Memories Can be Awkward

Last night, I went to a 50th class reunion for my grammar school!!  Class reunions by nature, I think, evoke all kinds of anxiety, beginning with is anyone going to recognize anyone!  And, lots of us didn't recognize each other at first.  (we did have nametags).  Once past that however, it is an amazing experience to go back in time, and reconnect with our youth and all those who were part of it.  We have all traveled a long road since then, yet for this one night, we were all together again, sharing memories and laughing at all the innocence and angst of our youth.

For me, and perhaps there were others who had similar situations, I knew I was walking into a situation where I would be asked more than once about my family, and "how many children do you have?".

Such a simple question for most people.

Such a quandary for me.

I am able to talk about Erik now easily and happily, and in fact am always grateful for an opportunity to mention him, so the question is not a problem for me.  The problem is that I feel badly because I know that when people ask about my children, they are expecting a "normal" answer..."I have one child, three, five children", etc.  They are not expecting me to say, "Well, I had two sons, but I lost one..."  and then trail off because I immediately need to respond to their reaction, and usually end up assuring them that it's okay they asked, that I'm okay, and please don't feel bad.  I decided a long time ago, that even though there are times when it would be easier to say I have one son, that I was not going to pretend that Erik didn't exist and not mention him.  In most one-on-one situations, I now have this down pat, but I have to admit, in such a festive and party atmosphere, it is hard to out of the blue clobber someone with the information that you had a child that died.  No one doesn't think this is the most tragic of situations.  No one can imagine it happening to themselves.  So when it arises at this point, I always become the "consoler" rather than the "consolee".

One of my themes of this blog is that things always take you by surprise in the road to recovery, and no matter how much you think you've mended, or learned how to handle a specific situation, there is always that bolt of lightning you didn't expect.  So, sure enough, after negotiating through the first half of the evening, and mentioning Erik a few times as I had expected to, I had my lightning bolt over the salad at the buffet!  I was standing across a nice man who had been a classmate, not realizing he had lived in our community when my boys were growing up.  He did not ask me a generic question about my kids, but instead began telling me how well he remembered Erik playing basketball, watching him, what a good player he was...and so on.   As he spoke, I was so warmed by the fondness in his voice, as I often talk about Erik and his high school basketball career, and how it was his joy in life.  But also in that split second as he was talking, I had a moment of panic in thinking of what to say to him.  How do I tell this man who is being so kind sharing a great memory of my child, that this memory is now just that, only a memory, and this wonderful young man is gone?  How do you say that to someone with salad tongs in your hand?  It becomes a moment of being a little surreal, and boy I was tempted to not say anything.  But out of respect to Erik, instead I told him in as supportive a way as possible, that I was so happy that he remembered my son, but that we had lost him a few years ago.  And then I felt so bad, because this poor man, who was simply chatting and getting his salad, looked so stunned, and almost as if he might cry, and I wondered for a moment if I shouldn't have said anything.

Maybe others would choose not to say anything.  And that's okay.  Maybe that's the better thing to do.  I don't know.  But in my heart, Erik was here, and now he's gone.  It was part of his legacy that his life was short.  And so I will continue to mention his life and his death.  I do it for him.  It is attention I don't really care to have, I would rather Erik was still here...and I could have told this man that he is teaching his son how to play basketball.  But I can't.

The most important thing is, and I sent this person an e-mail telling him so, that this is actually a joyous moment for me.  Someone talking about Erik and especially remembering him on the basketball court.  So while I am sorry I had to "shock" him for a moment with what I said, I sincerely thank him for remembering my son.  And it doesn't matter that it's been over four years now.  In fact, the more time goes on, the more grateful I am for any excuse to remember him, and even better, to know someone else is remembering him.

For that's what we have now, is memories, and what a great surprise for me, that someone I hadn't realized knew him, remembers him in such a great way.  So I want to say to this classmate, Joe, thank-you for your words and kindness, and never for a moment feel bad that you brought my son up...over the salad bar.  It was a great thing!

Back to Regular Life...Sometimes Happy, Sometimes Sad

 

It’s not always Erik’s fault

A while back, I was a little upset or depressed about some personal issues which had nothing to do with the fact that I was missing Erik.  I suddenly realized, in the aftermath of a notable tragedy such as the loss of a loved one, that most people will assume that any struggle or sadness you have is because of your grief or mourning.  So I allowed my dark humor to kick in, and if I chose to say to someone that I was upset or sad, I would quickly add…”and it’s not Erik’s fault!!...poor Erik, he’s not even here and he gets blamed for everything!”.

Now it seems that in a perfect world, anyone recovering from a suicide loss should somehow be blessed with a totally perfect life in every other way, so we could focus on our grieving.  Unfortunately, as we all know, (suicide survivors more than anyone), it is not a perfect world.  So, whatever shortcomings, challenges, or problems we faced before the loss of our loved one, will continue to be there afterwards as well.  The difference in this being, our ability to deal with them or how we react to them will be different.

I have found I have two different reactions to life challenges since I have experienced my survival process.  I think the more predominant one is that there aren’t very many things that really seem worth getting upset over.  At first, this was a very conscious reaction, and I had to guard against being impatient with people who were upset over something that in my mind was not worth the energy.  Initially, I had to be really careful not to just roll my eyes and say, “Are you kidding me?  What the heck would you do if your son died?”  I felt grateful that I at least realized in my head that just because I was extraordinarily sad, it didn’t mean that other people weren’t entitled to their own feelings of anxiety or sadness over what was going on in their lives. 

So I tried to flip this over in my brain, and be sure I was receptive to hearing others talk about their concerns or vent if they needed to.  I remember that at Thanksgiving time my cousin had told me that she was a little sad that it was the first Thanksgiving her daughter wouldn’t be there since she was going to her new in-laws.  I did notice that she said it, but was careful to commiserate with her.  A few weeks later, she apologized to me, saying she realized afterward that she was talking about missing her daughter because of going to the in-laws, when I would be missing Erik forever.  So I assured her that it was okay.  That just because I had an extreme situation on my hands, it didn’t mean that other people couldn’t be sad or worried about things in their lives.

Thinking back on this and how it has progressed for me, I think this may be a very specific thing that reinforces the “feeling different from others” that we talk about.  We are different and those around us can’t change their lives or fix ours.  They may sense or feel uncomfortable to talk to us about the normal everyday things people vent about or are upset about.  Initially, we may be truly unable to find the emotional energy to listen to other people or, sad to say, to care about their problems.  But I think the sooner we can find a balance to that, and welcome others to confide in us again, the better we will feel and the more connected we will feel to others. 

On the other hand, there are things I have had a much harder time “getting back” in my journey here.  For example, my favorite thing to do before Erik died was to buy gifts for others.  I thought it was fun, and it made me feel good.  People knew I like to do this, and often said “You buy the best presents.”.  The first year after Erik died, I figured that I just didn’t feel festive and it was normal to think of gift-giving as a less important event.

However, the second year came and went, and I still really could not find enthusiasm in my heart or emotional energy to look for gifts or be creative in my giving ventures.  I felt really bad about it, and thought I was becoming a selfish person, which made me very unhappy with myself.  But, feelings we know are just feelings, and it is hard to change them.  I of course found ways to compensate for my “bad attitude” regarding presents, and I am assuming people weren’t running around saying, “boy, that Mary Ann doesn’t even care about presents anymore!”  I tried to get suggestions, or use gift certificates.  If I had to buy a baby gift, I would buy books in the book store so I didn’t have to go into the baby department of a store.

Now, as I am heading toward the end of my third year, I suddenly realized I am really thinking about gifts I might buy for others, and trying to make them thoughtful and meaningful.  And while looking for gifts, I seem to be more interested in ornaments and decorations as well.  We are making different plans for Christmas than the usual. 

This has just sort of snuck up on me.  It may be one of the things that really was simply helped by the passing of time.  Whatever the reason, I am glad it has.  It feels as if a little part of my old self has returned when I wasn’t looking, and it feels so good.

So apparently I have not morphed into an old lady Grinch, and have days of gift-giving left in me.  Such a little thing, but at Christmas more than ever, it’s the little things that count, right?

Sharing My Heart

As I am writing about ways to cope in the aftermath of loss, especially those first few months, I myself am remembering a lot of the difficulties and sadness.  In addition to that, we are preparing for the survivors conference on November 17th, and that is bringing back memories as well.  Last night, I sat on a panel for a TV broadcast to promote the conference day, and spread the word so anyone who may benefit can attend.  At one point, there was a bit of a digression

The Longest Mile

        It was the longest mile I would ever have to drive.  My hands clutched the steering wheel, but I was not trying to keep the car from veering out of control.  Somewhere deep in my gut I knew I was desperately trying to keep my life from veering out of control...