Getting Through

I decided to see what other thoughts I could find about this challenge of getting through the holidays.  I just love to go to Google and type in some very specific thought and see what comes up.  So I went and simply typed in "getting through the holidays after a loss" and voila, there were eight trillion articles.  Well, not quite that many, but a lot.

One of the first ones listed was an article sponsored by a PBS website/program called This Emotional Life.
The article was done by a Dr. Camille Wortman, who specializes in studies regarding devotes her practice to dealing with grief with a special focus on sudden tragic loss.  The article is very clearly written in an outline format, with very specific suggestions.  I felt very good that a lot of things Dr. Wortman speaks to are things I have often talked about in this blog.  On the other hand, clearly this woman is an expert and professional in this area, so the article is very thorough and insightful, and I highly recommend looking at it for suggestions and help.  I attempted to set up a direct link, but I think it is protected because it is part of the PBS website.  However, if you go to google, and just type in:

getting-through-holidays-advice-bereavement

you will definitely obtain the article.

One of the things Dr. Wortman wrote about was "the ambush", which is something I have talked about so often.  What she says is that there will always be those things that happen that we simply can't prepare for or avoid because we just can't see them coming.  The example she gave was about a woman bringing out her Christmas tree ornaments, and suddenly finding one that her son had made for her when he was small, including his palm print on the ornament.  Of course this poor mom dissolved into tears, and her bravery in attempting to carry on and have a tree in the first place, was poorly rewarded by this extra bittersweet moment.  Yet, how beautiful that she has that ornament, how special such a small thing can become when we are embracing the memories of a loved one.  It almost comes full circle to say that we have to continue to participate in rituals and celebrations, so that some day others can remember us and our participation.  And that ornament can be on her tree, and yes, her son who is gone too soon has literally left that little hand print one her life and so many others, so visible on that tree.  And if it makes her too sad this year, she can put it toward the back of the tree so she doesn't have to see it all the time, and perhaps as each year goes by, the ornament can be moved forward and upward, to a more prominent place.  It is hard work, this grieving business, but we can do it, and with some thought, salvage even the hardest of moments.

For myself, I seem to never stop learning something new when I try to think about things, or even literally do research.  And it makes me feel connected to read about what others do and/or what advice others give.  As I am thinking about this, I am remembering that I usually say "whammo" about these moments.  You know...I was doing okay, and then, "whammo", there was that object, that song, that word, that little boy who looked just like Erik, and for a moment, I have to get a grip.  At first, it may cause a complete meltdown.  But then, it becomes easier to have the thought and keep going.  And in the end, would I ever want to live in a world that doesn't remind me of Erik when I least expect it

...hhhmmmmmm...that's an easy answer.  Of course not.  I will always be grateful for the sudden reminders, for as many times as they may make me sad, they also make me smile.  And that's what we do for the people we love.  We have feelings, for without our feelings, who would we be?

The Holidays are Back

I think that Christmas has snuck up on everyone this year.  The weather was so mild, Thanksgiving was very late with only three and a half weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And so here we are, Christmas is only two and a half weeks away...incredible!

When I think about the holidays and people we miss because they have left us, I am realizing more and more, each year, that every situation is so different, and it is different for two main reasons.  Each person lost to suicide was unique and special, and played a specific role in our lives.  And, each of us is very different, and were at different places in our lives when we were thrown into this turn of events of learning to live with suicide loss.

So our heartache is intense on an equal level for equal reasons, but the resolution is so different for everyone.

When I lost my son, I was already in my late fifties, and had been recently divorced.  My holidays were becoming quieter and more nostalgic already.  No more major trips for toy shopping, no more back to back turkey dinners for my family and my husband's family.  No more juggling going to my mother-in-law's or sister-in-law's for Christmas Eve and then my sister's for Christmas Day.

So, were my son still here, my holidays would be quieter and feel different anyway.  I am trying to
remember that.  Granted, losing my son takes all of this a step further, and while each year is easier than the last, I have made my peace with the fact that there will always be limit to my anticipation for Christmas.  To put it simply, jolly is just not part of my Christmas vocabulary.

In some ways, this makes me feel sad, or almost guilty, but as they say..."it is what it is".  I do my best, and I will enjoy most parts of the upcoming weeks.  I tend to steer clear of Christmas music and certain movies, and I avoid the toy stores.  I have learned to try to assess a situation ahead of time, and figure out where the land-mines might be.  And then I do my "count my blessings' routine, and find my joy in that.

I guess what I am trying to say here is that I am thinking of those who don't have the same options.  I can't imagine what it would be like to get through a first Christmas after losing your husband. and have to still be there for your young children, or to be a newly-wed and suddenly have lost a brother or parent, and your mate is at a loss to console you.  For this exact moment, I am actually trying to remember what I did the first Christmas...I honestly can't.  Partly, this will be my fourth holiday without Erik, and some of the past ones are starting to blur together.  Last year seems the clearest to me, and I was blessed to be with my son and grandchildren, and a new man in my life.  We made turkey dinner and presents were fun.  I was able to get some of the old sparkle back.  But it takes a long time.

One good thing is that there seems to be a lot of recognition that in general, everyone doesn't get to have a Norman Rockwell Christmas.  People have loss, people are fighting illnesses or have lost jobs, and the joy of the season seems to sometimes be a cruel reminder of things that are not joyous.

So what do we suicide survivors do about this?  We do what we always do...we survive, and as time goes on, we start to thrive again.  For those who this Christmas is one of the firsts, my heart and prayers go with you.  Do your best.  Cry but try to find moments to share with others to find at least a little peace and quiet happiness.  Do not try to be brave...do what you need to do for yourself, your family and friends will understand.  Cling tightly to where ever you find love, be it your Faith, your family, friends, or a place of comfort - your home, a place of volunteer work, or a getaway in the country.  You have my personal exemption from having to do anything...if the stores drive you crazy, and you leave in tears, stay out of them.  Go to the drugstore and get gift cards for everyone.  If you used to bake cookies, go to the bakery.
Take care of yourself, and get good sleep.  Try to get out to a friend's or a coffee shop.  Do something you never thought you would do...like adopt a pet, (or try writing).  If you go to counseling or support groups, go more often.  Or, in the end, just keep breathing, get through these extra hard days, so you can get back to a slightly easier road to recovery, to start a new year, to build back up and think forward more often than back.

Do what you gotta do, it is what it is, and know that some day, you will find peace and joy again, and it won't necessarily be Christmas.

Kindness is Classic

I am watching "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer".  An no, there are no children or grandchildren here, just a silly grandma being overly sentimental with the holidays at our doorstep.  And yes I am enjoying it very much...just smiling at the corny parts and feeling...well, just plain sentimental.

Last winter I wrote step by step regarding survival of the holidays when our lives have endured out of the ordinary loss, or tragedies.  I hope to write more often again this winter.  I am a year further into my journey, and some things seem very different, while others stay the same.

However, for tonight, I am just going to write about Rudolph.  Who among us between the ages of thirty and sixty don't consider Rudolph nearly as iconic as Santa himself?  

While I am having fun, I can't help but wane philosophical over why this little vignette captures the hearts of everyone.  I could talk about the writing courses I have taken and analyze this   program...hhhhmmmmmm...let's see.  Yes, it has a likable protagonist, it catches your interest with the first few lines of the story, it has interesting supporting characters, it has colorful scenes, and it has a definite story with climax and resolution.  More recently, I have learned that the ongoing thread of every great story is that someone is trying to obtain something they desperately want.  So the obvious is, of course,

that Rudolph does not want to be different, and wants to be accepted.  Wow!  So obvious, yet how far have we come in this respect in our everyday world, and how far backward have we gone?

I am not sure if families and children are still watching Rudolph.  Maybe it's too silly or unsophisticated.  I would wish that they might, and that we could all go back to basics for our children and teenagers.  It is part of my new soap box to say that the stressors and expectations we put on our teenagers these days is completely unacceptable, and then we wonder why they are engaging in behaviors that are unacceptable.

To come full circle here, is the obvious I know, and I say it not because I think we don't all know it, rather to take a minute to have us all think about it again.  At our core, we all want to be part of the community, we want people to like us, we want to feel secure and connected.  The poor misfits in the Rudolph story were rescued in the end, and all lived happily ever after.  Our misfits are not living happily ever after.  Some of our teenagers are not finding their niches or their comfort zones.   Not only do they feel rejected by their peers, they may feel they are disappointing the adults in their lives.  At the worst end, they are being bullied.

The holidays are a time of sharing, caring, and love.  Sounds so corny.  Yet, if we could embrace that corniness, all of our lives would be enriched.  Our children would be in less danger for sadness and bullying.  And for those of us who carry memories which are bittersweet, we can use that warmth to take us through these next five weeks.

My husband and two sons always watched "Home Alone" together, and it was our tradition.  I had seen it the first time at the show with Erik, and I always remember how we both laughed so hard that we cried.  It was a big deal in the family...we had the CD...and Erik had a McCauley Caulkin shirt because he looked just like him.  I still cannot watch "Home Alone" since Erik died.  But I can watch Rudolph, so I will think about that.

To all my readers, we will begin this holiday season, and do our best.  And when we're strong enough, we will promote the idea so sweetly given us by Rudolph, that we all simply want to be accepted and loved.

My Father Was Right



My father always told me, that the older you get the faster time goes by.  Tomorrow, September 11th, would have been Erik's 29th birthday, and of course I am feeling sad and missing him.  It occurred to me that I could look at last year's post, so I did, and it seemed so weird.  Another year!  How could that be?  And now his fourth birthday we've been without him.

I seem to have a much harder time with his birthday than his deathday.  I think for the anniversary of the day our loved ones died, you pretty much don't want to remember it, you just feel that you need to recall the person and mark the number of years they've been gone.  So it is sad, but it is consistent in its sadness.  It's the day they died.  It was probably the worst day of our lives.  There is no confusion or conflict.  We wish it didn't happen, we would change it if we could.  We hate that day.

But, for me, his birthday stirs up so many different feelings, and so many memories.  The day he was born, his childhood, family get-togethers, how he looked, how he laughed, how he loved his basketball. ...

Walk Out of Darkness - Sept. 14, 2013

On Saturday, September 14th, the Western New York chapter of AFSP will sponsor its Walk Out of Darkness.  It is held in Delaware Park, and begins at 10:30.  For more detailed information, this is a good reason to google the AFSP website and be aware of what it has to offer.

I did not attend the walk the first year after we lost Erik, but did attend the second year.  I did not attend last year because I was "mad" at AFSP,  (yes, ridiculous reason), but I will be attending this year.

This is one of those things that can be so helpful to someone, or may not be appealing at all.  Thankfully, there seems to be a huge ...

Song for Father's Day

 

For those who have lost their dads, and the dads who have lost sons or daughters.

 

Dads

It suddenly occurred to me that just because I am fortunate enough to still have my dad, at this stage of my life, I am one of the very few who do.  One of my best friends just lost her dad in January. I know this will be a hard day for her.  He was 90 when he died and a WW II vet.  I look on facebook and see post after post of friends my age who are remembering their dads who are gone now.  Especially fun and touching are the black and white photos with my friends as children and their young dads with their Brylcream haircuts.  I notice that the passing of years doesn't seem to diminish the sense of love and loss, whether it's one year or twenty, or thirty.  We all get just one dad.

I can't imagine what it might be like to have a dad who died by suicide.  I had noticed when I was participating in one of the on-line forums that one of the women had lost her dad nearly twenty years ago, and was still working it through in her mind.  We say that losing a child is an aberration of nature, that parents should die first.  Yet, when a parent dies, it is devastating for a different set of reasons.  Our parents were supposed to be our security, the ones to help us.  To have them leave by their own hand, and what seems like choosing to not be there for us, must shake us to the core.  Especially if someone is young, they then have a whole lifetime of not having their parent.  The empty chair at graduation, the bride who doesn't get walked down the aisle, the grandchild that doesn't get held.

I don't want to say a lot, because I don't know how it feels.  I know parts of how it feels, and it always feels bad.  I know that fathers who lost sons are also feeling bad today, and I know my ex-husband is thinking of Erik.

So to all who are having a hard day today, I just want to say you are being thought of, and my prayers are with you.  God bless you.

Mental Health Care

Today I had taken a sick day from work and wound up clicking on the TV to watch Dr. Phil.  I tend to have a love-hate relationship (well, not a relationship, feelings toward him I mean) with Dr. Phil, because sometimes I think he is so profound with such common sense, and other times I think he is a little "too much".  But today I am glad I watched, only to be reminded where my heart is.

Today's episode guested a family of parents and two boys, young men, one of whom has severe conduct/emotional problems.  I suppose that it caught my eye because he reminded me of Erik in appearance, and our family structure was also one of two sons.  The young man had problems which on the surface seemed very different from Erik, but he was 25, the age of Erik when we lost him, and he also lived with his parents. 

During the program, they did not name a diagnosis for his problems, but referred to the family having sought help for him many times, including therapists and counseling, but all to no avail.  The greatest difference in this young man's problems and my son was the fact that he became extraordinarily violent with his family, and in fact nearly killed his brother at one time, hitting him in the back of the head with a wooden object.  His outbursts were so aggressive and violent, as well as frequent, that my heart just went out to the family.  It seemed they were in fear for their lives, yet were unable to find any solution to solve the problem or find the right help for their son.  They had tried everything, had been struggling for seven years, and had made no progress.

Been there, done that.

And here they were, on the Dr. Phil show.

At one point I had one of my tsunami moments and was brought to tears, which doesn't happen to me that often any more.  But throughout the interview, it was clear that this man meant no ill will to his parents and brother, and was at a loss to explain why he is unable to control his behavior.  His description of the despair and remorse he feels afterward, broke my heart.  Finally, at one point, he looked his mom in the eye and simply said, "I love you, mom".  She replied that she loved him as well. 

How unfair is this?  This typical family, good people, who had probably led a lovely existence and maintained their family life, torn to shreds by their son's mental health problems.  How were they unable to find help for their son?  Where is the medical community?  How is it that we can clone living things and transplant body parts, but we are so short of learning enough about our brains and body chemistry to treat mental health problems.  Or are there just not enough of us who care?  Or are the politicians not willing to designate enough funding for the research?

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I am sick to death of it.  Young men like this one, (and my son and young women), are healthy young people who should have an opportunity to live a productive and happy life.  These parents should be rewarded for their efforts in raising their children in a loving and nurturing home.  If destiny has thrown them a curve ball, and they continue to try, try for seven years, where is the help and resources they should be able to find?

I just can't believe in my heart that the medical community couldn't be doing a better job.  There is a missing link here.  I don't know if it is awareness, willingness, lack of compassion, or poor priorities when delegating dollars.

I do know that the suffering is excruciating, and that the number of people visited by this tragedy is growing every day. 

There is movement toward doing better.  There are organizations and individuals campaigning for awareness and raising funds.  If you do an internet search, it would seem that help is everywhere.

But it isn't. 

Take my word for it.

The Military and Suicide

On Sunday, I watched the PBS program done every year in Washington DC, to honor and remember our military and their families, and especially those we have lost or have been injured in service.

The program was beautiful, with tributes and music to stir our souls and make us take time out of our busy lives to remember those who deserve to be remembered.

Partway through the program, Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise did a re-enactment of the story of twin brothers who had both been in the military, and been deployed several times in the past decade.  At times they were in the same arena, and others were not.  The younger brother sustained serious injuries in his last deployment, including amputation of one of his legs.  His older brother never got over the thought that he should have somehow been there to prevent it from happening.

The older brother also witnessed other losses and horrors of war in his deployments.  Upon returning home, he found the adjustments difficult and suffered from PTSD.  He struggled to participate in a "normal" life with his beautiful wife and three young children, always keeping in touch with his brother.  However, as the years wore on, he was unable to progress out of his depression and dark moods, and he ultimately died by suicide.  The story was so poignantly told as the two actors, each speaking of one of the brothers, presented the strong emotions of both brothers on their journeys, including the surviving brother's thoughts after the other was gone.

The surviving brother, wife, and three children were in the audience.  I thought they were so brave to be there, with tears flowing freely as they listened to this short depiction of a situation so heart-wrenching on so many levels.  Afterwards they were greeted and embraced by Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise.

 

I was filled with so many emotions...but the predominant one was to stand up and cheer for the producers of this program.  Congratulations to them for bringing this out in a respectful and honorable way, in a way that said that these young men who come home with PTSD and TBI's, who are unable to re-enter the mainstream of life, and who are at such high risk of ending their own lives deserve as much recognition as those with very visible injuries.  Thank-you to those who supported putting a spotlight on this problem, to make people aware, and hopefully obtain better care and support for these soldiers and their families, and my sincere condolences to this family who will never stop feeling the effects of these events.

Coping Strategies

So Mother’s Day is over.  Here are some of my coping strategies.

I spent the day with a very nice person who has come into my life, he is very understanding and supportive.  One of my favorite expressions is from Dr. Phil.  He calls that person in your life that you should be able to depend on and rely on, “your soft place to fall.”  I just love that.  Everyone needs a soft place to fall.  It may be a spouse, a significant other, a sibling, a friend, or most anyone.  They become as they say on Gray’s Anatomy, “your person”.  (After my divorce  my father became the one who I felt was always there, and who would give me sane advice, and hopefully would support me in my endeavors.  He was “my person” then.)

Good thing I was with my person, because the beginning of the day was spent fighting back tears, and mostly losing the battle.  This was my fourth Mother’s Day without Erik, I didn't know why I was so upset!  I had promised myself I would spend the day with my son Jason and my grandchildren, but decided a sobbing grandma was not a great asset at a picnic.  Jason happened to call in the middle of one my meltdowns, so when I started apologizing he told me that I should do what I needed to do to make myself okay, and if I wanted to stay where I was, that it was fine with him.  So that was my second strategy, doing what I had to do for myself, instead of feeling guilty and going to a gathering I would have a hard time feeling a part of. 

My third strategy was in spite of all the support I had, at the end of the day, I ate a lot of cookies.  Now, I am sort of joking about this, but not really.  For me, sugar is my addiction of choice, and it is apparent in my dress size.  Often people figure that it is better than drinking, gambling, narcotics, etc.  But the reality is, as we all know, it really isn’t  healthy. 

I am sharing these ideas with hopes that others found ways to get through this day and any others that are difficult.  I used two smart ones, and the third not so smart one.  If you are new to the survival game, they are something to think about, and it is okay to very deliberately plan how to get through certain anniversary days or holidays.

Plan on being with someone who can be your “soft place to fall”.  It may be that the person who used to be your soft place to fall is also fighting their own battle for survival, and for a little while can’t be there for you like they used to.  It’s okay.  Try to rely on others.  Surviving the death of a family member, especially a child, is extraordinarily hard on relationships. 

If it is too hard, be honest with family members and tell them you don’t want to hurt their feelings, but that you need to not attend the party or gathering.  I have tried just going to a family gathering because I felt I had to, and it set me back.  I have tried just saying I wasn’t coming, and then worrying about it, and it was almost as bad as if I had gone.  If you can find the right person, and say – “I can’t come, and the reason why is…”, you will open yourself to their support and then spend that time trying to take care of yourself instead of  worrying about someone being upset with you.  When Jason told me it was okay not to join him and the kids at the picnic they would be at, I believed him.  And I felt good that I had at least let him know that I wasn’t indifferent to his feelings, that I had wanted to try, but just wasn’t there yet.

And finally, be aware that these are the times that our more unhealthy coping mechanisms will surface, and God knows we might think we have a good “excuse” to go back to them “just one more time”.  So remember to be cautious if you have old demons that don’t believe in letting you do something “just this once”.  Plan to otherwise occupy yourself, or have support around you.  If you have serious issues and have a support group or sponsor, call them.  It is okay to say, “I know it’s been four years, but I think I’m going to have a really hard time getting through this day.”

And once the day is over, know that you made it through one more thing, and will continue down the road you're on.  And if you took a little detour, that’s okay, just follow the signs to get back to the highway.  And once you're back on path, we will all be there together.

A Poem for Mother's Day

Always

 

Your time with us was so much shorter than I ever wanted it to be.

We tried so hard to keep you here, your grief we couldn't see,

A mother would always give her own life for her son,

But you didn't give me that chance.

I would have done just anything to keep you here with me.

 

Twenty-five years was shorter than I ever thought it could be.

The treasure of your existence, something I clung to desperately.

I just didn't want to lose you,

Life sometimes isn't fair,

But I know your destiny was set, by something greater than me.

 

The world has taken you away, some say by your own hand,

I know you wanted to stay, but just couldn't understand

how to find some joy and solace, how to make your life okay.

I never was angry you left me, I know you did what was planned.

 

So sometimes I think the universe won,

Your time here was short - a mother should never lose a son.

 

But there is something that you taught me,

A lesson so great and so real,

That on this day of all days, this is what I feel:

 

I did not have you for only twenty-five years-

I had you then, til now, and for always.

Because you still exist, your spirit so strong,

You're here every minute, and will be my whole life long.

 

So not for twenty-five years, but for always:

 

I have your little baby self, head on my shoulder and forehead so soft, always,

I have the toddler with white-blonde curls, always moving and climbing, always,

I have your preschool graduation, with you so shy you turned sideways as if no one could see you then, always,

I have the little boy laughing so hard on the living room floor at his favorite cartoon, always,

I have the bigger boy playing soccer, running as fast as the wind, always,

I have the basketball star, a picture of joy and ease on the court, always,

I have the young man so wise beyond his years, consoling me when I was in tears, always,

I have those last years we were together, as harried as they were, always.

 

And that's what I hold tight to now, that I have the spirit and joy of you,

Always.

For that I am grateful, with no regrets, always.

 

by Mary Ann Kirisits

 



A Song

This song always makes me think of Erik.



Being Erik's Mother

My beautiful Erik...he was something.  He was a handful from the start, cranky as a baby, never sleeping through the night, and always on the move.  He had blonde hair that was almost white and curled, but just at the ends, and the brightest blue eyes.  As a child he was always on the small side, which just made him all the cuter.  He was the opposite of his brother in every way,  but very funny and very sweet. 

I know I have said it before - but it seemed that everyone especially loved him.  I think it was because he always had a bit of a shy nervousness about him, which just made him more appealing and caused people to reach out to him.  I remember that his preschool teacher had always obviously favored him, and told me once that he was a favorite of the other little kids at the preschool.

This continued on that he was always popular and likeable, and while school was hard for him, he excelled on the soccer field or basketball court.  I may sound like a biased mother, but I often heard other parents or people watching the games, saying, "Hey, look at him", or, "look at that guy run", or, "look at him pass the ball."  I think he stood out because he always, in that one venue, look relaxed and so joyous.  He was never a poor sport, or hard on himself or the other players.  He just loved being there.

Then as his mid-teens turned into his late teens, he seemed to have issues and conflicts so much greater than the "normal" teenage angst.  And from there on until we lost him, life was a haze of mental health issues, frightening days, angry days, and sad days.

But this is not what I want to say right now.  What I want to tell the world right now, is that I never, ever, regretted being or wished I wasn't Erik's mom.  Maybe most people would say well of course that's true, but when I initially looked back over his last third of his life, all that we went through, and then the heartbreak of his death, I couldn't help but be surprised that I didn't walk around wishing I had gotten to be someone else's mother.

I even played out this little fantasy in my head.  I would pretend that I got to talk to God ahead of time, and he said to me, "Mary Ann, this is what Erik will be like, and how your life will be with him".  Then he would show me other sons to choose from, who were extraordinarily gifted, found school and careers easy, and lived long and very successful lives.  Then God would say, "So you can choose to have any of these souls to be your son, or you can choose to still have Erik, knowing how hard it will be".  And without even thinking about it, without missing a beat, I would always say in my fantasy, "Oh no, I only want Erik.  He's the one I want."

In my brain, I step back and think this is amazing.  Why would anyone choose to have a hard time instead of an easy time?  If there would be no judgment or penalty, why would I not choose a joyous easy family?  It seems like an enigma to me.

As I grapple with it, I guess there is only one obvious answer...it is the inexplicable ability of mothers for unconditional love.  It is that belief deep in our hearts that it was our destiny to be the mother of certain human beings, maybe one, maybe two, maybe ten, it is that  bond of motherhood.

And no matter how hard it was, and whatever heartbreak it brought, I will always be grateful I was Erik's mother, and would not have traded him for anyone in the world.  For me, this was motherhood.

I love you Erik.