Sunday, September 30, 2007

Death Comes Yet Again...

I hadn't seen Mike in years so I don't have facial recognition of him as an adult: I still see him as a young boy, big brown sparkling eyes and bright smile. He could be a handful, but he was always charming. We had Christmas together at my mom's house. What a loud bunch we were! Five cousins, all with brand new toys, and lots of them...Loud and lively but these are the things memories come from.

He spent a week with me and my kids, shortly after my husband died, and I remember taking a drive with them up to Lake Isabella - all of us crammed into the car. I remember lots of laughter and lots of fun and music.

Mike was born just two months after my oldest child. His mother and I spent a lot of time together, just young moms trying to figure out our way around motherhood. She watched my daughter for me while I went back to work. I have lots of photos of them together as young children. Now I will have to seek them out and remember him as he was.

I have heard it said so many times: A parent should never have to bury one of their children. It goes against nature - the oldest of us should not outlive the youngest. To see potential lost, dreams unfulfilled, to realize that Mike will not see his beautiful girls graduate from college, marry and have children, it goes against the whole concept of the circle of life. It isn't supposed to happen this way. And yet, what can we do about it? Absolutely nothing, except mourn and question that which we do not comprehend. Given time, we will pick up the threads of our grief and continue to put one foot in front of the other as we march onward. But our brows will have more furrows and our laughter may not come as quickly.

I pray that God will not visit death upon this family again soon and rob us of our youngest members. I still question his taking Doug and suppose, even with acceptance, I will always grieve. I have never lost a child but Doug was closer to my heart than my natural son. I can only imagine what my cousin is enduring and I wish it wasn't real. But it's not a dream, it's reality of the worst kind. You don't wake up from this.

Mike was just 41. He leaves a wife and two daughters, one in college and one in high school.
If you read this please remember them along with his mom and dad.

Dirge Without Music
"....Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."
~~~Edna St. Vincent Millay
My Life CLosed Twice
My life closed twice before its close---
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
~~~Emily Dickinson

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Overwhelming Sadness

I'm really in a rabbit hole - the tears have come easily today and often. I feel as though I'm in a closet, locked away. I haven't returned a call to my daughter because it's so difficult to talk. What does one chat about when one feels like that really have no reason or purpose? No one tries to understand the nature of being depressed. It goes so far beyond being "moody." My family either denies I have it or feel it is just a spiritual problem. It's just mom being weird.
I used to have anger issues which as I've gotten older I am able to control the outward manifestations but I stuff it all down inside me and chew it as though it was a palitable meal. I understand why people hurt themselves to get attention. You want to scream out loud that it's real and it's devouring me from the inside out, just as a cancer would; down to the rot and the stench of dying flesh, my desires are dying. I don't want to be. The effort is getting harder and harder to keep getting up in the morning. Why is it that some people fight so hard to live and to others it would be a blessing not to wake up? Why do I stay in this place for days, weeks, without leaving? It's too much effort to get dressed and go "perform." Nothing is real anymore.

I've had two separate migranes today. Forty-three years of migraines...and chronic sadness. I can be in the middle of a group of people and feel totally alone. I've been at church with my husband after services and had to go sit in the car because I was overwhelmed with thoughts of being alone, while all about me, people are visiting and loving one another. What makes me feel this way? I try so hard to reach out to people but there are times that I feel invisible. I don't know how to be loving, hard as I try. Right now, deep in my chest I feel a crushing sensation, as if the weight of all this has come to sit upon me and pin me down so I can't do a thing about it.

I'm writing feelings as they come - tomorrow I may be okay. But tonight I look out over a glass ocean, black as the night, adrift by myself,; no idea of where the boat will take me.
Just knowing that I will feel alone, as usual. I wrote a poem once, called "Isolation." It describes how I feel completely isolated in the middle of people. I don't feel safe. I feel as though I'm nothing more than a burden weighing down those about me.

It's tomorrow and I'm not okay...I opened my eyes hoping to see everything through rose-colored glasses but my headache came crashing down on me, making me want to just go back to sleep but that won't happen. My cousin called to say that her son is taking a turn for the worse. His kidneys are failing and his liver is not functioning properly. His dad doesn't want to spend the money on tickets to fly back to see him - truth be known, he's afraid of seeing him. He's lost 70 lbs. My cousin said they may not see him again and they've got to get back there one way or another. So after bickering over the price of tickets, he decided to go. She's afraid they won't make it in time...I ache for her and hope everything will be okay and he will recover. It should make my problems disappear completely but the blackness completely surrounds me today.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Rain Still Falling...

a I believe in miracles. I believe we are in need of one. Mike is still in Georgetown University Hospital; he now has pneumonia. His fever is not as high - it was 104 for weeks. The doctors still hold out hope that he has a chance at full recovery so I am going to grab onto that and cling tightly. His wife had to return to work but their oldest daughter has forsaken this semester at college to be with him during the day. Those of you who have been generous with your prayers, please continue to remember Mike and his family in prayer.

My migraine monster has returned viciously and so has my depression. Then I see friends battling reoccuring cancer with a vengence and such a spirit of determination; I see the frustration that Mike's family is enduring and so many, many others. I understand that I'm not "pouting" or in a "snit," as my dad used to say, but I have a physiological disfunction that takes me down to the bottom of the well at times.

It makes me sad to the point where I had to get away Sunday; just leave the house and drive, anywhere but here. I miss my house, my yard - especially now that they are bulldozing the property behind us that allows us a view of the foothills and, once construction is complete, we're going to be in a gully, looking up at the backside of houses. And I tell myself, yes: I have a home, I am fortunate to have a bed at night. I know all of this...but depression and bipolar disorder can wreak havoc upon ones ability to see the goodness in one's circumstances. Even though you know better intellectually. Tears can come without a reason or cause, just as did my need to leave for a while.

I long for peace of mind and quiet of spirit. I may not maintain that here on earth but hopefully, on the other side...Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
(I'm speaking figuratively about rain - it was 96 here today and we haven't had rain since May)