lost in a dream

i dreamed of J last night.

the whole dream he accompanied me, wondering why i am not looking after him. asking, why it is that i am only preparing food for myself, or not reaching out to him. why are we not spending time together? he wondered. i didn't have an answer. i didn't understand. "yes, why would i do such a thing?" i asked myself. then i invited him to lay down with me on the couch to spoon, thinking to myself, "oh God, and why did i sleep with another guy?! how could i do such a thing?! i can't ever tell him that. he'll leave. .. and i don't even know why i did it. i don't know the reason for any of these thoughtless actions." ... only when i opened my eyes, did i realize the reason why.

because he died. that's why.

tears are good for you?

From one of my Daily Grief-Support Emails:

The True Nature of Tears - Day #296

[…]
 In one survey, 85% of women and 73% of men reported feeling less sad or angry after crying. I can believe it!

Psychologists and research scientists are trying to discover what the content and purpose of tears may be. Some of this research has been conducted by William Frey in an effort to discover the chemical makeup of tears. Frey compared tears induced from sadness with tears caused by cutting a raw onion. He found that the tears caused by emotional stimuli contained more total protein than those that resulted from irritation.

Frey proposes that the emotionally based tears contained high levels of cortisol, which is the primary hormone released during stressful situations. This suggests that we may be literally releasing toxins from our system when we cry, and that crying may support our overall well- being.


Well, ... if that is true, I should be toxin-free at this point. I have cried almost every single day for the first year and a half... until the beginning of this summer, which is when I decided that I didn't want to cry anymore. What was the point of my tears? Did it change anything? No. Did it help? No. So why the F spend all this time sobbing? It made no sense. It began to make me angry.

I guess, I still carry anger - but together with the anger comes a little bit of acceptance. This acceptance, however, I was only able to reach by removing J from plain sight and my thoughts. I still have a few pictures around the house, but, I actively try to avoid spending time thinking about the past and us, together. I'm trying not to make it too obsessive - as i have read that some people create temporary psychoses to protect themselves from trauma in some way, and pretending we didn't exist together could count as such, however, I am actively counteracting any inclination to wallow in grief.

I know, that repression isn't a good thing to do either, for the pain will catch up with you at a later point tenfold, i hear, so i am aiming for a certain balance, which will allow me to grief a little but only that. No more looking at pictures, listening to songs (if it comes on radio, skip it), and no more memories. .. Sounds like BS .. which it probably is... but, anyway, ... I am attempting the realization of some version of this plan.

my mourning dove

i like it when i'm asleep. it's like i live in a different version of reality there. sometimes, i forget that J died and the feeling of joy about his presence or our togetherness is beyond words which could do this emotion justice. in my dreams it is often so that i realize (or think to realize) that it was all not real...that he is alive after all, and somehow i just didn't know.

the day we left to go on our yearly trip home i found myself more somber than usual. it made no sense, for J never came with us in the time that we were together. i guess, it was as if i was leaving his space, the place that i associated with his presence, even though he was no longer that --- present.

as i was standing in the computer room i heard a familiar, yet strange, sound. it was the cooing of a mourning dove, only it sounded as if it had been recorded and played back slowly in order to analyze every part of its call. when i looked out of the window, i saw a mourning dove was sitting right on the outside sill, looking at me. i could have reached out and touched it, that's how close it was. another mourning dove sat on the tree behind. after all my encounters with this bird during the last year, i have come to learn that there is a certain significance to it when i see or hear it. this one seemed like a gentle gesture of farewell.

mistakes in grieving

a few days ago, i made the mistake of watching an old video of J and I bickering .. but, the way we always did... a fun, sarcastic banter between us...and, it made me laugh. of course, it also reminded me of how special it was that we had ... and how i never had this kind of chemistry and exchange with anyone else. it reminded me of how unique he was.

people feel compelled to tell me that love will come again and that i shouldn't close myself off. but, i am not big on relationships .. and, i think, this was it for me. sure, i could have other relationships one day but why? 80% of relationships are work, sacrifice, compromise, and general annoyance, aren't they? at least, that's how i perceive it.
with J it was different, even though, all these things were part of it, too. the difference was that i loved him so madly that it all didn't matter and was worth it. perhaps, i am romanticizing my relationship post-mortem. there is a chance that i'm doing that. it's a coping mechanism but, i suppose, it's a virtuous thing to remember only the good things about a person after they die.
then again, i don't only remember the good things. i remember all the bad sh-t, too. only, it makes no difference. just as it made no difference when he was alive and i was trying to convince myself that it should.

anyway .. so after the initial fun i had with watching this video (and another, in which he is rapping to a song on the radio as he is driving the car on a warm summer afternoon in the city), i later ended up in the fetal position on the floor, crying my eyes out, barely able to contain myself. i hadn't lost it like this in a while... in fact, i thought, things were getting better. after seeing his daughter two or three weeks ago, i had been feeling so calm.

it's always the same, i think i'm safe and i have made it through the worst, and then it gets you again, the hammer of grief .... for the lack of a better analogy. i like to refer to it as the strangling grip of grief but, really, it's more like a hammer coming down on you, out of nowhere, knocking you off your feet as you stand there unprepared. .. or another suitable tool analogy would be that squeezy apparatus .. i don't know what it's called.

anyway, so since then i've been feeling pretty low. yesterday morning, i reached out to a friend, but, it may not be a good idea to tell all your friends how there is nobody who can compare to the company J was to you. how there was noone you would have rather spent your time with. how he was the funniest person you knew.
... basically, i am telling everyone that their company is sub-par.
sigh. ... i must stop that.

what is this life for? if love is so important, why was this one taken. then again, the love is still here. he is gone. and from his departure, new love sprang. between all the people he left behind. ...

achh -- i hate it when i get all kumbaya and pseudo-wise/insightful.
it's annoying.
i'm angry.

kids are the answer to our sorrows

for some reason, the past week has been hell.
actually since his birthday last month, the grief train took a downward turn again (as in .. you know .. it goes up and down like a roller coaster. man, i'm tired. i'm gonna have to come back to this later to edit the lyrical nonsense i'm spewing right now.)

anyway, on thursday i actually yelled at myself all the way as i was driving to work. i was crying again, missing him so much .. and it just pissed me off. "STOP f---ing crying already. STOP!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I shot down the highway. "There is no freakin' point in crying! No point! What is the point?! Stop feeling sorry for yourself! YOUR LIFE IS GOOD. People all over this world have way worse to suffer. SHUT UP already!" ... For some reason, that made me break down even more. As if the realization of this made me feel even worse. Or maybe I cried more because I realized that none of these facts helped in my recovery from this pain.

But, today, I came to the conclusion that there are things that assuage my suffering. At least, it is a theory, for I feel balanced and alright today. Maybe it was just my hormonal state last week (remember my hormone balance - grief relation theory?) .. but, I think, what was balm to my soul this weekend was having J's mother over for two evenings (Thu, Fri), and then seeing his daughter on Saturday. She turned 8 years old and the celebration was a small get-together in the park with his ex-wife (who remarried and is pregnant again), her best friend and family, as well as J's mom and one of his sisters, plus the kids.

It was a lovely afternoon but most joy I experienced by just watching his daughter smile, laugh, and play. She is such a sweet kid, so much heart, so smart, so considerate, and just such a shining soul. And through her, I also saw him shine. That is a little piece of him right there. And so is his ex-wife, .. his high school sweetheart. She doesn't like to talk to me about it but, I know, she loved him deeply and this must have been a great loss for her, too - despite the fact that their marriage ended almost seven years earlier. So, when I see her, I also see a piece of J. A piece of his love is with her and that means she brings a little tranquility to me, as well. As much as she may despise me at times (I don't know if she does, but I have a hunch that maybe sometimes she does. We knew each other while J and she were married and, although, J and I came together after they split up, she may have suspicions of earlier activities. It's only natural. It's the doubt in our heads. Life's bad experiences. I don't know.) ... But when I see her, I have love for her because she is being a wonderful mother to that kid of J's. And she could shut me and my kids out completely, but she makes an effort not to. And that's big of her.

I love that child like my own because I loved J. She was only a baby when our patchwork family began to sprout. It's really amazing what can become of a family that's split apart if all involved parties are open to different reconnections. It can become a beautiful tapestry of people, diplomacy, forgiveness, and love - and the recipients of this love, tolerance, and connection are all the children involved. My kids may be children of divorce but they have seen only cooperation, helpfulness, and good-will from me (that's not to say that I haven't had plenty of moments of frustration or anger about their Dad, but I have kept them hidden from the girls). I have never spoken badly about him, nor have I insisted that they can't call their new step-siblings 'brothers and sisters' or their Dad's girlfriend 'stepmom', even though all that took time to get used to. I had nothing but support for the fact that their Dad, last year, announced he had another child [from a few excursions during the months of finalizing our separation]. It wasn't easy - because I'm a narrow-minded adult now - but, at least, I was able to remind myself that, to the kids, this was just another little sister (yeih!).

Life is about love. It's true. And while I may have lost my romantic love - that man, who I would have died for - I still have plenty of love all around me and I try - very hard - to focus on that, remember it, and appreciate it. And maybe - one day - this pain will be nothing but a memory. A scar. A thought about light, passion, and love. A sliver of hope for a reunion one day, when it is my time to go.

"death cafe" in my head

if you've been reading this blog, you know that i have had a lot of mystical experiences since J died. experiences i have never had in my life before. even though, at that moment they are undoubtedly some sort of sign, as my heart is in charge, i usually end up questioning what has happened, for i inevitably return to my skeptical self, searching for rational explanations... or, at least, one type of explanation that could make sense in this world somehow.

for example, one question i had: ... how come some people have these experiences after loved ones have died and others don't? although, so far, almost everyone i have met - even one of my atheist friends (who is convinced she is imagining things) - has had such an experience after her sister passed away. BUT, just for the sake of the argument - let's say, it is just a sub-set of people who has these experiences, then my question would be: why? is this a choice that can be made by the deceased? are they even conscious of anything? is there something like a hell or a not so great place to be after you die? but how could there be? how could an all-forgiving God not forgive the ones that have been shaped by a horrible environment growing up, or who have lost their moral compass along a difficult path with nothing but bad influences, or the ones who are just mentally ill? clearly, the latter would be excused, right? but then - does that mean an ill jeffrey dahmer would go to heaven and a child soldier who is broken by his fate will go to hell for having become an adult who can do a lot of bad, for he is so desensitized about what is truly immoral?
i think, not. ... so - in the end there would be forgiveness for everyone. even the ones who got lost on the way and became "evil". even the dictators?  .. yes - so, that is the constant back-and-forth in my head. asking and answering. philosophizing. theorizing and then questioning my own theories. it can be maddening at times. i want answers!

why couldn't we have an arrangement in which the deceased could officially communicate to tell us about the after-life. or, wouldn't it be neat if they could write one letter to the loved ones who were left behind? one letter. 6 months after they die. this way, the ones left grieving would have something to look forward to ... but, that would be a lot of pressure, i suppose. not everyone can write a letter, or say the right thing.
maybe, that's why the messages come the way they do. in little signs. some more subtle than others. it's like a letter substitute, but, we have to really tune in and pay attention.

then, i thought, ... why are the deceased staying around at all? and where or with whom are they staying around? can they be in more than one place at once? are they following patterns? do they have mortal desires still? which ones do they still have? are they aware of anything? do they learn about their new existence over time? do they stay around (or visit) only until their loved ones die? i mean .. in the grand scale of things, whatever life times are left over of the ones still walking around breathing, is probably not a very long time. or do they check in to see their grand and great-grand children grow?

too many questions. i want answers. and since the only way to know is to be dead, i guess, i will always remain without certainty.
this sucks.
the only thing i cling on to now is the saying (or... actually..it's from one of the Abrahamic books...the Quran, or the Bible, or Torah... wait...if it's in the Bible, it's probably also in the Quran.. anyyywayy .... here it is - my comfort:  "all will be known in the end."

i miss him so much, it's sickening sometimes.
but i don't cry every day anymore. ... i guess, that's a step forward.

depressed much?

i should smoke some weed i tell myself. escape this empty room, this empty everything. but, i don't want to. what i want, is to submerge myself in an even greater void. i want to drown myself into nothingness. i want to pull these blankets of darkness over my head and just wait it out.

the anger is back, together with the apathy. grief - a merry-go-round of unpredictable stages i thought were going to come and pass chronologically. that's what we've always heard. the stages of grief - they are a,b,c,d, and e.
no, they're not. not in that order, anyway. they come and go and come back and go, only to return again.

live in the present moment, i read over and over again. don't look back, for it is in the unchangeable past and don't look into the future because the thought of his absence will drive you mad. just focus on the present moment. pay attention to the details. that's how you stay in the moment.

the present moment.
it is midnight. almost the strike of.
it is an unusually mild march evening
i open the window and lean out to take in a breath of fresh air
i close my eyes - the night's scent reminds me of a nyc summer evening
i remember sitting on the fire escape with J, smoking cigarettes, talking.
*stay in the moment, dammit* .. NO memories now.

i walk into my children's room to retrieve my younger daughter's tooth.
she has lost it today and it is under her pillow waiting for the tooth fairy.
it's a molar. that's two dollars. i take the bloodstained tooth and save it,
even though i really just want to throw it out. i can't.
i take my time to carefully cut a pretty ribbon
and wrap the dollar bills like a gift.

the present moment is over.
i don't know what to pay attention to anymore besides the empty room.
i don't want to do anything. i just want to submerge myself in nothingness.

mysticism explained?

this morning, as i stood in one corner of the room, quietly  getting dressed, a picture, which had been leaning against the wall, sitting on my dresser across the room for months, suddenly slid forward, pushing off a glass candle holder, which then shattered on the floor.

as i walked over, puzzled about why that happened, i noticed that behind the picture frame were a bunch of drawings by my daughters. the one on top was just J's name in big, fat letters and lots of colors, filling the entire page. something my younger kid had painted for J when he was away.

as i swept up the shards on the floor, i thought about how one could now interpret this. yes, it could just be a total random thing. this stuff happens. but, maybe it was J - saying hello ... or being angry that he can't help relief this constant sadness i now carry with me.

and then this made me think about how mysticism works... or maybe works. everything that happens to us or around us can probably be rationally explained somehow, even if we don't have the capacity to do so. however, i think, the whole point of the mystical is to be subtle. maybe, the other dimension is allowed to give us small signs but they can't be too tangible, for it would throw off our concept of reality and probably drive some of us insane. things have been happening this year in a way they have never happened before. many of them could be coincidence or explained away with some stretch of the imagination (or sense of what's rational, that is), but how would that help me? it wouldn't. and that's why the signs are subtle. so that we have reality to hold on to if we needed it - but also the option to see and appreciate the comfort of something else besides this bleak existence of grief.

unproductive grief

... sometimes, I close my eyes and just imagine he is standing right in front of me. i keep my eyes closed and imagine the birth mark on the nape of his neck, the shape of his ear lobes, the feel of his short hair, ... i imagine tracing the tattoo on his arm, i imagine putting my hand on his cheek. ... it's a moment of bliss and peace...although, i'm not sure it's productive to be doing this kind of thing...since i'm supposed to be moving forward and through this grief. it's been a year ... i think, i should be trying to cultivate behaviors that encourage acceptance not melancholy and nostalgia.

mystical night-time travels?

a few months ago, my old watch died and, out of my junk drawer, i dug a watch my great-aunt had owned .. for about five minutes, that is. My mother had bought the watch for her aunt but when she presented the gift (a fairly expensive, water-proof, Esprit watch), my aunt told her to keep it; she already had a watch, she said. when i heard the story, i had to chuckle. it was so typical of her. she was always very matter-of-fact like that. last year, my aunt passed away. she was in her early eighties.

now, i have been wearing that watch for a few months and every night it loses about ten minutes. i wake up in the morning and it will display 6 a.m. instead of the actual time of 10 past six. it doesn't lag during my waking hours, keeping up with the day's pace. but at night, when i sleep, something seems to happen.

last night, J's daughter slept over - together with his mom. when i finally went to bed, i thought about how nice it felt to have them here and how much love i have for this little girl and his mom.
when i woke up this morning, my watch was two hours behind.

i am probably going to have to change the battery, eventually ... but, sometimes i'd like to imagine that the reason for the lost time is of a more mystical nature. i like to imagine that, when i am sleeping, i travel away into another dimension to be with J. he has been in my dreams a lot lately .. maybe this explains it. ;)

it's liberating to let your fantasy go sometimes. why do i have to keep reminding myself that his body is in ashes and that he'll never walk by my side again? i am always so morbid about that loss of him. i should entertain the mystical more often.

visions of anger

positivity is a choice, my 'Daily Grief Affirmations' email tells me. you may not be able to control how you feel - angry, sad, etc. - but, you choose whether you look at things or act in a positive manner.

made me feel guilty, when i read that.
lately, i have been letting my anger take over. i'm angry everywhere and at everyone.
it's strange, for one of the attributes you could have never really ascribed to me in the past would have been anger. maybe there were sporadic, fleeting moments of frustration but, raging anger, not really. or, at least, that was my impression of myself. nowadays, i notice that i am mad a lot and that realization just makes me more angry.

sometimes, i sit in the car and i just want to shake my whole body and scream until my lungs burst. i envision myself like a cartoon character, indulging in this primal expression of rage. i imagine how my body pulsates and rattles like a steam pot which is about to explode. i imagine my head shaking from side to side as if someone has pressed an invisible fast-forward button to speed up my movement until i shake in an uncontrollable and surreal convulsion.

Original image by Jesse Lefkowitz

closure doesn't trump grief

i heard a story on NPR today (can't find it online, yet, but here is a similar story from the New York Times). I was shocked to hear that "heroin-related deaths increased by 84 percent in New York City between 2010 and 2012". If I remember correctly, the reporter mentioned that more people die of heroin overdose in the city than are killed in car accidents. (I have to double-check on the latter once the story gets posted online).

i was going to share this story with J's mom but then i remembered that she gets upset when anyone (his younger sister) says that he died of a drug overdose, even though, we both saw the autopsy report. he did have heroin and cocaine in his system.
thinking about the stigma of an overdose - (is there a stigma?) - the question sprang to mind, whether the medical examiner wrote the cause of death as "natural" because she wanted to spare our feelings. the report mentions the drugs and excessive alcohol in his system, but - apparently - that is not what killed him, or is it?

when i drive by the building he died in, i wonder about the police's sincerity, too. i wonder if they put "no fault" on the report just to save themselves from the hassle of investigating yet another "hoodlum's" death. i'm sure, that's what they thought of J, lying there on the kitchen floor in that house full of small time criminals.

i also contemplate, whether it would make any difference if i confronted the people he hung out with that night. when i identified his body, he looked like he had been beaten up. i have been told all kinds of stories possibly explaining why he looked the way he did, but somehow i find all of them hard to believe. he looked like he had been in a fight. also, one of these guys took my credit card off him and used it until i noticed, over a week after J had died. or maybe he exchanged the card for drugs. i don't know. i think, i've already written about this... but ... it continues to haunt me .. that question of what really happened that night.

and when i find myself wondering about all the facts surrounding J's death, i usually end up chastising myself angrily. who cares what happened?! .. it doesn't change the irreversible fact that he is gone. doesn't change a thing. closure doesn't trump grief. you will continue to be f-in miserable without him for a very f-in long time, and that's that. just deal with it. why do you have to go bark up a tree now, probably get yourself in trouble? you have kids. focus on what's important now. finding work and caring for your children.

unfortunate fates

today - 16 years ago - i entered my first marriage. i was 23 years old and had not the slightest suspicion that the man i was marrying wasn't the one. i loved D. i was crazy about him. but, only later in life did i come to learn the true meaning of these words. love and crazy.

today - one year ago - i said a final good-bye to my soul-mate, J. i loved him so much, i would have died for him. i was crazy about him. it may be a cliché, but, addiction is a term that most adequately describes the way i craved his presence. my heart and reason wrestled each other constantly, for in my mind, i knew that he was trouble and that i shouldn't love a man this unstable. in my mind, there shouldn't have been forgiveness for all the missteps he had taken throughout the course of our relationship. but, in my heart, forgiveness and love for this boy seemed infinite.

**

as i was driving back from dropping the kids off at school earlier today, i found myself - as so often - overwhelmed with tears. i hate this even more so in the mornings, when i am surrounded by so many faces. it's embarrassing not to be able to control one's composure. especially when, in general, you would consider yourself a fairly stoic person.

**

my tears usually lead me to prevention strategies. since i hate crying so much, i would like to figure out how to do away with this sadness. as i sat in the car, staring at the snowflakes which had just started to fall ... in fact .. now that i think of it ... the kind of snow that was falling was exactly the same short flurry that surrounded me when i went to buy J's urn and later, when i picked up his ashes, together with his sister. it was only a brief, very light snowfall, which seemed to have appeared solely in response to overwhelming grief, and back then, made us think of J. ... life can be mystical sometimes.
or, maybe it was just the weather.

Photo: www.flickr.com/photos/hernanhernandez/

anyway, as i sat there, a man walked by, struggling to push a cart overflowing with cans up the hill we were on. after my first thought of sympathy (how much it must suck to have to collect cans to make ends meet, at this early hour, and in this cold weather), it occurred to me that this could have been one of J's more depressing fates, assuming he would have not made it out into complete recovery. and then i had the idea that i could maybe take the time to write down all the potential lives i could imagine for J. only the bad ones, for the good ones would probably just make me sad and full of regret. i assume, J wouldn't be very happy about this exercise, but i'm thinking it may help me with feeling less sad about losing him. this, of course, is a rather cold and calculated statement but i am desperate. i'm also aware of the fact that this is something you probably should not do. thinking negatively about a person who has passed. you should remember the love and the good things, they say. but, what if it is more therapeutic to imagine scenarios that would have driven us apart? granted, there was hardly anything he could have done to make me not love him, but, maybe some of these unfortunate imaginary lives are going to take away pain by creating anger. .. now, that i am saying this out loud, it kinda sounds like a bad idea. replacing sadness with anger is really just another stage of grief and thus, is still grief.

but, i think, i'm gonna do it anyway. just to see what happens.

damn hormones?

I'm beginning to think that my emotional roller coaster of grief is strongly correlated to my hormonal state of mind.

It's peculiar that I am always interested in finding patterns but can't actually ever remember details to confirm a pattern. It's always just a hunch. For example, if I would like to figure out whether my emotional sensitivity is related to my hormonal balance, wouldn't it make sense that, at one point, I would start recording the weeks during which I am unusually prone to more than average depression and then examine where I am in my cycle?

I would also like to know why I am feeling better today (and this week) than I have felt the week before, during which I spent most days in a depressed haze, crying my eyes out, at least, once or twice a day. Could it be that my kids returned from spending most of the mid-winter school break at their Dad's house? Are my children saving me from complete rock-bottom? It's possible. Because, even though they can be demanding, annoying, frustrating, and just a whole lot of teeth clenching work, they are the sunshines of my life. I realize, that sounds a bit contradictory (and kinda corny) but the mothers among you will understand. Parenting is like a love-hate relationship. Fulfilling and draining at the same time. I have said it many times - without my kids - I would not have survived this year. And I do not know how parents, who have lost a child, go on living. I would just want to die. It is the only thing I can think of that is worse than losing your partner. I would take any other strike of fate over that. ... (Note to God: please don't strike me anymore this year... please.)

**
Before the kids returned on Sunday, I got myself downtown to, at last, engage myself in some gallery hopping. I've been wanting to go for months. J and I used to go often. What I didn't calculate was the fact that J was not part of this life anymore and how this may affect me. As I went on my trail of galleries, surrounded by clusters of people - nobody alone, it seemed - I became more and more depressed. I missed him so much. Memories everywhere. Finally, on the way to one of my favorite places, the Aperture gallery, I turned around on my heel to abort this awful afternoon. I needed to get back to my car before I had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the street. Alas, I did not make it.
I had to duck into a building entrance to release my tears and I pulled my scarf over my face because I was so embarrassed. I was just standing there, helpless, sobbing. When I finally got my composure back, I walked to my car and, just before I got in, I heard it. The cooing of a mourning dove. At first, I thought, I made it up. But then I heard it again and I exhaled. I hadn't heard a mourning dove since the weeks after J died, almost a year ago.
The next morning, I woke up to a mourning dove cooing at my window. Just as it had woken me every day in the week after J died. I felt comforted but also self-conscious, in a way, because it probably meant that my sadness was so powerful in its energy that it seemed like I needed an intervention from beyond (or wherever).

Now, my rational brain is wondering whether it is maybe just the season for these doves? Perhaps, the mourning doves are appearing because it is almost March and that's when they return to this area.. or, at least, that's when I last saw them. Maybe I didn't notice them ever before because they had no real significance to me ... but then I have to remind myself that I have always loved the sound of a mourning dove and, I think, I would remember if I heard it before - because I so rarely have in my life. ... The only time I distinctly remember hearing the doves was when my grandfather died. But, knowing how faulty memory can be - maybe I'm just making this up in my head. Maybe I heard them much more often than that...

if you want to quote stuff in French...maybe you should speak French

I've got issues, I tell you. I just spent almost an hour trying to find the original French version of a grief quote I really liked. It started with the reading of my "Daily Affirmation Email", a service I subscribe to that sends me daily helpful words for this journey of grief I am on. At the end of each email is a quote. Today's quote was by Colette (Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette), a French novelist of the early 20th century. I didn't know her at all, actually. I love sharing favorite quotes on Facebook, however, before I do, I usually feel compelled to research the author. I don't want to seem like a total idiot, citing a brilliant Goebbels quote only to find out the context (and his role in Nazi Germany) later on. Btw. I don't know any Goebbels quotes, the name just popped in my head as an example, for not everyone may know who he is.

Anyway, so after I read pages upon pages on Colette's biography, I then decided that the proper way to post her quote would be to do it in French. Why I would do that, when I only have maybe 12 French-speaking FB friends, I don't know. And, never mind the fact that my French is so rusty at this point that I would probably not even understand the quote myself, if someone posted it.
Nonetheless, I continued with my research and looked up a few words on a translation site to narrow down my search on Google.fr ... And let me tell you, there are like 8 words for every one English term I looked up, which made this endeavor all the more difficult. Grief, for example, could be chagrin, douleur, tristesse, peine .. carry or being in grief is translated as porter le deuil  and with grief (as in an obituary) can be translated as profonds regrets. All different nouns! I was at a loss.

So, I didn't find the translation of the passage I wanted to post. And throughout the process - while I was reading an entire page of Colette's quotes out aloud - in French - not understanding half the stuff I was saying - I really began to wonder what type of mental problems I must be having. Why was I doing this? Who gives a sh*t about FB (well, MY Facebook, that is... nobody looks at my posts except maybe a handful of people, most of which do not speak French. Come to think of it, my fb page is really just for me). Why all this trouble? I have a million things on my to-do list. GET HEALTH INSURANCE would be one important item on my list, for example. Or, work on trying to get my new business off the ground. I quit my job, for Heaven's sake. I have no income. I really don't have time to spare on trying to translate trivialities into a language I barely understand anymore. WTF?

I need help.

... oh, and in case you're wondering .. this is the quote (which, i'm sure would sound so much better in French):

It's so curious:  one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief.  But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.

~ Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (1873-1954)

Source: http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colette

spanish novela type drama ... and stop crying already

something made me call my former mother-in-law (my first husband's mom) today.
as i exchanged formalities with her, i found myself responding in an entirely too honest way.
she asked me how i was and i told her the truth, even though, in her mind i should have never ended my marriage with her son, and i should have most certainly never begun a relationship with J, whom she apparently knew since he was an infant.

this fact, of course, i wasn't aware of until much later into my relationship. i knew that the two families were very much against J & my union but i didn't understand the animosity. years later, i found out that my ex-husband's mother and J's mother had banded together when the boys were really young to help each other out. they lived either together or right next to each other. but, what shocked me even more (and explained their later disdain for my relationship with J) was the fact that the two women had been friends since they themselves were young - back in the Dominican Republic!

oh my, i felt like part of a Spanish novela when i heard these things. no wonder there was all this ruckus about my choice to move on with J. although, moving on with J wasn't really a choice. you can't choose who you love and that man was majorly dysfunctional when we got together. he was a broken person ... but i loved him anyway... no choice.

but, i digress.
so - today, i called my mother-in-law (i don't really ever refer to her as ex-anything. she is a sweet old lady) and when she inquired how i was, i asked her when and if it started getting easier for her, since she lost her husband 18 years ago tomorrow. i was there, in fact, the day he died. i spent that whole week in the hospital with my ex, back then only 19 years old. his father's death changed him. he loved that man and his loss turned him into a dark, dark person for a very long time.

she told me that, of course, she thinks of him all the time but that it is different now. it is not painful anymore. she said that, in her faith (some form of christianity), it is encouraged to control one's tears over a loved one's loss. everyone must die. it is part of life. we all pass over. it is not to be mourned as if it were an eternal loss. you shouldn't cry because they can see you cry and they can't do anything about it and then just everybody is sad. ... mind you, i'm paraphrasing and translating from spanish ... i do speak spanish but this lady is the fastest speaking Dominican i have ever met. it's hard to follow but this is what i think to have understood. ... and, in a way, it makes sense...

i have a feeling that i was nudged to call her today because i needed to hear again that i should stop crying already.  ... i never listened to my friend's mom... maybe i should follow her advice. addictedtomyaddict.blogspot.com/2013/06/and-this-is-what-she-said.html 

the vicodin lure

it is 3 o'clock in the morning. i sit awake, on the couch, in poor light.
just watched a funny movie but as the credits roll, i am right back to my sobering reality.
there really are entirely too many hours and whole days in our lives. too many hours that can remind me of the fact that J is gone for good.

there were moments i had with J in which i thought to myself that i could not possibly be any happier ever than in this very moment ... a moment in which all i wanted was to hold on to him and to never leave this breath.

when grief has its dark embrace around my whole body, i find myself wondering what would happen if i tried what J had. to escape this life with drugs so powerful that they allow a transcendence of one's existence, or a few moments thereof, to something less dreary .. something that could bring joy where there is none. .. or numbness where nothing but sorrow fogs one's gaze.

then, i think, it would be too ironic if i were to start using after the love of my life  succumbed to the very same thing. what would people think of me? ... yup, hard to believe, but, societal pressure is keeping me straight. that, and motherly feelings of duty.

i thought, i could never be an addict. i could never say yes to a drug so hard, it could make me its b*tch. but now i understand. i could imagine it now. especially if i didn't have children. i could imagine willingly throwing myself onto this inevitably self-destructive path.

i think, i need to get rid of the vicodin and oxycodon pills i have laying around for the past few years. remnants of ailments past. given to me but never used. i barely even take tylenol. i just don't like unnecessary medication. -- today, however, as i was organizing the medicine cabinet, i caught myself staring at the pill bottle in my hand. Taking mental inventory of the serious drugs i have in my house and whether i should start putting them to use.  ... they need to go. i doubt, my rational side would ever let me abuse a substance but i kinda don't trust myself in this state.

grief has changed me.

maybe it's an allergy .. maybe it's cancer.

I feel like such a hot mess right now. I haven't showered in days, I have been eating mostly junk, the dishes are piling up, my death wish has resurfaced, I still have no health insurance, I have no income, it's 1:30a.m., and I can't sleep.

***
I wrote the above entry a few days ago. I have since showered, done the dishes, and cooked a good meal or two. But, I am going to bed even later now and I still have no health insurance. Also, my death-wish is still lurking around, which I noticed by the fact that I am sort of excited by the potential prospect of breast cancer. I need therapy. Seriously. ... Alas, I have no health insurance and still no income and so - no therapy for me.

The breast cancer fear has appeared because I have been having an itchy areola and, despite the fact that I am very aware no good comes from researching your physical ailment symptoms online, I googled "itchy areola" and the reasons for this range from a simple bra allergy to Paget's disease, which is a rare type of breast cancer. So instead of splurging on a doctor's appointment, I decided to call all my girlfriends and ask them about the look and feel of their areolas. One of my friends decided to take me on a google images journey of breasts, which taught me more about other women's bosoms than I ever wanted to know. Some images where quite disturbing. Also, why would one ever pierce their nipple? That seems entirely too risky, but also, doesn't that awkwardly show through your shirt? I already don't like it when my nipples peek through my shirt, which they always do because I am always cold, which is why I switched to padded bras, which apparently are giving me a skin allergy ... or let's say are hopefully giving me an allergy ... cuz if they are not, then it might be the other sh--.

Anyway, so ... yes ... I am worried about the big C (oh, btw .. I love that show) .. however, I have to admit a moment of excitement that the end may be in sight. Clearly, my journey of grief hasn't reached a point of real acceptance, yet. I'm assuming, I will stop secretly wanting to die once I am in a phase of real recovery.

Of course, I can't die. I really shouldn't be wishing for that. I feel guilty wishing for it and out loud I say "I really don't want to die", as if my spoken words can undo my inner desire. But, really ... I cannot die. I must not die. My children would be forever marked and I may potentially ruin my older daughter's life. She is the most sensitive person I know. Everything worries and scares her, change is really hard to process, and she regularly asks to speak to "a professional". She just turned 12.
The other day, my neighbor came over to grab a plate of food I had offered. He has been stopping over a few times in the past few weeks. After he left, she asked: "So, Mom ... do you like Henry?" -- I was taken by surprise and said "What do you mean? Of course, I like him. He is a very nice person." -- "I mean, .. do you like him, like him" she responded. -- "What? Why are you asking me this kind of question? Aren't you a little young to be asking such a question?" -- "I'm just saying. ... It's _been_ a year." I was speechless. Yes, on March 5th I will be faced with the anniversary of J's death. I hate the word anniversary for this purpose. Anniversary has a happy connotation. This is shit.

My older daughter, Ava (I can't remember what alias name I have given her on this blog) has always been spewing words of wisdom out of nowhere.
When she was a toddler (well.. around 4 or so) she told me that when she is having a tantrum she really just wants me to talk to her. When she was six years old she and my younger daughter, Lucie (can't remember what nickname I gave her here either), witnessed how I stubbed my toe ("witnessed" me stubbing my toe?..tsk tsk.. I seriously need to expand my vocabulary). As I hissed in pain, Lucie asked whether this was the worst pain I have ever had and if I was going to cry. I told her that I wasn't going to cry, that I hardly ever cried, and that I didn't even cry when I gave birth, which is probably the worst pain in the world. "No, .. I think, the worst pain in the world is if you lose someone you love," is what Ava responded to that. Six years old! What does she know about true pain? But, I can tell you one thing ... she was right. Having lost J is worse than birth or anything painful I have ever experienced. .. I guess, only to be topped by severe medical or physical-torture induced suffering.

is that a negativity vortex around those ashes?

J's ashes are separated into several urns. One of them is a small heart-shaped container, actually, it's a heart-shaped bracelet inside a metal box of the same shape. When we were at the funeral home it seemed like a pacifying idea to wear some of his ashes around my neck. When the bracelet was handed to me, however, I felt differently. I thought it to be morbid somehow. Me! The queen of morbid (amongst my friends, that is).

I don't know if I told the story already, when I realized that the funeral home I had chosen turned out to be led by a guy who had been in rehab with J upstate once. They were friends, but he didn't realize that connection either until J's body arrived from the morgue. And so - because I had asked to split the ashes in order to give a part to J's mom and have his ex-wife hold some for his daughter - the funeral director showed his sympathy with real generosity. Not only did we get a much cheaper price for the service and everything but he also gave us several small urns and three bracelets (one for me, one for his mom, and one for his daughter).

Because it has been so bad lately, I decided to take this heart-shaped container to bed with me yesterday. And somehow this desperation must have triggered a dream of J. This dream didn't seem like a happy visit as usual, it seemed like a bad memory. I was reminded of how low in life he was while we were together. How many of his clothes were too big for him because he got them from a homeless shelter. How he struggled with addiction. We tend to forget the raw, frustrating dailies when someone leaves this world.

When I woke up, I thought, maybe his ashes are just a remainder of his physical self here and shouldn't be seen as anything else. Nothing that is really him and, if anything, possibly fostering bad energy, for in this life, and in this body he was in constant pain. He wasn't made for this world, I once heard someone say about him. Sometimes I feel that's true. He suffered under his mundane existence. It didn't fit in with the injustice and death of this world. He felt privileged and that the only reason worth living was to make a change in this world. He could barely wrap his head around the "posh" conditions of an average, modern, western-industrialized life. Even when he was homeless he had internet access, drank the occasional cup of Starbucks coffee, and had access to the resources of his alma mater (Columbia University). He felt privileged and unjustly so. I can relate to that. I feel the same way, although, I translate this feeling into deep gratitude of my seemingly random placement in this world.

Today, I wondered whether my suffering would be less intense if I lived in a war zone. If I lived in a war zone, all my peers would have suffered similar losses, my whole reality would be shaped by devastation and loss and I would have to adapt and provide for daily survival ...together with all my fellow war zone inhabitants. Clearly, this is a very naive and abstract theory - but, if you think about it, if your closest person dies tomorrow, who can really relate to you? It is utterly isolating to lose someone to death, worse - sudden, unexpected death. Nobody can relate until it happens to them. I couldn't relate until it happened to me. Like with everything else that's unusually tough in our lives.

Earlier, I found myself in the room where the biggest part of J's ashes are stored. It's a strange, triangular shaped, beat-up metal container I found in the second-hand shop across from the building he lost his life in. It reminded me of him and I decided on it as a perfect urn. I don't even know what purpose this thing served before. It seemed as if it had been made for exactly this.
I kneeled on the floor and touched the urn, lowering my head, closing my eyes and then I felt the negativity. It's as if I was told that this is not where and what he is anymore. To think of him differently. That this container and the ashes inside are a bad memory and that he is now in a good place, not tied to our physical world.

As with most epiphanies I have, I always wonder if it's being given to me or if it is just me.

One - very non-ephiphanical (.. wait, that's really a word? I don't see any auto-correct telling me I'm orthographically challenged) ... ok, .. if it isn't a word, I'm making it one. One - very non-epiphanical moment I had ...also today... was the thought about this saying "all will be known in the end". What if I don't want to wait anymore? Why can't we just know now? I'm tired. I'm getting old (almost 40!). The 50-year-olds are probably chuckling now. I feel old, anyway. Like, I've lived enough. I would like to know it all. now.

the only way to process grief is to suffer through it

I don't know what to do with myself. I thought, I was getting better. I thought, this pain is receding, and, that the new year may have brought a new level of acceptance with it. It felt that way. But, I guess, it was just me being in denial. And, you know what happens when you deny grief? It catches up with you and hits you badly, like a sudden arrival of the flu when you've ignored the earlier symptoms to lay down and rest before it gets worse.

Grief, I have read so often now, is something you have to go through. It is a process and you ought to be part of it. You can't clock out and come back when it's done. You are the catalyst of this process - without you, the journey isn't going anywhere but maybe backwards.

I really thought that the turn of the year changed something in me - my perception of time, maybe. I didn't cry for a good week or two after New Year's Day. When last year, I found myself in tears almost every single day. But, on Monday, the pain returned out of nowhere. The tight chest, the overwhelming sadness, the realization that the man I loved so much will never return.

It's almost as if I forget that this is permanent... and maybe in those times of forgetfulness (or denial), I feel better ... until the meaner part of my brain kicks in to remind me that J is dead... that I will never hear his funny feedback on anything ever again...that we will never laugh or argue with each other again ... that I will never be able to kiss his neck, touch his arm, or pinch his cheek again ... that I will never have this kind of uninhibited, trusting, and intense sexual togetherness - ever again. It was as if we couldn't possibly get closer to each other when we were together.

always with the timing

Just as I finally, finally sat down to create my first draft for this grief book I have been talking about, this song came on the radio:

Let go of me darlin’

Before you kill me

I’m hollow and holy

just like a man

and you never know me

the way I know sorrow

and crying helps nothing

it’s all i got left

.. .

you’re armed to the teeth

but it looks good on you

your slow embrace 

draws silence around me

you had no choice

it was the right thing to do

...

From the album "Dead Man Winter" by the Bright Lights.


(couldn't find it anywhere again but on youTube):

gravity questions

i don't quite understand the 8.4 IMBD rating of the movie "gravity".  yes, the images of space were nice but other than that, i don't understand why it warranted these types of accolades. maybe my judgment is clouded by the fact that i saw a crappy boot-legged version of it.

imdb image

for my taste, there was entirely too much camera spinning, upside down imagery, and hyperventilating. however, the reason, i'm bringing up this movie is because i couldn't understand why she wanted to live so badly, after having lost her 4-year-old daughter .. not having anyone left in her life. at some point, she actually tells Clooney's character to tell her daughter that she made it (i.e. she survived). ... why would she want that? either one of them? .. why is she even still alive in the first place. if i lost my only child .. and there is nobody else in my life, i think, i would kill myself ... or find someone to kill me .. since i'm not so sure that i could pull that off myself..

why some of us HAVE to make art

as i was staring out the window, nostalgically admiring the beautifully random twirls of the blizzard outside, the relentless, inevitable falls of millions of snowflakes, some dancing toward me through beams of light and streaks of shadows, dissipating as they touched the glass i had my forehead pressed unto, i thought about whether i would so fully and wholly appreciate this moment as i was if it weren't for the music in my ears - the fantastic, emotional but delicate background tunes accompanying the credits of the equally wonderful movie i had just watched [About Time]

as i stood there, tethered via my headphones to the laptop on the couch behind me, it occurred to me that - maybe- that is why God has put film makers, musicians, ... artists onto this world. they are story tellers and they connect people and people to life with their craft ... especially, if the stories they tell are about the human experience on this planet. theses stories or these notes can carry us through difficulties when we are lost .. showing us a light and sign that we are not alone in our suffering.

perhaps, we are meant to share our grief, our accounts of struggle and desperation, and ultimately our acquired wisdom - to guide each other and to see the world in solidarity, acceptance, and shared awe about its beauty. the arts in all its languages can be a powerful tool to build that bridge.

image from toptravellists.net