if they feel this way too.  My blog is intended to offer hope and commiseration for those of us who are lost, but not by hiding behind rainbows and unicorns.  Sometimes just coping is the best we can ask for until a better day comes around.

An Imperfect Analogy

There is a quote floating around on the internet grief sites that says:  I don’t think people understand that when I say I think about you every day, I really mean every day.  That quote struck me as inaccurate.  Then I thought about it some more.  It came from a normal grief site, not a site for grieving parents, so maybe it is accurate for some types of grief.  But I think it is a gross understatement for a grieving mother.  I tried to correct it in my head.  I tried every hour, that wasn’t right.  I tried every minute, but that wasn’t right either.  It isn’t a thing that can be measured in time.   It is more of a measure of intensity.

By that I mean, that there is really never a second I am not aware of my daughter and my grief.  Sometimes it floats in the back of my consciousness and I function quite well, almost like a whole person.  Other times it punches me right between the eyes and I do not function at all for a while.  I came up with a little analogy that I like quite a lot.

Grieving my daughter is like I imagine it would be to lose my left arm.  I am right handed.  I can function with my right hand.  Some things are going to be a little inconvenient with only one hand (opening a door with something in my hand).  Some things will be much harder (turning a cartwheel, pushing a wheelbarrow).  Some things I will have to completely relearn to do a new way (type, tie my shoes).  Other things are simply impossible (playing a clarinet, carrying a large, heavy object).

One thing I know for sure, I will never be unaware that I don’t have that arm any longer.  It won’t slip my mind.  All that will change is the fierceness with which I am missing that arm.  Am I frustrated by an inconvenience or am I screaming with rage and frustration at what I can no longer do?  It just depends on the circumstances. 

Do I feel my arm still?  People say you do.  I certainly feel Michaela still; sometimes more than others.  Do I still unconsciously try to do things with that arm before I realize it isn’t there.  I’m sure I do that too.  I certainly still think, at times, that I need to remember to tell Michaela something, or I should buy something for Michaela for Christmas.  Less often now than I used to, just like eventually I would get used to not having my arm.  I wouldn’t forget about my arm missing, I would just adjust to not having it.  It would be futile not to adjust.  It would be impossible not to adjust in some way.  I’m sure some people adjust in more healthy ways than others.  Some people might lose their arm and find a way to excel as a one armed person.  Others might hold onto anger and never really adjust.  

 

I’m sure that when I would be thinking about my missing arm, that I wouldn’t be visualizing my fingers and my fingernails and my wrist.  I would be missing the functionality of that arm.  I would be missing the essence of that arm.  That is how I miss Michaela.  I don’t have her face plastered in my mind every minute of the day, but the essence of who she was (and who she would have been) lingers around me like the smell of flowers on a spring day.  It fades and swells and sometimes blows across my face with such a sweet smell that it makes me lift my head, breathe deeply and smile.

A Rainbow is a Poor Substitute

I’ve written several blogs on what (not) to say to a grieving parent, but as my years of experience in this role grow, so does my patience dwindle.  First, let me say that I always assume that people don’t have any idea what to say, and if they say the wrong thing it is probably not intentional.  But there is one ‘compliment’ that I get from time to time that just irritates the heck out of me.  I can deal with the obviously ignorant comments like “she is in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” or even “it is good that you have moved on with your life.”  I just figure the person is ignorant, and blessed to be ignorant, of what I am oh so knowledgeable of.

First though, let’s take a step back in time.  I remember when my children were very young and I was in the Air Force, working every day and leaving my children at day care.  It seemed like every single stay-at-home mother I knew complained about people making comments about their ‘not working’ or ‘how nice it was they didn’t have to work’ and we all wisely nodded our heads and said comforting things about how being a stay-at-home mom was a full time job.  But those same women, almost without exception, said to me at one point or another, “I admire you for being able to juggle both a job and family (or something along those lines)” and immediately followed that with “I just couldn’t bring myself to go back to work after Junior was born.”

Does anyone else see the backhanded compliment in that?  Perhaps it was intended as a genuine compliment, and the speaker was just too wrapped up in herself to hear the implication of the statement.  Perhaps I am oversensitive and hear an implication that wasn’t present.  But my ears heard “I am a better mother than you.  I love my children more than you love yours.  If you truly loved your children, you wouldn’t have been able to bear it either.”  And I always wanted to respond (and sometimes I did), with, well, it wasn’t like I had much choice.  I wasn’t independently wealthy or married to someone who could single-handedly support our family in the way we wanted our children to live (read 'not on food-stamps').  I see now that those women must have felt some kind of insecurity in their own status in the world, and were taking it out in a passive-aggressive way whether they realized it or not. 

My new pet peeve is also delivered almost exclusively by other mothers.  It too, starts out as a compliment.  Something along the lines of “I’m really impressed with your strength” or “you have done such a great job of dealing with everything” and then is immediately followed up with “I just don’t think I could go on if something happened to Junior.”  Do you see the parallel here?  I try not to judge, but I have trouble believing that they can’t see the insensitivity of that statement.  My ears hear exactly the same thing they heard all those years ago when I had to let other people take care of my children to put food on the table, "I love my child more".

I have to remind myself that they don’t know what they don’t know and they are blessed to remain ignorant.  What they don’t know is that I wasn’t given any choice in the matter at the time and I’m not given any choice in the matter now.  What they don’t know is that to get through any given day I have to force thoughts of my daughter to the back of my mind so I can function.  They don’t know that coping, by forcing thoughts of my child away, incites incredible feelings of guilt.  They don’t know that I can only force her to the back of my thoughts for so long before it (my grief) will find its way back out and knock me off my feet, sometimes for days at a time.  They don’t know that I don’t sleep at night and don’t function very well during the day.  They don’t know about nightmares, night sweats, and panic attacks.  They don’t know that every time they see me, I am putting on the “I’m Okay” show…I’m pretty good at it.  They don’t know that everything I do is twice as hard as it used to be; that life’s every little frustration is a huge hurdle for me; that every petty meanness that is thrown at me, even a rude driver, rubs against my skin like sandpaper; that every joy, every beauty, every moment of fun, is colored with sadness.  They don't know that for all of my positive posts about rainbows and miracles, that a rainbow is a poor substitute for a daughter.  They don’t know that not 'going on' isn’t an option.

They don’t know what they don’t know; and I honestly hope they never have to know.