Odessa--Caribou & Tear In Space--Glass Animals

Fifteen years ago today we lost our Mother. 

For anyone who knows what it’s like, I’m sure you understand our family’s complicated relationship with Mother’s Day. She passed on the Wednesday after Mother’s Day that year. We had gone shopping to get her a whole bunch of comfy clothes to wear when she came home from the hospital. She never came home from the hospital alive. We buried her body in the ground in the cemetery down the road. I go there and lay on the grave, stretched out on the grass, hoping for something, anything to show me that she’s still looking out for us, something to show me that there is still enough good in the world to not let it tear me down. Very often it is a gust of wind, the sudden appearance of birds flying overhead. Nature’s delights before me to enjoy, and so I do, because I can no longer enjoy the physical presence and comfort of my Mother. 

Four years after she passed, we spent a whole afternoon cleaning out her clothes and toiletries, all her stuff. And we divided it up amongst us. I got one of the pairs of pajama pants. I wore the hell out of them. Wore them until they were tattered and could finally be tossed out, which, although tough to do, I have been doing more and more of recently. They are, after all, only things. 

For many years after she passed, a whiff of Chanel No. 5 could sometimes bring my whole world crashing down, memories of my Mother flooding back in a motion picture inside my mind that was more real than any movie could ever be—laying in the bed with her in the mornings, sunny and quiet, rubbing her ear lobe and snuggling under the covers. Her smile, her laugh, the face she gave me when I did something that we both knew was mean. I can only hope that I have grown up to be the person that she always knew that I am—a spitfire that she helped grow into a steady flame that refuses to be extinguished by any other unkind human. I remember her. I will always carry her memories with me wherever I go. I don’t even have to close my eyes; in the magical conjuring of memories within my mind, I see her in a plaid button up, smiling, her hair cut short, half-turning as I say something while she walks toward the utility room, away from me. I must get that from Dad, talking to people while they are leaving the room. 

I said before, probably more than once, that I didn’t know how to carry on in this life without her. But, like so many things that have come to pass, I was wrong. I knew how to do it because she showed me the way. She kept on living her life and dutifully caring for her responsibilities in that life—and then some—until the day she passed. She was strong enough to take care of her own Mother when she was ill and passed when I was still young. She was strong enough to continue to care for us and also take care of her father in his remaining years after Grandma passed, despite how cantankerous he could be at times. I selfishly remember all the things that I so loved about my Mother and sometimes forget that she was a lot of different things to so many different people—and they all loved her. I know she loved them too and she tried her best to show it in her everyday actions. Actively participating in things to improve her family, her home, and her community. 

When Mom died, I thought that I couldn’t go on without her. The thought was crippling for me, for a very long time. I’m glad that I was wrong about myself. I am so much stronger than I, at times, give myself credit for—and it’s tough to admit. I couldn’t speak at Bill’s funeral or at Jonathan’s. People had turned to me expectantly—but I couldn’t do it. Much like Sarah wanting me to call for Mom after her heart stopped beating. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t call out, “Mom!” Not because I didn’t want her back, but because I was truly afraid that she would come back just for me and then suffer some more. When Billie passed away, not only was I strong enough to be with her when she passed, but I was also strong enough to put something together to say at her funeral, and say it, though I had to pause and gather myself at first. It was so very difficult, but I did it. I like to think they are both proud of me for that. And for being strong enough to carry on without them. 

Today, it is the toughest of all the days, the day after Mother’s Day. It is Death Day, and it is rainy. That’s okay, it’s pretty fitting because I, too, have water falling from my face. I don’t fight it so much anymore, when the tears come. I know that if I do hold it all in, it’s bound to come out anyway, and quite possibly at the least inopportune time. Who needs that!? I’m supposed to work on emotional regulation…how is that even a thing? How do you regulate something that lives within your soul and shines through in everything that you do? How can you regulate the waves of an endless ocean? 

I’m determined to learn to surf just like I learned to skateboard. As I roll along this path of life, I don’t find myself drowning in the rising waves, or tumbling in the surf. Instead I find myself floating peacefully when I have swum too hard and need a break. When the waters get choppy, I reach out to my family and find that I have my own set of life preservers that I maintain for myself and my family. We are not alone in this life, and the further along we get, the more convinced I am that we never were alone. All this time, all those who have come before us guide us through this life with their love and light, even if it sometimes seems so far away. All you have to do is pause, take a moment to enjoy this place, our Earthly home, the nature within it and all its beauty, and be grateful for this precious moment in time in which we are all so lucky to live. 

What a blessing it was to have such a Mother! How terrible it was to lose her! How awful it still sometimes is! 

I dry my eyes and get on with my day, because that’s what I’m here to do. I am here to guide others through this life, just as I was by my own Mother. I also have three very wonderful people who call me Mom, and for me, it’s enough to carry on no matter what challenges I may face. And I know, in my heart, that when my time comes to pass from this world, that they will have the tools they need to carry on without me and will have, within their hearts, all the love in the world in which to carry on without me, because they must be the light and love for the future they create for themselves.

BELOW THE FOLD!?!

 

A Stranger -- A Perfect Circle

The Thirteenth Step

What if you just keep trying to complete the first twelve steps but you fail to realize, every single time you wind up back in the bottle, that there's a thirteenth step? 

And, of course, now that you've heard about it, you want to know what it is, don't you?

I'm sure of it. 

Just as sure as I am that you'll have to actually complete the other twelve steps in their entirety, successfully, before the thirteenth will be revealed to you. 

I also know that the very thing that you hate so much about all of us is the very thing in this whole world that you wish that you had. Unconditional love and acceptance. A peaceful home where your soul can rest and in which you can be completely yourself and at ease, knowing that the ones who are there with you really do love you. I guess it's easier to hate people and drive them away than it is to face the reality of your own actions and the accountability of the consequences of those actions. 

Cast the

calming apple

Up and over

satellites

To draw out the 

timid wild one

To convince you

it's alright

And I listen for

the whisper

Of your sweet

insanity

While I formulate 

denials

Of your effect on me

You're a stranger

So what do I care?

You vanished today

Not the first time

I hear

All the lies

What am I to do with 

all this silence?

Shy away, shy

away phantom

Run away, 

terrified child

Won't you move

away you fuckin' 

tornado

I'm better off

without you 

Tearing' my will down 

--Billy Howerdel, Maynard James Keenan

When you're tired of all of it, come back, won't you? To this life, this reality, this family, this world, this unique existence. 

And, if you're ready then, maybe I'll tell you a story.

All's Well That Ends -- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

[originally written in 2019]

A few events have happened of late that have guided me back to this page and the lessons I've lived through and shared here. I keep writing. Sometimes the subject I begin writing about writes itself around to the subject of grief and loss.

There are so many types of loss in life. People come into our lives and leave again in many different ways. I have sought the words to comfort those that I see around me who are struggling with grief and I keep coming back to the same idea despite the details of who I am considering offering comforting words. No matter what the conditions of loss are, the details surrounding your grief--whether you've lost a loved one, changed jobs, moved to a new home, or ended a relationship, you will face grief. Grief is a unique experience for everyone in each and every encounter with loss and should always be approached without judgement of the bereaved and how they express and experience that grief. That is what makes this subject difficult to discuss--we do not wish to cause anyone any more suffering than they are already enduring.

Attachment causes suffering. We become attached to people, places, things, routines, and feelings. It's only when something changes that we begin to notice how that one seemingly singular change has caused chain a reaction in every other aspect of our lives. The desire for the reversal of these changes is what truly causes our suffering. We remember the way things were before and long to return to that state. This is not possible. You cannot go back in time. You cannot undo what has been done. This is the most difficult realization of all to actually internalize, I think. Despite knowing that we can't reverse changes in life, we sometimes still behave as though we fully expect everything to be exactly the same.

[ unfinished piece written in 2019. My thoughts: I like radical acceptance for the unexpected things that happen in life. I also like that I am confident enough in both myself and also my faith that there is goodness in the world—so much so that I continue to walk away from the negative situations that I find myself in with the utmost faith that something better is bound to come next.  I just let go and believe. ]

Salt -- Bad Suns

[originally written March 2019]

I try to be nice. I try to be good. I sincerely make every effort conceivable to think before I respond.

Hormones have other, more sinister designs on my behavior patterns. When God gave us the lovely subscription to Crimson Tide Monthly he, unfortunately, failed to also give us a warning label. Not that it would have mattered--most people ignore caution labels and warning signs until they make the mistakes for themselves. That's when you do the real learning, anyway...

...I have been struggling lately with the nagging feeling that I need to write something that may be of use to those who are having difficult times. I have recently become acutely aware of just how few people actually understand and accept me exactly as I am. The list seems to be shrinking rather than growing, however, and although I have come to accept that very few people will ever truly know me, I must figure out a way to communicate effectively with those who do not. It is imperative that I successfully convey the messages I am creating to an audience that does not think the same way that I do. And therein lies the obstacle I face in writing my current project.

How do I communicate a message to someone who is not yet prepared to receive it?

And the answer is simple. I don't.

That's the beauty of my current project--it is a multifaceted, multi-layered story that appeals to people of different life skill levels while offering the opportunity to develop the skills necessary to read beyond the lines of the story and consider the deeper meanings of its lessons and the practical application of its concepts...

...Annnnnndddd if I haven't bored you straight away from the page...

My point in writing this blog was to rant, as usual. So I'll get to it:

When I see others suffering, it is my instant and instinctual response to want to ease that suffering. I can see in others what I have suffered in the past and want so badly to teach others what I have learned in having reached the other side. I want to use my journey through the darkness of depression and grief as a springboard to help others who are still deep in hopelessness. I want to try to make the journey through that darkness a little easier on others to bear.

And yet I keep coming back to the same dilemma: how can I help those who don't think they need help? How can I help those who don't even know they need help? How can I help those who are not receptive and responsive to my messages?

Maybe I just wait longer?



What no one realizes is that I actually live by this pretty rigid set of rules that I've designed for myself and sometimes I am truly incapable of acting in such a way that goes against them. For example, when someone is very rude or mean to me in public, instead of being my usual snarky self, as I would with my family, I just get completely paralyzed at the thought of being exceptionally rude or impolite sometimes. And yet, I can be so wrapped up in whatever it is that I'm doing that I accidentally come off as really rude and inconsiderate. It's obliviousness on my part sometimes. OTHER TIMES IT’S JUST THE HORMONES AND THE NEED TO CALL PEOPLE OUT ON THEIR BULLSHIT. Could go either way, really. 

All These Things That I've Done -- The Killers

[originally written March 2019]

I'm pretty good at telling stories so I'm just going to stick to what I know.

So much has happened and I don't know where to even begin. Jonathan's birthday reminded me of how much I'm still grieving. I have started so many somber blog posts that I never finished and never published. I don't want to share these things with anyone else sometimes. So I'm not going to, and you'll just have to deal with it.

I tried to get a second job. In fact, I had one for one work week. For one week I worked six days, and on the seventh day I had a fever and my whole body ached. And early that morning I got a message wanting me to *surprise!* come in for some work related training. I declined, and, after raging for a while to myself and my friend through text, sent an email stating that I didn't think that the position was right for me after all. So that was that.

I have spent several hours last night and this morning job hunting online. And instead of spending too much of my time looking for another part time job, I'm just going to treat my writing as my other part time job. It's probably what I should have been doing this whole time anyway.

This whole time I've been really worried about being good enough. Is my writing good enough? And for what? It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is that I do it. That's why I'm here. Let's have a story...

Most people get asked, when they're children, what they want to be when they grow up. I've never really grown up so I still think in terms of, "when I grow up I'm going to ..." It feels really silly, and naive, after I've written it down, but Anna Lee pointed out to me that I can do whatever I want. And the way she said it is crucial. She did this whole face where she raises her eyebrows, tilts her head, and looks at me like I'm an idiot, and says, "You can do," and here she gestures with both hands, "Whatever you want!"

Maybe, if I ever grow up, I want to be everything??? What if I want to learn it all? Everything that I can possibly absorb? My entire life? What's to stop me? Apparently nothing. I can one-class-at-a-time it through various degrees until the end of time. So that's what I'm going to focus my energy on--learning everything that I can possibly learn. Everyone my entire life has told me, pushed me, "encouraged" me, if you will, to teach. And I thought that I would eventually develop the patience for  it. Perhaps, in time, I will. I still think that what I originally said about writing a great book is applicable to teaching...maybe a certain level of learning and life experience is necessary for me to do either one of those things to the ability to which I both know that I can perform and execute them (which obviously has to be perfect). And--before you point it out from your armchair--therein lies the problem. I seek perfection. In all things. My current job--I expect perfection of my performance there. I don't always achieve that, but I consistently out perform everyone else.

The more I write, the more I realize things about myself. Things that are not easily changed in behavior therapy. Maybe I'm just completely fucked as a person. All righty then.