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.

Apology

I feel like I should apologize for saying that Mother's Day is stupid.  Of course, it is not stupid.  It is just so hard for me to make sense of the day now.

Mother's Day is actually a very beautiful day, and, if I remember right, it was "invented" by one of the presidents in honor of his mother.  It is so appropriate that the mothers of the world be honored and remembered in a special way, it is so inherent in our understanding about all that is love and compassion. 

My reaction to it is just part of the package of being a suicide survivor, and I realize it could take many forms over this one day.  What of the children whose mother left them because she committed suicide?  What about the poor dads who have to look at their broken-hearted children and support them while missing their spouses?  What about the siblings who know their moms will be extra sad?

My more rational self remembers that each type of relationship brings a unique pain to the suicide survivor.  I remember when I used to read postings in the support forums, it seemed the people who had participated in the forums for the most years were those who lost parents.  It made so much sense to me.  After all, our parents are supposed to be our security, our unconditional love, and our safety net.  I can't imagine what it is like to have that basic emotional security ripped out from under you.  To begin with, you are a child, so the process of even understanding what has happened probably changes every few years as you mature.  Then there are all the milestones that your parent is supposed to be there for...graduations, weddings, childbirth.  It is no wonder that these folks were still participating in the forums and searching for their peace and closure.

At the in-person support group, I remember feeling so badly for a woman whose husband had died by suicide.  She was so shattered, in so much shock, and in this situation, had so much anger.  And she also then had to deal with the reactions of their children and other family members.

Those who had lost siblings, in addition to their own grief, were so sad for their parents.  And yes, Mother's Day is extra hard for my son as well as me.

I guess it is the cornerstone of suicide that it brings a cruel reversal to many of life's events.  What should often be the most joyous or are meant to be celebrated, are reminders instead.  This happens for all the holidays for all types of loss...including divorce and children leaving the family home, separations for those in the military, etc.  But the sharp edge of suicide is that the person themselves caused their own departure.  Please notice I do not use the term choose to leave, since I am militant in my crusade against saying that people "choose to die".  No one would ever choose to die, our loved ones would have chosen to live life - had they believed it was ever going to be a possibility for them to do so with some sort of joy or peace, but they lost that hope.

So I will try to not panic so badly about Mother's Day.  However, I have to confess I will probably avoid obvious displays of the celebration of the day, such as the Hallmark stores and Sunday brunches.

And most importantly, I will on this day and all days be forever grateful that I was Erik's mother for twenty-five years, I thank God and the Universe for that.

Mother's Day

In a few days it will be May.  In Western New York, springtime is a long awaited happy and fun time, after what is usually a fairly long winter and sometimes not so great spring.  The effect of the warm and mild weather with long days of daylight until 9:00 o'clock PM on one's activities and mood is hard to imagine unless you live in an area of four seasons.  It truly is a tangible experience!

I am like everyone - so excited, relieved, and happy for the nice weather.  However, I have to say, that along with May comes the inescapable holiday of... Mother's Day.

I actually recall going through the first Mother's Day after the loss of my own mother, more than ten years ago.  Like the phenomenon I have written about so many times before, it seems that during these times, our perceptions play cruel jokes on us.  I remember that I tried to shop for a card for my mother-in-law the day before, and as I started reading the cards was barely able to contain myself.  I looked around the store, and suddenly the whole store was mocking me with roses, pink and red items, and pretty little things to buy for your mother.  I remember leaving the store, and when I got in the car, the radio announcer was talking about Mothers' Day.  I went home in tears, and am embarrassed to admit, I think I called my poor mother-in-law to tell her I was sorry and wouldn't be buying her a card, when I had a complete melt-down and started complaining that Mothers' Day was a stupid holiday and who the heck "invented it" anyway!  Little did I know then, that there would be greater challenges to face.

Of all the holidays since Erik's death, I am least successful in finding a way to cope with Mothers' Day.  There are no other things to focus on such as trees and gifts for Christmas, or dinners and flowers for Easter, all to be shared with a number of cherished loved ones in our lives.  Or for many, Christmas and Easter have great spiritual meaning and can be embraced for the comfort that they may bring.  Unfortunately, for those of us who have lost a child, there is no escaping the singular purpose of Mothers' Day: to pay tribute to motherhood. 

Motherhood, a word that imports the strongest of emotions, the greatest variety of circumstances, and a universality and longevity that surpasses all other human relationships...motherhood.  The closest connection one human being can have to another.  Unconditional and undying love.

I have often said that I respect and reach out to all those who have lost someone in any relationship to suicide - that while people say losing a child is the most difficult experience or loss a person should have to go through, I don't believe it should be held apart from other losses...
but...
for this one day, I take it back!  For this one day, it is the worse kind of loss, the most unimaginable, the cruelist twist of fate.  I have found no way to make it better or easier, and now I already dread it, two weeks away.

I don't know what it would be like, nor can I imagine, what it might be like to lose an only child to suicide, or to any other death.  My heart goes out to those who have lost their only child. 

I do have my other son, as well as my grandchildren.  But to be honest, it seems like this just makes the angst of the day all the worse.  For while there is no way to avoid being consumed with the thought that I am the mother of a son who is lost, at the same time, my other son is desperately trying to make it up to me, to remind me that I do still have a child, I still am a mother, and please find joy in that.  I know that if it weren't for him, and because my own mother is no longer living, I could easily hide away for the day and just pretend it didn't exist, or at least try to.  Or I could just for this one day regress and wallow in my pain and sorrow, that I am a  mother who's child left her by his own hand.  But I can't.

And I won't.  I will find that mix, that strength of all that is bittersweet, and celebrate the day with my son.  I will thank God that I have him.  I will appreciate him even more than I might have under "normal circumstances".  He will perhaps be more kind and thoughtful than most sons would be on Mothers' Day under "normal circumstances".  But, we are now like this all the time, and could get by without the special day.

So, I realize my attitude is very skewed and "not normal".  But I can't help it.  I hate Mothers' Day.  And who invented it anyway?  And I wish the stores and radio would just shut-up about it.  It's going to be a long two weeks.  Stupid Mothers' Day.

Limbo

A few weeks ago, I was speaking to someone who had lost a daughter through illness.  She spoke of going to as many as three different support groups, and had found them helpful.  What caught my ear, is that she said one of the groups was very informal and was composed of parents who had lost one of their children more than two years before that.

I think the week she told me about it, I was feeling particularly...something. 

I feel this something just a little bit all of the time, and a lot every once and a while.  I am at a loss to explain it.  It is nothing terrible, not sadness, not despair, not depression, nothing that interferes with my day to day living.  It is just a very vague, underlying, undefineable gnawing feeling of floundering just a little bit, as if the ground has become slightly less solid under my feet.

I know it has to do with Erik, although it is quite frankly more about me. 

If forced to define it or try to figure it out for myself, I guess I might say it is that ever present subconscious presence of knowing.  Knowing that no matter what I do, or how far I come, or how much I look like everyone else on the outside, I am forever different from the majority of people on this earth, for while the numbers are so much more than we want them to be, the percentage of people who lose a child through suicide is very small. 

Sometimes when I hear others talk about their children, or see others with their children, especially adult children, I think to myself, I think, "Oh, you get to be a regular parent, one who doesn't lose their child by suicide."  Or I just plain think, "Oh, you are a normal parent, it won't end for you in this bizarre twist of fate."

And the worst part of it all, is that as time goes by, it doesn't get better, it just stays, like some pesky little annoyance of the insect world buzzing around my ear, that I can't see, can't squash, and just will not leave my side.  And the more time passes, the more I know it is never, ever, going to leave. 

So this is very frustrating.  After so much "working through my grief", after rebuilding, after all of the conspicuous ups and downs of the first two years...and then three...I am left in this state of Limbo.  I am not figuring out what to do about this.  I need a support group!!  Or advice!!  Or some sort of epiphany to help me accept the something feeling and let it go.

I am grateful to be past the worst of it.  I as always assure others it is possible to feel better.  But today I am "fessin' up".  This is not perfection.  This is not heaven or hell.  This is Limbo...and it can feel a little lonely at times...

(If there is anyone out there who feels themselves in the same predicament, please remember my
e-mail address is at the side of this blog, and feel free to drop me a note, especially if interested in an informal cup of coffee.  Thanks!)

Alliance of Hope

The Alliance of Hope is an organization for survivors which provides a comprehensive forum including information, booklists, memorials, and a community forum. I hope you find it informative and helpful.

Out of Our Hands

I just heard the press release about Pastor Rick Warren's son who committed suicide.  The story of this young man is all too familiar by now - a kind, good person who was well liked and cared about other people, who had a life-long struggle with mental illness and depression.  The pastor's son, Matthew, had actually spent the evening with his parents, and then when he went home ended his life.

I am so sorry for the family and for Matthew.  It is so frustrating that this loss of life cannot be stopped.

When I hear these things now, and then go to scan a little information about what happened, my brain seems to have a radar system for certain phrases that are written and remarks that are made.

For this young man's story, the first things that compute for me are:

• Rick Warren is a pastor and author, living in California, a leader of people, with a comfortable financial situation I am sure.  So as much as I know in my brain that these things don't matter, my heart lurches and there is a voice in my head that is screaming, "How can it be that this poor man could not find a way to help his son?  How can it be that he is smart, spiritual, and wealthy, and he could not accomplish what I am sure was his heart's greatest desire - to provide a cure for his son that would allow him the joy and stability in life he deserved?"
• Trailing close behind that of course is the thought that I did not have the resources of this man, so no wonder I couldn't help my son.
• The press release offered by the family stressed that they lost their son in spite of years of medical intervention and therapy, that he, like my Erik, had struggled for nearly ten years to conquer his demons, to overcome his depression. 
• The reports also say that Matthew was especially kind and compassionate to others, wanting others to be happy in spite of his own sadness.  This also reminded me of my son.
• And finally, my heart broke reading that they had just been with him, watched him leave to go home, and had no idea that there lives were soon to be torn apart with that horrible shock and grief we all experience when we first learn we have lost our loved one.

I can't seem to come to grips with the fact that this keeps happening.  I suppose that if we haven't found a medical cure for some cancers, there is no reason to think we should have a fool-proof cure for depression and mental illness.  It is such a cliche to say it seems "unfair" that some families have this as their destiny, but it does seem unfair.  It is too sad. 

So I go to my place in my heart where I believe that we have to accept that this is a part of our humanity, that some of us were meant to be here for a shorter time than others, and for those left behind, we must take care of each other, embrace our memories, and move forward.

But for today, my heart is with the Warren family, and I am so sorry that they have to be so sad.  My condolences to them.

Here We Go Again

This weekend is my birthday on Saturday and Easter on Sunday...double whammy for the "holidays make us sad" club.

In my mind, I am perfectly fine.  I am not worried about being sad.  I don't feel apprehensive or worried.  The weekend is filled with fun plans to the brim.  I am even planning on getting a birthday present from my boyfriend...my first birthday present from a man since my divorce!

But all week long, I have been dragging around...with a myriad of excuses as to why I am not in a good mood...I am tired (always a favorite), I have a headache, I am worried about my dad, I am worried about my friend, I miss my friend who passed away, it's the end of winter blues...and so on.

My sister keeps asking how I am.  My sister who knows me too well.  My sister who should be completely focused on her family's vacation and not worrying about how I will be for Easter.

At the same time, I cannot deny the increase in my thoughts of Erik.  Those visual flashbacks.  The feeling like he's floating around in the car while I'm driving.

The wondering why anyone has to die in the first place.  Why didn't God just put us all on earth at the same time, and leave us all here forever?  I mean, if we believe in eternity, why not make this eternity?  And if there are too many souls, just spread us around the planets and galaxies. 

And worst of all, the loss of all defenses, with such a strong urge to be able to hug him one more time surging through my body so it hurts, and for a split second I am sure I can change time and he'll be there.

However, I am well, I am doing fine, I journey on just as I have promised I will.  Still, it's just a  little harder this week.  I feel my heart inside of me...even though we are not supposed to "feel" the presence of our internal organs.  I know I have to be on guard for surprise meltdowns.  I can only do my best.

So we will see how it goes.  At least I am making plans and know I will enjoy being with my family.  At least I am not skipping Easter altogether because I don't want to talk about Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies.  At least it is not my first birthday after he died, knowing I had told him I was getting too old to "do this anymore", and feeling so guilty it was almost unbearable.

Maybe I will even color a few Easter eggs...we'll see.

 

 

 

Silver Lining Playbook

I promise this blog will not turn into an entertainment review, but thinking about seeing "Next to Normal" reminded me that I also recently saw the movie,  "Silver Lining Playbook".  I think about these things, because it is one more part of the suicide survivors' existence, always being ambushed by a surprise attack of a reminder.  For example, if you have lost a loved one to suicide, how many times since have you been with someone who is being dramatic and says, "I could kill myself", or "I felt like jumping off a bridge", and a split second later they look at you with either mild discomfort or pure horror, either just a little embarrassed or terribly worried they offended you or made you sad.  Then you end up being the one who has to comfort the other person,  because your situaiton is making them uncomfortable.

It would be really nice if we could eliminate every reminder in the world of the ugliness of suicide and the sadness it brings, but of course, that would be impossible.  Or, we survivors could hide in the house for the rest of our lives, to make sure nothing upsets us unnecessarily, or more than we already are.

But hopefully, sooner or later, we must brave the real world, with news media, entertainment, and social conversations that depict or talk about topics that hit way too close to home for us, and yes, hurt us more than most people.  I'm not sure why I wanted to see a movie and a play about bipolar disorder and mental illness.  I hate to say it but I think it was part morbid curiosity, along with wanting to see what others had to "say" about it, and perhaps even "compare notes"... most of the reasons probably aren't very altruistic.  I guess I liked the idea that I at least was in control of the decision to go see them, or  maybe I was testing my limits a little.

When I went to see "Silver Linings" I walked in knowing it was about a young man with bipolar disorder, and that it got good reviews, and that the acting was going to be good.  I had no way to know how many times in that two hours I would be watching scenes that jogged too many memories.  The wonderful man who went to the movie with me began shifting in his seat five minutes into it, urgently whispering "do you want to leave", to which I of course stubbornly said "No".  A few minutes later he asked me again, so I assured him I was okay, and if "something horrible" happened, then I would ask him to get me out of there!!!

The young man in the movie totally reminded me of my son, same coloring and height, same intense blue eyes.  He had been in rehab and brought home by his mother, to his father whose best way to handle the situation was to ignore him.  And then the scenes began: the visits to the psychiatrist, the not taking the meds, the taking the meds, the outbursts in the middle of the night, physical altercations between father and son, the difficulty handling social situations, and on and on.  Some of the things truly did make me uncomfortable, especially the depiction of the stuggle with meds making people feel worse than the illness, and of course the family arguments. 

However, the story was so intriguing and compelling, that I was willing to get through those moments and enjoyed the movie, so happy that I had chosen to stay.  Granted that I am a bit of a movie fanatic, and for me it is worth it to be uncomfortable for a bit and not miss a truly great movie, while many people would wonder why even take a chance of being upset, just for the sake of seeing a movie.  I get that.  But for me, I'm glad I did it.

And looking back, I have to confess, maybe I was hoping that if I stayed I would get to see a happy ending for someone with bipolar disorder...and I did...it was a great ending.  It was the movies after all.

"Next to Normal"

“NEXT TO NORMAL”

A musical about bipolar disorder…sounds like such a contradiction, almost offensive to those of us whose lives have been devastated by living with the havoc brought to family members of those who have mental illness.  But, when approached by a friend who invited me to see this play, I figured “why not”, I survived the real thing, let’s see how someone can turn this nightmare into entertainment!

 

The friend who invited me has a daughter who has bipolar disorder, who had made a number of suicide attempts.  I had a son with bipolar disorder, who I actually lost to his successful suicide attempt nearly three years ago.  So we agreed to go, for who knows what reasons.

The theatrical performance was at a very small theatre with a small cast.  I had no idea what to expect even in terms of the logistics and theatrics of the performance itself, and hadn’t realized it was going to be a musical until it started.   

From the moment the lights went up, I was completely spellbound and mesmerized.  The storyline of the mother/wife of the family having the mental disorder of bipolarism, was different from my personal experience, yet the challenges and heartbreaks of mental illness are pretty universal, and always a “family affair”. 

            It was a memorable performance by six actors, so extremely talented, one person’s voice more beautiful than the next.  And the biggest surprise of all? Not only was the play a musical, there were many lines that were laugh-out-loud-funny.  How several hours of time could present so many thoughts about the travesty of mental illness, in a way that I am sure stayed with the audience for a long time after they left the theatre, and entertain and educate at the same time, left me in awe and so grateful I had been there.

           The script left no stone unturned: the influence this mother’s illness had on her children, the combination of the children’s own struggles made worse by the mother’s illness - the son had committed suicide and the daughter struggled with illegal drug addiction, the frustration of trying to find medications which didn’t make the patient feel worse than the illness, the stress of never knowing what each new day may bring, and finally in the end, the husband’s inability to accept his wife’s decision not to take meds, and the dissolution of their marriage.  Also, the anger on the part of the daughter for her father in his attempts to hold the family together, which in the end resolved, hit close to home for me.

            I have a feeling that probably most of the audience were people who had some first hand knowledge of living with bipolar disorder.  The theatre company actually held an informational program after the play, which we did not stay for.  However, I feel hopeful that this performance is an indication of increased awareness of mental health disorders, and the need for us to be able to look at them full on in the face.

            Ironically, although my friend was worried about my reactions to sitting through the performance, in the end, it was my arm around her as she was weeping and thinking of all the sadness in her life as she worries and helps her daughter with her struggles.  But I am glad we went, and that we were there together.

 

           

The Beach at Night

 

 

 

The Beach at Night

by Mary Ann Kirisits

 

Told to choose just one small spot

To live out all my days;

I didn’t ask for miles of land

Or any paradise…

I only asked for room to lie

Beneath the solemn midnight sky,

With darkness for my comfort,

And stars to give me hope,

And the whisper of the constant waves,

To know I’m not alone.

The sand would be my cushion,

The salty air my high,

Excluding all the distant lights

Of time that must pass by.

 

Existing in my chosen world

Of solitude and peace,

You’d be there, present, all the while,

In heart, and mind, and soul…

For love is but a dream,

And dreams are not untold.

 



My Friend Marilyn

My Friend Marilyn

Four months after Erik died, one of my dearest friends Marilyn lost her very long battle with cancer.  She was one of those people who faced her illness the same way she lived her entire life, with great courage and grace, with little complaining, and always embracing and appreciating the beautiful and important things in life.  She herself was a beautiful woman, always meticulous in her appearance, soft-spoken, with a laugh that was like chimes in the wind and totally contagious.

Marilyn was one of those people in my life who I actually met twice.  The first time I met her, she was bringing her daughter as an infant to be seen for Occupational Therapy at our children’s rehab center in Buffalo.  They would come to the OT department, and we would all be on a mat on the floor, with myself gently moving Christine through her exercises and experimenting with positions that might encourage her to move to her next stage of gross motor development or more readily hold her toys.  Marilyn would stay throughout the session, as a comfort to Christine, and to learn how to do the movements and exercises at home.  I don’t remember how long we kept these once a week sessions, I know it was a long time…maybe a year.

 

In that time, we formed a convivial friendship and I always looked forward to the days they were coming.  What I especially remember, is that during that time I became pregnant with my first son Jason, and when Marilyn and Christine came for their last session, Marilyn walked in with a huge gift box.  I was so startled and pleasantly surprised that she would do this, and still remember the beautiful pastel blanket and sweater set she had crocheted for my son.  We hugged goodbye and wished each other well.

 

Then, ten years later, I began a new job at a small school for children with disabilities.  I quickly came to find out that Marilyn was working there as one of the nurses, and we were able to resume our friendship where we left off.  She was pregnant with her third child at the time, and I was returning from the birth of my second son, Erik.

 

The rest is history, as they say, and we became fast friends.  Marilyn was one of those friends who I not only had so much fun spending time with, but who I respected and admired so much, and was the first person I would go to when needing advice.

 

When we both moved on to our next passages of our lives, different jobs, different cities, her getting married and me getting divorced, we always stayed in touch and got together when we could.  Those last years before 2010, we were both facing challenges, her with her diagnosis, and myself trying to stay afloat after my divorce and helping Erik.

 

The last time I saw her, she hosted a gathering of friends at her home just before Christmas.  We had a great time as always, Marilyn was the consummate hostess, and had thought of all the little details to make it a fun afternoon, including Santa hats for all. 

 

I remember that it was clear it was a tiring day for her, and there were a few struggles and teary eyes, all of us wondering if we would be together the next Christmas.  I have always treasured that afternoon, it was the last time I saw Marilyn.

 

It was about three weeks later that Erik died.  There were so many times I wanted to see Marilyn one more time, or help out somehow, but I was barely getting through some of my days, and I never made it to see her again. 

 

She left us in May, four months after I lost Erik.

 

The reason this is in the forefront of my mind now, is that I was invited to go to her home with her best friend, Lynn, and visit with her husband and look at some of her jewelry, to choose a piece to have for myself.  Since the day Lynn asked me to go, I have been plunged into an ongoing soul-searching of how I felt about losing Marilyn.  Just the thought of going to her house brought tears to my eyes and made me so uncomfortable…what the heck was wrong with me, it has been nearly three years.

 

Then suddenly I realized, I had never truly faced the fact that she was gone, that she had died.  I remember standing at her coffin and looking at her beautiful face, with no emotion registering at all.  And throughout the morning of her funeral and breakfast, my eyes remained dry as everyone commemorated this beautiful woman, wonderful wife, mother, and friend, asking how could it be that she had been taken too soon in life, when she still had so much to give and receive.

 

Four months after Erik.  I thought I was acting very “normal”.  I thought I was appropriately sad, but able to be strong enough to go through my first funeral after Erik’s.  I wanted and needed to be there.  I am so glad that I went, to pay my respects and honor her life.

 

But now I realize I was like a zombie just going through my paces and pretending I was participating in the moment.  I wasn’t.  I wasn’t even there.  And this comes under the heading of those times I have talked about being in shock, or only having energy at first to breath and get through the normal aspects of everyday life. 

 

I guess our brains only let our hearts feel so much pain at a time.  Marilyn had been just about one of the best people I knew.  She spent the majority of her "kids growing up years" as a single mom, working full time, taking care of three children including one with special needs, but always making time and having energy for her friends.  I should have spent that week in May crying my eyes out for her, and shaking my fist at the universe, asking how dare  she be taken away too soon.  But I didn’t.

 

So now it’s three years later and I feel sad…really sad.  Weepy-eyed sad.  There is so much to remember and think about.  Some regrets I didn’t see her more that last year.

 

I didn’t go to her house…

 

But I want her to know I miss her, I loved her, and I think of her often.  I remember her advice and the times we laughed so hard.  And I’m so sorry it took me so long to face all this, but am glad I have let it all in now.  Because even though Erik has permanent residence in my heart at all times, there is room for her there too…and I just smiled thinking about her.