What a long hot beautiful strange sad summer. :"} In a nutshell.
We had the trip to Scotland in June, and Andy's birthday and a wedding in July, and in August Heidi's visit, another wedding, and three deaths -- Soos, my neighbor Becky, and now the son of my friend Mary Louise. I have been working almost full time, and I know I sound like a broken (old-fashioned, too!) record but that is more than is good for me. I feel like I have emotional jet lag, much of the time. I'm all who, where, why, what? In other words, trying to remember what it is that feels so emotionally intense.
And sometimes I even wonder if I am becoming a little bit inured to sorrow. A little protective shell, perhaps? A little bit of coping mechanism? I go to work and crank it out like a kung fu fighter... chah! hah! whah! Putting out fires, getting the projects done with efficiency and power like never before in my life. Staying on top of it all. Then a little moment comes along that at one time would have undone me... someone asks about my license plate, or how my kids are doing... and I am NOT undone! I say I'm sorry to say that my son Andy died a year ago in the spring, from brain cancer, like Ted Kennedy, and people deal with it mostly appropriately and sympathetically. I do not come undone. We talk about how it sucks that kids who die are so robbed, and how we will miss them forever. We talk about how it changes everything, in that instant.
The other thing that has taken a little time recently but been very warming is a group on Facebook for those of us who lost a loved one to brain tumors. And a few whose loved one is still alive. There's a powerful sisterhood there. Maybe as many women as men get brain cancer, but it tends to be the women caregivers, 9 to 1, who reach out to find sanctuary and support in online communities. So we chat and laugh and share the day and the reflections. All of these things help to integrate the big sad change into my New Life... the new person I am.
The small mother's group that I joined here, in real life in Maine, seems to have a mission like FMO -- although less formal and organized. They heard about my neighbor Becky and asked if I knew her and said we might be able to help Janice, if she's interested. Reaching out... offering love and compassion... from others who've been there... it is indeed a good good thing.
Where's Andy, in all of this? (My minister Erik used to say when we were discussing church business and fundraising and governance, "Where God in all of this?") I think about him. Music. Bass guitar. Cooking. Laughter. Rage. Chaos. Passion. Speed. Strength. Heartbreak. Loss.
Andy I wish you could taste the balsamic fig dressing I've figured out how to make. I wish you were living in California and coming to see me in a few weeks and we'd both be looking forward to it so much. The dogs would go nuts with happiness. I wish you would come give me a hug and visit in dream space. I love you bunny.
We had the trip to Scotland in June, and Andy's birthday and a wedding in July, and in August Heidi's visit, another wedding, and three deaths -- Soos, my neighbor Becky, and now the son of my friend Mary Louise. I have been working almost full time, and I know I sound like a broken (old-fashioned, too!) record but that is more than is good for me. I feel like I have emotional jet lag, much of the time. I'm all who, where, why, what? In other words, trying to remember what it is that feels so emotionally intense.
And sometimes I even wonder if I am becoming a little bit inured to sorrow. A little protective shell, perhaps? A little bit of coping mechanism? I go to work and crank it out like a kung fu fighter... chah! hah! whah! Putting out fires, getting the projects done with efficiency and power like never before in my life. Staying on top of it all. Then a little moment comes along that at one time would have undone me... someone asks about my license plate, or how my kids are doing... and I am NOT undone! I say I'm sorry to say that my son Andy died a year ago in the spring, from brain cancer, like Ted Kennedy, and people deal with it mostly appropriately and sympathetically. I do not come undone. We talk about how it sucks that kids who die are so robbed, and how we will miss them forever. We talk about how it changes everything, in that instant.
The other thing that has taken a little time recently but been very warming is a group on Facebook for those of us who lost a loved one to brain tumors. And a few whose loved one is still alive. There's a powerful sisterhood there. Maybe as many women as men get brain cancer, but it tends to be the women caregivers, 9 to 1, who reach out to find sanctuary and support in online communities. So we chat and laugh and share the day and the reflections. All of these things help to integrate the big sad change into my New Life... the new person I am.
The small mother's group that I joined here, in real life in Maine, seems to have a mission like FMO -- although less formal and organized. They heard about my neighbor Becky and asked if I knew her and said we might be able to help Janice, if she's interested. Reaching out... offering love and compassion... from others who've been there... it is indeed a good good thing.
Where's Andy, in all of this? (My minister Erik used to say when we were discussing church business and fundraising and governance, "Where God in all of this?") I think about him. Music. Bass guitar. Cooking. Laughter. Rage. Chaos. Passion. Speed. Strength. Heartbreak. Loss.
Andy I wish you could taste the balsamic fig dressing I've figured out how to make. I wish you were living in California and coming to see me in a few weeks and we'd both be looking forward to it so much. The dogs would go nuts with happiness. I wish you would come give me a hug and visit in dream space. I love you bunny.
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