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?

Unexpected Moments - Tsunamis for Our Hearts

I have touched on this before, but since it never ceases to surprise me, I wanted to write
about it again. Those darn surprise “moments”, when you are feeling pretty involved in
what’s going on, at peace, actually happy and enjoying yourself and then – whammo!!!
-you see or hear something and your heart leaps out of your chest and your throat feels
tight, and you remember your loved one was once here and now is gone.

 It is nearing on three years for me that Erik has been gone, and it still happens to me at the most
unexpected times and more importantly, for the most bizarre and unanticipated reasons.
This weekend, I was spending a wonderful evening with someone, had a great dinner,
and proceeded to go to the theatre, to see the movie, “Lincoln”. For some reason, I
had read or heard that the assassination was depicted and that it was startling, and was
nervous that it would upset me. As it turned out, it is not shown at all, it is revealed in a
different way, so the movie was fine and while very intense for other reasons, definitely
something I was so glad to see for many reasons.

However, as we all know, there are about 10 minutes of trailers shown before a movie,
and most of us walk in not having any idea of what the trailers will preview or depict.
So, as I watched the previews for upcoming movies, I was feeling very impressed
that there seemed to be an onslaught of very worthwhile and intriguing movies being
premiered in the near and distant future, and was sitting in the dark theatre in a totally
contented and optimistic mood, very happy.

Suddenly, on the screen, there was a vision of a father playing with his two young sons
on the beach, and the mother playing with a third son some distance away. As I was
watching the idyllic scene, I became aware that this was going to be a scene from a new
movie about a family’s experience in the tsunami that occurred in eastern Asia a number
of years ago.

So, before I could process this information and gather my wits about me, on the huge
screen with all of Hollywood’s realistic special effects, I watched this father’s face morph
from joy to horror, as he realizes something he cannot understand is happening, and
literally has his two precious young sons wrenched out of his arms, unable to hold onto
to them due to the force of the water. At the same time, the mother and other son who
managed to stay together, disappeared from his view. Then on the screen, there were
flashes of the family in dire life-threatening moments of thrashing water and attempting
to cling to objects or each other. I felt like someone was ripping my heart out.

I’m not sure how long this was on the screen…only several minutes I am sure. By the
end, I was in tears. I got to see the father find both of the boys again, and there is a line
where he tells him that his worst moment was the few seconds he felt he may not see
them again. For me, a knife in the heart, knife in the heart.

The trailer leaves you with the information that the movie is a true story of one family’s
experience in the tsunami, so you know that those boys you just saw on the screen did
survive, so that was something I guess.

Meanwhile, I am left with that phenomenon of - I am a mother who could not save her son,
and he was torn away from me, for very bad reasons.

It is such a heartache: remembering those times when he was happy and exuberant, full
of life, and belonged to me; when he was tired, and would crawl up on my lap at the end
of the day and snuggle; when he was older and still able to show affection or come to me for help; when he was in high school and literally “on top of his game”, as starter of his high school basketball
team.

And then, little by little, I could no longer hang on to him, help him, save him. Erik’s
departure was less sudden than a tsunami, as his mental health deteriorated and he very
gradually disappeared from the person I knew into his own torturous world of feeling
alone and like a failure.

Yet, that last moment, that message that I had not been able to keep him in my arms, and
that it would never happen again, was a tsunami for my heart. All the emotions on that
father’s face in that split second when his sons are torn from him, the horror, the fear, the
disbelief, I felt that moment in my kitchen when that nice police detective quietly told me
my son was gone.

No one will make a movie of me, I am sure. For one thing, I am sadly aware that there
are so many other parents who have had to live through this, I am not unique. Also, I
am not a hero who saved my son. These are the tragedies that befall us in a quiet way,
sometimes behind closed doors, that we are expected to move forward from and then
continue on with our lives, which we all do.

 And while we are able to move forward and survive, and we are able to embrace joy and happiness again, there will always be, without warning, those darn “moments”. When we least expect them. Tsunami’s for our hearts.