The Installation of Hope

I have been a widower for just over 17 months.  I stood over the still form of my beloved Susan in the early hours of November 28^th of 2014, as her breathing became increasingly ragged and finally ceased at 5:45 AM.  Heartbroken, then as now, I knew to the depths of my soul that from that day forward my very best day possible would never be even 10% as good as my very worst day when Susan was alive. And nothing has happened since then to convince me otherwise, and thus that fact has become one of the underlying assumptions by which I live.

Susan and I had a unique and incredibly sustaining relationship that spanned our personal and work lives. We worked together, made bad jokes together, were creative together and much more. I could not then, nor can I now imagine life without her at my side.  A large part of me became very badly broken when she died.

They say that time heals all wounds, but I still feel very incomplete. But, given my intensely questioning nature, I am forced to consider the idea that for some reason, I do not want to heal.  Is that possible?  And if it is, why would that be?  Here are some ideas that have occurred to me. One possibility is that I fear that if I stop being heartbroken that I am somehow being disloyal, or failing to properly honor Susan’s memory. This is certainly worth consideration.  Another real possibility is just good old-fashioned human resistance to change.  If I remain in the twilight land of the lost, I am not moving on, living the same life I did when Susan was here, and thus not changing. Also worth some thought.  Or maybe I simply don’t have a clue how to proceed.  Or it could be a combination of all of the above.

It is indeed a daunting task to disassemble a comfortable life of multiple decades and then try to envision and construct a new life out of whatever pieces of the old one seem worth hanging on to.  That cannot be minimized. Also not to be minimized is the idea expressed above that life has been diminished almost in its entirety by the loss of my beloved partner. I have yet to find a way around that being the first and last thought I have each day.  However, I find that I spend an increasing amount of time trying to analyze whether or not I might be ‘stuck’, and how to become 'unstuck'.  And I spend an increasing amount of time trying hard to envision some sort of future that is in some way satisfying. And sometimes I actually can.

My Susan was a healer. And she often told me that her job centered around a very simple concept: the “installation of hope”.  And she was a miracle worker when it came to that particular talent. One need not be a person of faith (as indeed I am not) to have hope. Hope is one of those elemental things that makes us human. We can envision, we can daydream. And I know that one of my most important tasks at hand is to overcome the inertia created by my loss and start dreaming of a future. The “installation of hope” begins with the glimmer of belief that somehow, someday, some way, the hurt will lessen, the darkness will brighten, the sadness and heartbreak will be alleviated to at least some degree, and some reasons to go on will present themselves. This is what I am working very hard to try to accomplish.

Time to put out the second installment of the Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding.  Here you go:

• By Way of Sorrow - Cry Cry Cry (Written by Julie and Buddy Miller - see below)
• Love Will Find You Again - Pierce Pettis
• So Says the Whippoorwill - Richard Shindell
• I think It's Going to Rain Today - Norah Jones (Written by Randy Newman)
• Rain - Rose Cousins (Written by Patty Griffin)
• Arrow - Cheryl Wheeler
• Ghost in This House - Michael Johnson (Written by Hugh Prestwood)
• Come With Me - Tania Maria
• Joan of Arc - Jennifer Warnes and Leonard Cohen
• Walls - Tommy Emmanuel (Written by Pam Rose and Mary Anne Kennedy)

1. The #1 song above is almost a hymn about the installation of hope after a massive heartbreak/trauma. Here are the lyrics:

BY WAY OF SORROW – Julie & Buddy Miller

You've been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrow
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have drunk a bitter wine
With none to be your comfort
You who once were left behind
Will be welcome at love's table

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

...

All the nights that joy has slept
Will awake to days of laughter
Gone the tears that you have wept
You'll dance in freedom ever after

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these... You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

I work hard daily to find reasons to hope…

Cheers all!

MPC:05-05-2016 

Soundtrack for a Life Rebuilding

    Hawaiians have a wonderful expression for what many of us call "shooting the breeze". Hawaiians are fond of saying that they sit around "talking story". And that expression captures the essence of what is to be human. After all, what do we have, what is it that we actually possess as we weave our way through the journey of life?

    All we really have is our story, and our connections with those for whom we have feelings. Everything else is "stuff". And believe me, stuff, regardless of how much, how big, or how valuable, is inconsequential.

   When unfortunately we are called upon to learn the language of loss, in my opinion the most difficult language there is to learn, it is my experience that we come to understand better the value of our story, the stories of those we know, and our connections with others.  I have written down much of my story, some in the form of these essays, some in short story or poetry format, and some in the form of a couple of novella-length stories. In doing so, I have also undertaken to understand the stories of my friends and family who have been kind enough to rally around me during my time of grieving. In doing so, I have discovered that I truly love to hear peoples' stories. There is something valuable to learn in each and every one. So I really want to hear your stories, if I have not already, and again if I have.

    While I have been grieving, there have been 3 things that have sustained me.  The first and foremost, of course is the wonderful (damn, now I am getting weepy), people who have stayed close:friends and family, from whom I have learned the love of story and the immense value of conversation. The second is my love of music, which has helped me through some of the worst minefields of grief. And a third is a new and interesting fondness for cooking and food. I guess we could call this a hobby. But these are the things that keep me wanting to get up in the morning, even in the darkest frames of mind.

   So to my friends, my family and all those who have helped me traverse this time of sadness and periodic despair, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  And to the universe I thank you for all the beauty you provide: the art, the music, the literature, the architecture, the ideas....

   I am instituting a new feature today on this blog.  I will call it "The Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding".  Every so often I will list 10 songs that have provided inspiration, solace, needed tears, and much more.  So here it is, and cheers: have a wonderful week!

The Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding - Set 1

1) Sittin' on Top of the World - Richard Shindell - South of Delia
2) Take it Down (John Hiatt) - The Wailin' Jennies - 40 Days
3) Symphony #2 - The Lark Ascending - Ralph Vaughan Williams
4) Don't Go - Tania Maria - The Best of Tania Maria
5) If You Were For Me - Rose Cousins - If You Were For Me
6) Dimming of the Day - Alison Krauss and Union Station - Paper Airplane
7) Paper Aeroplane - Kasey Chambers - Wayward Angel
8) I Don't Know Why - Shawn Colvin - Fat City
9) Street Life - The Crusaders - Street Life
10) Build Me Up From Bones - Sarah Jarosz - Build Me Up from Bones

MPC:04-24-2016

Solitude or Isolation?

     When my father died, I was ten years of age and my siblings and I lived under some rather odd circumstances. My mom was, in addition to being grief stricken, also an alcoholic, and I felt during that part of my upbringing a kind of terror that cuts deep pathways into the brain. It is the kind of terror that only solitude and isolation can create, and usually only in a child.  It is the feeling that there is no one around you that can help you, or understand your situation.  That feeling of terror lasted into my adulthood, when it certainly was no longer useful, if indeed it ever had been.

     Over time I learned to deal with solitude, to make sure it never became isolation (at least the self-imposed kind), and was in a much better place in that respect when I met Susan.  Then, for over two decades, not a moment went by that I felt alone in any way. Now, of course, she is gone. And while I certainly do not feel anything like the childhood terror I felt at age 10, there are many aspects of this involuntary solitude that are very difficult.

     Aside from the constant companionship we experienced, our partnership was such that I aspired to be the very best person I could be, and so did she. In addition to that, I experienced a great deal of positive reinforcement from her as my partner. That in turn simply made me want to be better and better.  And that of course, led to the unshakeable notion that I was a useful person. Useful to her, to the kids, to my clients and so on. Much of that vanished when Susan died. I can tell myself until I am blue in the face that I am useful to someone, but it is not the same. I can tell myself I’ve done a good job on some project or other, but it has little or no meaning, certainly not like it had come from her.

     On any given day, it occurs to me somewhat frequently that I am really and truly alone.  I am the only member of my family of origin still alive, and I have lost my partner, spouse, love of my life.  On the one hand, some of the terror I felt as a young child seeps through into my consciousness from time to time, causing me to have a great deal of difficulty seeing any good reason to go on.  On the other hand, I keep thinking (really as hard as I can) that the rest of my life is mine to make the best (or worst of).  I just wish there was an easier way to understand exactly how to proceed to do that.

MPC 04-13-2016

Escape to Nowhere

So today is Easter, which is a ‘holiday’ I have not much celebrated for quite some time, and am not really celebrating today.  Much like so many such days, I am alone, contemplating the whys and wherefores of having had my life burned to the ground 16 months ago tomorrow.

A few days ago, tired, sick and scared, I drove myself to the ER at the instruction of my doctor’s office. I was in pain and had evidence that I had some internal bleeding, which it turns out had occurred but had stopped by the day of the trip to the ER. After much testing and sitting around waiting, they were unable to tell me why I was in pain and urged me to have further testing in order to ascertain the cause of the bleeding, which had come and gone.

In the past, when either I or my beloved wife had any type of medical crisis, we were there for each other, could discuss how best to handle it, and would care for one another until the crisis had passed. And believe me, we had some doozies, including one instance where I had a major heart attack at the precise moment when her cancer recurred for the first time.  A scary narrative, to be sure, but we dealt with it, supported each other, and got through it.

It is impossible to describe the feeling of desolation I had Thursday morning walking into the ER.  The idea that had something more severe or debilitating happened, rendering me incapacitated, there would have been no one to notice until perhaps there was the ripe smell of decomposition coming from the house.  Since then I have tried to think if there is somewhere I could go where I might not feel so isolated, so on my own. There is not.

Make no mistake, I know there are many friends and family members close by that care a great deal, and who would go to extraordinary lengths to be helpful to me in any kind of emergency. But that is significantly different than being in the kind of marriage in which I was for 20+ years.  Never lonely, never isolated, never frightened. My friends and family have their own lives, their own families, and are not responsible for alleviating my sense of dread, my sense of isolation. That is not in their job description, nor should it be.

There is no good answer to this conundrum. It is one of life’s most horrific occurrences. There is nowhere to which to escape. Well, except perhaps one…

03-27-2016:MPC

A Question I've Never Asked Before?

     I was raised by parents who believed strongly in selflessness.  The theme of "not being selfish" was hammered home constantly, not only in words, but in deeds.  On Christmas Day, for example, we always opened up our home to the kids from a small orphanage in our neighborhood, and many of the gifts my sibs and I received would disappear. This was one of the ways in which we were taught to put others first.  It was difficult to grasp at first, but gradually I grew to understand the whole idea. And for me, the idea stuck.

     When I got to high school and college that ethos was further enshrined in the idea that "Your life is all about service to others". That is what the Jesuits taught us. And that dovetailed nicely with what I had learned as a small child.  I fervently hope that for the 65 years I have been on this earth that I have honored what I have been taught.

     However there is a problem inherent in this line of reasoning, especially if the reasoner is a black and white thinker, as I was for so many years. Thus "Your life is all about service to others" can morph into "Any attempt to think about or meet your own needs is selfish and therefore wrong". And that is what happened to me over time. This used to drive my beloved wife crazy. I used to marvel at her ability to know what she wanted and to articulate it. I could not do that. Slowly over time she tried, using some of her therapy skills, to get me to at least admit that I could not be useful to others if I were not useful to myself. In other words, as she used to say so eloquently, "How can you take care of me when you cannot take care of yourself".  I was, slowly and grudgingly able to evolve that far.

     Now I am alone, as all you faithful readers know, and trying to determine what I would like the rest of my life to look like.  I now have some idea as to why I cannot work out the answer to that important question with any degree of certitude. When you have spent a lifetime putting others first, not being concerned with your own needs, or your own comfort, and ignoring your own preferences, ultimately, those concepts become meaningless and you no longer can even determine a preference, or a desire, or even a need, much less ask for one.

     Like so much else in life, black and white thinking is no way to deal with complex concepts like altruism. It cannot be either/or.  It must be either AND.  I can be kind and thoughtful to others, AND be kind and thoughtful to myself. Furthermore when a conflict arises between the needs of others and my needs, I can then make a rational decision as to what to do.  Susan always tried to teach me that there is always a 'third thing'. It is very seldom ever a question of either/or.

     So now the question is floating around in my head, "What would make me happy?". Clearly having Susan back would be my first and unequivocal answer.  But that ain't gonna happen.  So I now I need to start thinking about the real answer.  I need to get a fix on my own preferences.  And where to go from here.

03-14-2016

What Still Remains

     A very dear friend of mine invited me to accompany her to a concert of the Irish musical group, the Chieftans the other night. The concert was amazing, and being about as Irish as they come, I found myself thinking to myself that music is one of the major things that has sustained me through my period of grieving.  Music is so intrinsic to the the culture of Ireland that it is thought of as "blood memory".  Like the wonderful Shawn Colvin song says " And if there were no music, I would not get through". And that, I think, is how I feel as well. There have been many times in the last few years that the only thing that separated me from the thin edge of despair was a beautiful piece of music.

     And thinking about that led me to thinking about some of the other things that have kept me going during a time when I did not necessarily want to keep going at all. Something as simple as a well written book, short story, poem, or even a nicely executed turn of a phrase can bring joy at the right moment.

     And so can mother nature.  I recently had the opportunity to visit my stepson and his wife in his home on the island of Kauai in Hawaii.  In addition, my two most long-term (I have been reminded not to say 'oldest') friends came with me and I have not been so relaxed in perhaps four years. And just sitting and listening to the pounding surf of mother Pacific brought a sense of peace.

    And finally, there are my wonderful friends and family.  The company, the conversation, the assurance that somebody gives a crap whether I show up or not, is immense.  Make no mistake, I still feel my loss deeply, miss my beautiful Susan every single minute of every single day with a sharp edge that seems often never to be dulled and I still exist in utter solitude more often than I would care to. But in that situation more than any other, I think we owe it to ourselves to look for what compensations life can provide. And there are many if you are open to them. As I have said many times to people: turn away no kindness, be open to everything. It may not take the pain away, but it very well may make it hurt less.

     And so I was visited by my poetry muse this week, along the lines of this discussion, and here is the result. Cheers, everyone.

Celebrate

There is much in life in which I can take joy.

The music remains, and still I can feel.

All its colors and shapes; its words and tone

It touches my heart with hope that is real.

Written words of beauty, they still abound

Those words on the page can make me smile

Or cry or laugh; so rich in thought, in style

That take me out of myself for a while.

And the sound of the surf on a Pacific beach

Takes me away to a place of peace

The sounds and smells of the mother sea

Allow me many a moment of surcease.

And friends and family still rally round

Helping me ever to see what is real

Showing me laughter, love and a path

To a place where I can once again feel.

And though my love has been taken away

Leaving a hole so deep wide and black

Much in this life is decent and good

To help me forget what it is that I lack.

MPC:03-08-2016

   

Another Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day Again

Yes, Susan and I were big fans of Valentine’s Day. We would go out to dinner, I would give her roses, and we would write a poem to each other.  We regarded it as just another way to celebrate the magic that was our relationship.  So it is kind of a hard day for me to get through.  I hear all the hype, see all the ads for flowers and chocolates and all the other (Buy Me! Buy Me!) crap that the Great Marketing Mechanism tries to foist off on us, and think to myself, yup, I used to participate in that.

So is a widower on Valentine’s Day like a Christian Scientist with appendicitis?  A little, I think. 

You find out when the clock turns over one year since the loss of your loved one that it does not magically get any easier.  You find out that the grief process is anything but a straight line.  And while on one day you are full of ideas about your future, brimming with positive energy and resolve, and ready to take on the world, the next day you just want to dig a hole and crawl in.

So I have neighbors coming over this evening for a reasonably gourmet supper and some good conversation and a bottle or two of good wine.  That will get me through the worst of it. 

And, while at one level my mind keeps wanting to make plan after plan about my future, loaded with details and things I will do, the best strategy remains this: enjoy the ride as best you can.  You will know when it is time to change things.  You will know how.  Now is not the time. 

I wrote this poem as I was contemplating how badly I missed Susan in the run-up to Valentine’s day.

Another Day

Another day in paradise

   My sweetie used to say

Talking about our life together

   And celebrating every day.

And what she meant

   Was in all ways true

But now she’s gone

    And I don’t know what to do.

Every day I pace and pace

     Through the motions of my life

Wondering if 30 morphine pills

     Would help me join my wife.

I know that my ending that way

    Will never ever come to be

But finding meaning in this pacing cage

    Is something I find hard to see.

Another day in paradise

    My sweetie used to say

The irony of those words

     Ringing in my ears every day.

02-12-2016:MPC      

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.