Category: grief (Page 5 of 5)

Yesterday certainly was a mish-mash of experiences – obviously everyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows about the Virginia Tech campus shootings, and even without any direct connections to those people, you still feel it. I reflected upon it last night, as I lay in my comfortable bed, that there were numerous people tonight, struggling to sleep, minds racing, grief-stricken, and I felt sadness for their pain, and for the unanswerable “Why?” – I think everyone shares the feeling that if you decide to unhinge your brain and you have a death wish, that we’d much prefer you just start with yourself, not take a bunch of innocent people along with you. Sigh. Plus, anytime there’s a shooting like this, I think of my husband as a schoolteacher, and while I’m grateful he teaches 5th grade, it doesn’t make him bulletproof, and the world today continues to morph into a nearly unrecognizable mass of wild violence, barely restrained by yards and yards of rules and political correctness, and stuffed with a healthy serving of abdication of responsibility. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I could go on and on, but we’d never get to the other points I want to make today.

Yesterday was also a red-letter, banner day at work. We won the piece of business we traveled to Illinois to pitch, just under two weeks ago. This client is now our largest client, and everyone here is very excited, deservedly so. We went to O’Dowd’s to celebrate immediately after we got the news, and spirits were high. I’m excited because it means new work, and it also validates the work we put into the pitch and the thinking and the people I work with. Not that you can’t self-validate all you like, but it sure means more when someone not only says, “Yeah, we like you!” but they also give you a check for being smart.

And the winds of change are upon us. The weather has turned, personal situations have changed, friendships have been ended, begun, adjusted and re-established. The Sopranos are winding to an end, and if you watch it, last Sunday’s episode was a bit chewy, given everything we went through with my dad the past year. My mouth was just open in astonishment. One of the mob bosses was diagnosed with lung cancer that had metastasized to numerous other organs & to his brain. (While they didn’t pinpoint “lung” in my father, it is very likely to have started there, or the liver, and his whole body was filled with cancer once they detected it.) They gave the mob boss 3 months…. and he died within the hour (of the show). Beyond the actors, kudos to the production folks and the director, because lordy, they nailed it. I didn’t cry, partly because I was so shocked to see such a direct parallel being played out on my mafia crime drama, and I finally said, “Man, my dad would’ve loved the fact that the very thing that killed him was featured in The Sopranos.” I guess/would like to think that my reaction is what healing starts to look like. Speaking of healing, and my dad, we bought and are going to plant five large ornamental grasses in our garden as a memorial to him. He loved ornamental grasses, and I still have the piece of paper he scribbled down numerous names and varieties for me to consider buying. They will grow, and return each spring, and I expect each year I will have a slightly different feeling when I see them. As much as I would like to think that grief is something you can pickle, suspend in a brine and know it will always have the same biting, sour flavor, I think instead it will constantly change in appearance, sensation, and intensity.

And no matter what – death, shootings, new business, laughter – it will all be ok.

Man! The past week has just been crazytown. Between jetting off to Peoria and back (and by “jetting”, I mean “driving”) and a weekend jam-packed with things to do, plus something going on nearly every night this week? I feel like I’m flipping between watching high-octane racing (the metaphor for my craziness) and then some mind-numbing talking where I’m dragging my feet and gaping my mouth in disbelief that I’m not running anymore. (that would be the metaphor for me feeling exhausted. I provide the explanations as a complimentary service here at PassionKnit.)

I did, however, finish the Lost Points shawl, and wore it yesterday. It does not like to be broached, pinned, whatevered in place. I am also not inclined to knit with railroad yarn for another ten years, or until I have a frontal lobotomy, whichever comes first. I nearly got sucked into a super blowout sale at elann.com on undyed railroad yarn, and I had to slap myself quickly. ($0.90 a ball, people! But still! The ladders! The railroads! The pain-in-the-ass-to-knit-with factor! I resisted. Crisis averted!)

Yesterday also brought with it a cold front. I soaked up some of the Wo’s anxiety, for we have planted – brace yo’self – 39 tomato plants already. Brandywines, Romas, an entire assortment of heirlooms. He had so many plants he’d successfully grown from seed, he sold a ton on craigslist; then? Freezing temps. So he labored last night non-stop to insulate and protect his hard work, and I could feel the worry this morning. Fortunately, they did just fine, so we can only hope that they’ll continue to weather this crap – because there’s a chance of snow tomorrow – and we will be the lucky people with tomatoes before everyone else. Otherwise we’ll be the weeping people next week.

Today’s my two-year anniversary at the Job that Rocks, and the people I work with are some of the greatest I’ve ever known. (Former co-workers who read? You are still awesome. It was just crazy-ass circumstances that surrounded us….) I’m bracing myself a little bit for another anniversary this weekend – Saturday is the one year marker for the day my dad called me and told me he had cancer. I expect the anniversary of his death in June to be a lot tougher, but I’m also figuring out it just doesn’t matter what I :think: will happen. Sometimes it just happens. I caught myself in a shroud of unexpected sadness the other night when I let the dogs out. It was dark, but the full moon shone like a beacon, and the various constellations in the southern sky twinkled down at me. I immediately spotted Orion, and the realization that my father was no longer here to see the stars, the same stars, was like a kick in the chest. I’ve always felt a connection to the people I used to know (but don’t keep in touch with anymore) when I look at the sky. Because we all see the same stars when we look up at night. (well, ok, everyone I know is basically in North America. Let’s not get distracted by technicalities.) Maybe we don’t look at the sky at the same time, not even the same day, but I have always found comfort in the notion that an old friend is also turning their face to the night sky and noticing the stars and their arrangements. My dad used to gaze up at the night sky a lot, and I do it, too. I never really was aware of how that simple act created the feeling of connection – until it was gone.

Grief for me now is less the gut-wrenching, leg-breaking immobilization of the previous months. It is more like an actual physical experience I had last night, when I walked from the living room towards the kitchen in the dark – a familiar path, but my eyes had not adjusted to the darkness yet, and I mis-judged the doorway – cracking my elbow hard into the wood. Surprise, pain, so unexpected. There are going to be times I brace myself – the anniversaries, the events, the holidays, and everyone hears about those. It’s the painful crack in the dark, the light of realization under the night sky, the moments where life is somehow normal and yet you are reminded of the pain tucked away inside. Progression. Surprises. A return to routine. Summer is coming, despite the cold. Orion will be chased away by the scorpion, the inverted bowl of starlight above us will turn, tomatoes will ripen on the vine. You and I will look at the stars. I will cry, and I will dry my tears, and I will never, ever forget him.

….well, maybe not exactly points of light, but this does mark my 1,000’th Blogger post. Probably why I didn’t post yesterday, because I was feeling like this post should be a little more pithy than pissy.

A couple weekends ago, emotions were high and the seas were turbulent. At the time, I hated it, but I like some of the things that came from it, particularly my mental short list that seemed to have gotten lost at sea quite some time ago. That short list is the Priority List. No matter what you put on yours, we should always have the same thing in #1.
#1. Me
#2. My marriage
#3,#4, & #5: Job, Friends, Dogs (with movement among those numbers, depending on circumstances)
#6. All the rest of it.

I don’t even have #6 on my mental list. My point is that as awkward as it seems, putting me first has got to be the governing principle of my life. What makes it feel awkward is that I always joke about being selfish and self-centered and being an only child and not sharing, but the truth is that even though I want what I want (and I want it now), I can easily become paralyzed by the wants/needs/wishes/judgement of others. And when you’re swimming in a big unfamiliar sea of grief, being paralyzed doesn’t help you swim. It helps you sink. (And I’m seriously not referencing Grey’s Anatomy here AT ALL, though I see there are some parallels. My anguish and realizations came before those aired.)

I know I used the jungle/forest metaphor the other day, and now I’m mixing it up with a big ocean visual. Right now, I want to get to that point where you drag your tired body up on the beach and look back at what you survived and marvel that you did, indeed, make it. For the first time in quite some time, I feel my will to live has been re-energized. I tell you this because I do think it’s normal to lose it (it being many things – joy, will to live, sight of what’s important, a longer view, your priorities), and it takes a sizable chunk of time to sort it all out. I’ve stopped crying all the time – I realized this morning I would cry in the car, every day, on my way to work. It’s been weeks since I cried, but today I got the little pinpricking of tears in my eyes, as a line from a song floated into recognition in my brain. I share it with you, because it fits so well with this stage of my life. The song overall is not as applicable, which made it even more surprising to have the words hit me so hard.

We’d never know what’s wrong without the pain
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same
–from “All at Once” by The Fray

Thanks for reading, and commenting, and your personal e-mails. I write this blog for my own therapy, and my desire to entertain and write creatively, and sometimes, hopefully, even articulately. Knowing someone else reads these words makes me work harder to make them worthwhile. Things are looking up. So am I.