Life Beyond the Crossroads

"I get it, it’s nice up here.   You could just shut down all the systems, turn down all the lights, just close your eyes and tune out everyone.   There’s nobody up here that can hurt you.   It’s safe.   What’s the point of going on?   What’s the point of living?   Your kid died, it doesn’t get any rougher than that.   It’s still a matter of what you do now.   If you decide to go then you just gotta get on with it.   Sit back, enjoy the ride, you gotta plant both your feet on the ground and start living life.   Hey, Ryan, it’s time to go home."

Matt Kowalski (George Clooney), Gravity

Perhaps it's fitting that the very final moral to the story I have for you will post during Eating Disorder Awareness Week, but that was purely coincidental.  It does illustrate perhaps that for all us there are some things we'll never move past.  For my family, we'll never get to the last week in February and not know what significance it carries for us.  We'll never treat June 20th like any other day.  We'll never, I know now, have significant life events (graduations, weddings, births and even deaths), and not have the fact that my oldest daughter isn't there with us heavy on our minds.  But, the thing I can tell you now, more than four years into this brave new world is that there is life after loss.  And it's important to leave you with that.  And it's important that all of you know that.

I would guess that for some who might read this immediately after losing a loved one, that statement will seem like a betrayal.  I've been accused of that actually:  betraying Kelsey's memory by attempting to move on past the loss.   Here's the thing I need you - and all my own critics if they care to listen - to know:  don't confuse moving past the shock of the loss and continuing to live the one life you've been given with not loving and missing your loved one.  They are NOT the same at all.

Think of the rest of your life.  More importantly, think of the people in your life.  I was accused this very morning of not caring about those people actually.  But, really, nothing could be further from the truth.  I care about them very much and, maybe for that reason above all others, I had to finally pick myself up, dust myself off and learn to carry on.  Do I have fun sometimes as a result?  Yes, I freely admit to you that I do.  Do I sometimes get pinged by guilt when I do?  I do sometimes still, yes.  Not as much as I used to, but I think there will be times when I feel a little unworthy of any kind of life because I lost a child and that will always seem like such an unnatural thing.  But I have always held on to the belief that Fate plays into all our lives and there is a reason I am left behind.  If it's just to be a parent to Marissa and then maybe a grandparent to her children someday, or if it's something more global, I'm not sure.  But, if I'm a shell of a person, then I cheat that purpose.  So, yes, I go to Rush concerts, I go to hockey, football and baseball games.  I go to the symphony.  I am a member at the Pittsburgh Zoo.  I love this town and indulge in the many wonderful things it has to offer as much as I can.  And I've seen and experienced some truly amazing things as a result.  In many ways I am blessed.  That may seem truly obscene to have me say if you're still new to the journey that grief is taking you, and I understand, but here's how I reconciled it:

In the history of mankind, mine is a small sorrow in a deep ocean of sorrows.  Think of all the heartache humans have endured through history.  Whether it's been at the hands of nature, like the leveling of Pompeii to the cruelty of other humans, like the Spanish Inquisition and the Holocaust, we've had to rise from the ashes of some true horrors and move forward.  And we've done it.  We've shown that we're stronger than the things that attempt to destroy us.  I am as well.

I miss my daughter every day.  Granted, there are things I don't miss.  She could be a total pain in the ass:  opinionated and rude about it.  She saw things in very black and white hues, she never got the chance to mellow with time and learn that the world is all shades of gray.  She was human, so she was flawed.  I am human as well, so our relationship was flawed, but that didn't and doesn't diminish what she means to me.  But I have learned that I carry her in my heart, and as long as I do she lives there a little.  So, at the end of the day, after a lot of time and a lot of work, I can go forward and have some sense of a true life, knowing that she is with me as I do.

So, in closing, if you are wondering if you can ever experience any emotion besides grief again, please trust me that you can.  Allow yourself to.  It's okay to do that.  I believe in my heart of hearts that your loved one wants you to.  It doesn't mean that you've forgotten them.

Country v. Crosby?

I contemplated the hard decision I had to make and wrote about it in my new blog.  You should visit me there to see what I decided.

Finding the New Normal

We're almost there - all the "wisdom" I can impart to you about life after loss.  I hope that all of you who have stuck with me through all of it will migrate with me over to my new blog, Burgh-a-Story.  It does give me a fresh start in many ways to talk about lighter topics and have some fun.  But I'm the same person and the same writer as I am here, so some of the themes I've concentrated on here will seep over there - just with some more sports.  Yet, that's sort of counter to the whole point of this post:  we're not the same as we were before and our lives are not either, so the challenge is to make peace with that.  And that's the complexity of what I've found, really.  I still love the things I've always loved, for the most part, but my perceptions are different, and I react differently to the same things than I've done before.  I've made the analogy before that we're like china that was broken and then glued back together.  I used that at the time to explain we're easier to break once more, but it's also about not quite being as smooth as we once were.  At least that's true for me.  But, it's not just about the inner you, it's about the outer trappings too.  Everything seems different when you look around you.

As I walked the dogs around the block yesterday for the first time in several days (which was probably not super smart - I hit the cold air and realized my face was on fire and I was sweating, so I guess the flu bug hasn't left yet), it occurred to me that the biggest thing the move to Pittsburgh did for me was give me the chance to fold adjusting to life post-loss to adjusting to a whole new environment.  Everything around me was different, so I could concentrate on learning where to buy beer and how to get home from Heinz Field (sounds odd now, but that was not so easy at first) and it was less about how to reconcile a new life in old digs.  I wonder how anyone does it in the same house, actually.  Remember those people who lived across from me who lost their son?  They made major changes to their house, and you wonder now if it was less about updating an older building than it was making it different for the same reason some of us move away.  Maybe they didn't even know that's why they did it - they just felt compelled to make changes.  I never saw our old house after a lot of the remodeling was done, but Marissa did and we've talked about it since.  She's told me it still seemed off somehow and wasn't a pleasant place to be (I'm paraphrasing).  I think for us, the big difference is that so much had gone horribly wrong while we were all in that house that there was just no saving it for us.  I don't care what you updated or how, but it would always be the same walls that housed so much fear, hate, illness and finally grief that it would have kept us trapped in those emotions for much, much longer.  Which is seriously too bad because it was a wonderful house.  In some ways it was my dream house - big lot, pool, that stunning chandelier in the living room with its pine planked ceiling that is like a scene out of Game of Thrones.

Now I live in a much smaller, plainer little house with no pool and a chandelier I was planning on replacing until I found out it was original to the house and then felt compelled to keep it.  It's okay, but it's certainly not Game of Thrones worthy.  And yet, I'm so much happier here.  Of course, there are other reasons for that, and for those, you should read my new blog (hint, hint).

Yet, I've wandered off the mark a bit.  This isn't about moving or houses.  It's about realizing and accepting that things won't ever go back to the way they were before.  Maybe that seems like the most inane and obvious comment anyone can make.  But, I can tell you, I spent a lot of the time in the early months wondering how long it would be before things got back to "normal".  I used that word a lot, like a touchstone.  Therefore, it was important for me to accept that there wasn't any going back, there was only going forward, and that path would look different.  I had to learn to be okay with that.  For me, in order to accept that, it was easier to shake the whole scene up as dramatically as I could without moving to a whole other country (although in some ways, it felt like I had at times).  Many people won't be able to or want to, I know, and maybe, for them, comfort is in being around the things they've always known.  I can see how that would be.  But, for all of us, with the important caveat that anything I say is only as good as my personal experience, the thing we must accept before we can fully carry on is the fact that there is no going back to normal.  If you're looking for life to return to how it was before, then you'll never stop looking.  Once you can wrap your head around and, way more importantly, make peace with what your life is now you can settle into a new normal.

How you do that is different for you than it was for me.  A lot of trial and error probably.  I got lucky.  I got Pittsburgh.  And that's a new normal I can learn to live with.

There Are No Shortcuts, Only Wrong Turns

Unless you’re willing to have a go, fail miserably, and have another go, success won’t happen.

Phillip Adams

So on to almost the last of my lessons for you:  which is that there are no shortcuts on the journey of grief.  And you will pay the full toll.  The other thing that book I was so horrified by tried to tell me is that there would be a long journey before I could claim to feel a little better.  The author herself claimed four years.  At the time she might has well have told me a century!  I didn't have four years to give to my grieving!  I had all those other obligations I mentioned last time.

Well, here I am, well over that mark, and I still have days that kick me around.  Moments that trigger me.  As I was watching figure skating last night, I had to be honest and admit, for the first time ever actually, that I didn't fall away from that sport because Michelle Kwan isn't in it anymore:  I can't follow it slavishly like I did because Kelsey was a skater, and it was because of my pushing that she was.  I've taken back, gradually, a lot of the things I once couldn't face because they reminded me way too much of her, but there is still that one.  Maybe after Meryl Davis retires I can conquer that one, but not right now because, I'm sorry, she doesn't look healthy to me.  Maybe she just has a natural dancer's build, but whatever, it's triggering to me, and little girls watch her and want to be like her, and I'm a little freaked out by that thought, just honestly.

Anyway, whatever I did to shorten the grieving process just dampened the flames in one location, only to have them pop up some where else.  If I lost myself in hockey, there was a lockout, and I was left alone with my thoughts.  If I just tried to power through it, I would end up snapping at people or generally losing it.  I moved clear across country.  Sure, I tell people I did for the sports, and I did.  And for my family, and for the fact that I just love it here.  But, let's all face facts, I did it because my house was haunted and ruined for me.  For all of us.  Moving was the smartest thing I did I think, but the grief followed.  In a way that was a good thing because in those first months when I was living here alone with Cheyenne, I really faced it and dealt with it in the quiet hours.  And that's when I think I knew the truth, and the one thing I can tell you that is an absolute:  you just have to do the work and spend the time.  Trite maybe, but fitting, to say that there simply are no shortcuts.  And any you try, whether they're "healthy" like throwing yourself into causes, or destructive, like drinking or drugs, will not save you from that.  At some point, you'll either sober up and still have to face the grief that sat patiently waiting for you, or you'll die too.  I don't have a lot of statistics to back me up, just anecdotal evidence and my own personal experience, but you can take what I say to the bank.

If you're like me, and that hits you like a cold slap in the face, I can offer this hope:  just because I was grieving doesn't mean there weren't good days.  It doesn't mean that I wasn't able to cope or meet my obligations.  And it doesn't mean that, at some point, just like Ann Finkbeiner said would happen, I, without even realizing it at first, spent more and more time just feeling normal.  As I've said many times before, there is a new normal to contend with, but you gradually find that the loss isn't the first and only thing you think of in a day.  Your loved one is never far from your thoughts, but you can have a life after loss.  Really, you can.

And that is hope.  It's not punishment.  I missed that at first.

Saying It Out Loud

"...his name is Voldemort, so you might as well use it, he's going to try and kill you either way."

- Professor McGonagall

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:  Part 2

Over time, I've mentioned the book on grieving that I started and never finished, but I never mention its title or author, so some of you have asked me privately about that.  The reason I did that, I think, is that it's a little like Voldemort:  if you didn't mention his name out loud, he would remain in the shadowy past.  Of course, that wasn't really the case, now was it?   But, I was horrified by the things I was reading and couldn't believe that this would be/could be my life:  the wreckage of the rest of the family dynamic that the author chronicled over and over again, the years of dark despair before people felt like life began to return to them.  I didn't have time for that!  I had a mother whom I had to care for.  I still had a daughter who was alive.  I had eight - count 'em - eight dogs and a herd of deer who relied on me.  And then there was a marriage to think about.  I just couldn't accept what the author spelled out in those pages.

As it turns out, she was right.  About everything.  The book, After the Death of a Child:  Living with Loss Through the Years by Ann K. Finkbeiner wasn't really trying to leave its readers devoid of hope, I don't think.  Rather, the intent was just to lay out the road hazards so we would know what we would be facing and perhaps avoid the pot holes.  But I didn't see it that way.  I don't know what I needed or wanted at that moment.  Some sort of magic wand, I guess, that would make it all better.  There isn't one, as it turns out, so all that is left is the ability to know and prepare for what lies ahead.  So, I should have thanked her book for that honesty, not feared it, I guess.  And, I can tell you now, as that relates to marriage, it's actually amazing to me that any marriages survive, as opposed to my original shock and dismay at her proclamation that 75% of them will not (I've subsequently read up to 80% in other sources).

Candidly, I don't know fully where my marriage stands in that category.  We're still married, we're still a committed couple, but we've spent significant periods of time away from one another.  Would we have done that, even been willing to do that, if Kelsey had recovered?  Who knows?  Maybe we would have exhausted ourselves so significantly to pull her through that we would have ended up looking at one another and decided that we just couldn't be together anymore.  But, I think it's probably more likely we'd have settled down to looking forward to grandchildren and checking off our bucket lists.  As it stands, I think we're fighting a battle still to see how our marriage will end up.  Things are still unsettled, in part because there have been subsequent traumas that have continued to strain at the bonds we've fought hard to maintain, granted.  Still, there were so many falter points along the way that I have to confess that I accept those dire statistics now.

I indeed get how most marriages just can't withstand the strain, now having lived through these last few years.  As I've said over and over, grief is a personal thing.  And you work through it at a different pace and in different ways than anyone else, spouse included.  And you need different tools.  Some may blame God while others turn to Him.  Some will throw themselves into causes, others will become introverts.  So, while I'm no expert, here is what I would suggest if you really want your marriage to survive:

• You have to talk to one another and accept the other one's point of view.  If your partner tells you they need to go to church everyday, and you can't stand the thought of it, then don't stand in their way.  Conversely, tell them honestly that you can't stand the thought of it, and don't go with them just because you think you're supposed to.  You'll end up resenting your partner.
• Don't shut one another out.  You're both hurting, and no one will understand it more than the person sleeping next to you.  So use that as a strength, not a burden.
• My honest advice is don't do this alone - defining alone as just the two of you.  Get some counseling.  Your exploring unknown territory:  use a guide.
• Don't blame one another.  Easy to do - we do it all the time to our spouses:  take out our frustrations and fears out on the person closest to us, assuming always that they'll forgive us.  It's not a good thing in the best of times, it's poison now.  Your spouse will be wrestling with enough self blame.  They don't need yours too.
• Be patient with one another.  Above all else.  Give it some time to sort itself out.  

And, finally, it's never about the love you have for one another.  Remember that.  Don't sacrifice that love to the fire of grief if you don't have to.

More Lessons Along the Road: A Little Help From Your Friends

What would you think if I sang out of tune

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song

And I'll try not to sing out of key

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends

Read more: Beatles - With A Little Help From My Friends Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Another thing you need to know...

Your Relationships Will Change

The bad news is, when you finally get to a point where you can shake off the fog of disbelief and shock long enough to take stock, you'll find that some of the people who were a large part of your life aren't there anymore.  Some will have walked away from you.  Some you will have walked away from.  In other cases, it'll be more like a drift, but no matter how fast or slow, or how it happened exactly, there will be a shift in many of your relationships.

The good news is you will likely find that some others - maybe sometimes long lost friends returned - will have stepped in to fill the void, and you'll have new and beautiful friendships.

And the better news still is, you'll find some people stuck by you through it all.  And then you'll truly know you, despite your horrible loss, are blessed with some great gifts.  For those people are worth more than all the gold and diamonds on the planet.

But, the bottom line is, even for those people who remain by your side through thick and thin, your relationships will likely be different.  And the best thing to do, in my opinion, is to know that and accept that.  How can they not be, after all?  You're different (more on that later).  Your life is inalterably different.  You wake up and look out the window in the morning and perceive it differently.  But different does not necessarily mean bad.  In some cases, some of the friendships I have are so much better because of this experience.  The love and the bond we feel is deeper.  That doesn't, of course, mean I would trade that for my daughter, but when you're looking for rays of sunshine in a shit hole of a situation, there are some to be found.

The counsel I would give anyone who might ask is to forgive those who walked away.  And accept that you had to do the same in some cases and don't hate yourself for it.  I've been on both sides of the friendship coin.  I've had people drift away from me because I was too caught up in things that, given their particular pain at the time, seemed petty and stupid, and they just didn't need that in their life.  And, I look back on that now with some shame.  In one case in particular, I would love nothing more than to make amends, but I can't because that person died some years back of AIDS.  The last time I saw him, I was all full of rage over some wrong I thought someone had done me and griping about it.  He didn't need that.  What he must have thought!  But, it took me until I had my own horror show when Kelsey and then Marissa got sick to see that and realize it.  So, I had some similar experiences after Kelsey died.  I had friends who were so caught up in their own stuff that they wanted to talk to me about, and I just couldn't do it.  I couldn't care.  I couldn't help them.  I couldn't even find patience for it.  But, it's where they were in their life.  They couldn't understand and see fully what I was going through because they are so fully invested in their own issues.  That's not a damning statement.  It's just one of fact.  They're human.  But I now fully accept that my long gone friend couldn't be around me at the end.  I hope some of the people I don't talk to much any more know that it's much the same for me.  They were wrestling with their own demons; I couldn't support them or even understand them at the time.  I had to walk away.

Others would, with only the best of intentions, say or do the most horrific things.  Sometimes I separated myself from people I not only was friends with but actually truly loved because of that.  I hoped they did not take that personally, but I know some of them did.  I know they didn't mean things the way I took them in many cases.  But, I had to protect myself.  And I would say the same to all of you.  Losing anyone, but maybe in particular child, is like having your brain being hit by a semi at 80 miles an hour while it's out riding a bike.  You're psyche is badly injured.  On life support really.  To survive, you have to take care of yourself.  And sometimes that meant, for me, cutting some long and deeply held ties.  There are a few ties that I chopped away at until we were both bloody, and wish I had handled it a little differently and more graciously, but I had to do it.  I would expect that you will as well.  The trick is to do it better than I did.  Looking back on it, I think I would have tried harder to tell the individual honestly and openly that I have to take a sabbatical and make them understand it's not about them.  Tired as that line might be, it's true.  It's really about self-care.  And at that moment, self-care is critical.

As for the ones who walk away after your loss, they have their reasons and you need to, even if you can't understand it, know that is the case.  When that happens to you, let them go, try to understand them and then forgive them.  I've also been one of those people.  The ones who are just so freaked out by what's happening with you and to you that they don't know how to handle it and they shrink away.  It took a lot to stand by me.  I was so volatile.  I'm still no Sea of Tranquility.  You can say that's to be expected.  And you'd be right.  But knowing that and living through it are two completely different things.  I once had a friend who was in fragile health tell me she knows and accepts that not all her friends will be there for her in all situations, but it doesn't stop her from trying to be supportive of them when she can be.  She believes that the friends who can be there for her when she needs it will be.  And for those friends she helped at some other time who are not able to provide a quid pro quo right then and there, well they will take the altruism she showed them and pay it forward to someone else at another time in their life.  Naive?  Maybe.  But I think she's right in many cases.  And, more importantly, what I can say now is that level of acceptance kept her from losing herself deeper in her own pain.  Personally, at the time she said that to me, I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to help anybody through anything worse than a paper cut.  I hope one thing I've gained down through the years is the maturity and experience to help others through hard times.  I hope I'm one of those people that have paid it forward.  At least some times.

Now, this is just all about your friends, your co-workers, your extended family.  I haven't begun to look at the immediate family.  That's a whole other post.  And I can tell you, I'll tackle it as best I can, but even after all this time, I don't know that we've got it all figured out.  Read for yourself next week and you can be the judge...

In the meantime, thank you to all my friends who still loved me and love me when I'm not that lovable.  I love you back.

http://pathoftreasure.wordpress.com/2013/05/16/on-friendship-a-post-of-quotes/

Lessons along the Road

Waiting for the end to come

Wishing I had the strength to stand

This is not what I had planned

It’s out of my control

Flying at the speed of light

Thoughts were spinning in my head

So many things were left unsaid

It’s hard to let you go

(Oh) I know what it takes to move on

(Oh) I know how it feels to lie

(Oh) All I want to do

Is trade this life for something new

Holing on to what I haven’t got

Sitting in an empty room

Trying to forget the past

This was never meant to last
I wish is wasn’t so.

- Waiting for the End

Linkin Park

I am leaning more and more toward a fresh blog.  I've floated a name idea out on Facebook, and it's gotten some approval, but not a ton of traction, so I'm a little worried that the people who think it's stupid just don't want to say, but, more likely, most people have other things to worry about.  It's probably not the best way to do market testing, but like I've said before, I'm a lazy researcher.  A friend did give me a great alternative idea, though, so now I'm torn because I like both mine and hers a lot.  But, the real point I've come to after some really intense soul searching is I want to give myself permission to be more light hearted.  I mean, I hope I'm not a total downer in these posts, but overall I have spent years now wrestling with some serious topics and I'd like to let that go, at least a bit.  I think that's a big step for me.  I suppose I could continue on here and just switch topics.  I've done it before.  But, it doesn't seem right somehow.  Like it would betray the subject matter I focused on here.  Therefore, I continue to lean toward letting this one float out there in the cloud for anyone who might happen across it and find some succor in my words and creating something new for myself to explore the new world I find myself living in.  But the reason that's not just a no-brainer is because as soon as I move on to that new topic, I do, to my own mind, say I'm ready to move on with my life.  And that's harder than you think it would be.

I thought I would spend the last few - potentially - posts here walking through what I think the biggest themes of grief recovery are from my perspective.  And, I'm finding as I consider my options about the blog, that this is a huge one:

Self-forgiveness is hard.

And maybe the hardest of the lessons there is.  At least it is for me.  And it's the one that keeps cropping up to bite me in the ass.  Because, no matter what the circumstances, we're wired to want to protect our children.  Our mandate is to nurture them and raise them and let them outlive us.  When an offspring, even an adult one, dies before us, it's against nature.  It is not what was what intended, so we must have failed somehow.  Even someone like me who believes strongly in Fate and things happening for a reason struggles to reconcile the obscenity of that kind of loss against moving past it.  And it's natural to think, "If only I had..."  What?  If only you had noticed symptoms earlier?  If only you had grounded your child that night so they weren't out on the road?  There are a million "if only's" for a million different scenarios, and I bet there are a million or more parents right now who have that litany running through their heads.  I get it.  I really, really get it.  What I don't have is an easy answer.  I struggle with this still.  A lot.

I was reading a post recently from a mom who was clearly just exhausted after years of battling her daughter's disease and was wanting to throw in the towel at the moment.  Oh, how I uttered those same words so many times.  I wanted to shake her by the shoulders though and tell her not to say such things because she may someday live to regret them.  I didn't.  I didn't say anything.  Because I also know she didn't mean it.  She just needed a safe place to vent.  And then she'll take a deep breath and continue the battle.  But if they lose the war in the end, she'll harken back to those words one day and hate herself for them.  So all I can say is that it serves no purpose at that point.  You don't bring your loved one back.  All you do is short change the family and loved ones you still have in your life.  That is so much easier to say than to do.  And doing it takes a lot of time and self-patience, and still there are some days when the self-loathing just creeps in and takes over.  At this point, I may have to concede that it'll never go away.  I have a lot of "if only's" that dance through my head in those quiet moments when all there is me, my thoughts and my memories.  When they creep up on me, really all I can do is ride it out.

I don't think it's any stretch to say that the individuals who go on to start organizations in their children's names do it out of that struggle to find forgiveness for themselves.  If we can do something - anything - to prevent the same thing from happening to another parent's son or daughter, then we can find some redemption.  I threw my efforts into this blog, for example.

We make mistakes as parents.  Unfortunately we are not magically endowed with super powers once we have given birth.  And sometimes our most earnest efforts will not be enough and bad things will happen.  That is the simple fact of the matter.  So, if I had to say something to parents who are struggling to cope with children who are in the grips of an eating disorder, it would be understand what the stakes are:  this disease is a killer.  But also understand what your limits are and allow yourself some self-care as you wrestle with it, because it's a long, hard fight.  You will say and do some wrong things along the way.  You just will.  Learn from them and move on.  If you, God forbid, lose your child at the end, then all I can say is please know this disease is a horrible monster and sometimes is stronger than all of us together.  It's not your fault.  It's this awful, horrible beast.  Not you.  Your new battle will be to now accept what I am saying as true and that will be a long, hard fight.

Running the Course?

Every year Christmas overstays its welcome just a little bit at my house.  I like all the decorations I've collected over the years, some of which were in my house growing up, and it's nice to sit and read by the light of the Christmas tree, but each holiday there is a subtle mental shift when suddenly I just want my house back the way it was.  I want all my usual crap back.  So it was again this year.  I waited until the weekend after New Year's but then killed myself to make sure every possible shred of it was gone before the first playoff game started (it didn't work, I had to record the first game and play catch-up).  And, in much the same fit of organization every year I begin to wonder if it's time to hang up this blog.  Have I said everything I possibly could say to someone that is of use?  This year in particular I've been seriously considering it because it's been four years since I did my series on being a happy couch potato for the Olympics and then watched Sidney Crosby win gold a couple of weeks later.  Now, next month, he'll try for another medal, and it seems like I should take that as a hint that I've come full circle.  That coupled with my recent reader numbers, which probably couldn't be lower if I wrote the last few posts in Russian.  Or actually that might help a little since, at one point, I had a fairly decent Russian audience, which always bemused me.  What, I always wondered, did someone in Russia think of a spoiled middle class American whining about her supposed troubles?  I never did figure it out.

Anyway, maybe it's time to think about the next phase of my life.  I could start a new blog.  I've toyed with doing one about being a female sports fan in the Steel City.  It's not that women sports fans are all that unique here, but we do come at our fandom from a different perspective.  I think women want to look at a player's performance from an emotional perspective.  For example, is Todd Haley's perception as a total tool because he's in fact insecure having lost a head coaching job, or is he really a jerk who refuses to pay his dog walker (one rumor that was floating around early in the season - the validity of which I have no idea)?  Guys don't write about that stuff; they don't care.  They care about the stats, not the off the field reasons for the stats.  But I have some blind spots.  I don't like arena football, and that's actually a viable sport here.  And I don't really follow Pitt basketball, which is a big deal because there is no other basketball to follow after all (kind of like UT football in Austin).  But, anyway, I'm kicking that around.  I could probably stomach a game or two of the off-my-grid sports if I absolutely had to.

Or I could actually try penning fiction again.  Never too late, right? I would need to stop being a lazy researcher, but I could probably do that if I was writing about something I was passionate about.

Or I could just use the extra time to read other people's stuff.  What a novel idea (pun intended).

I don't know right at the moment.  What I do know is that whatever course I decide to try and take, I think it's time to put aside the pity party and move on with life like it is a journey worth taking, not a punishment to be endured.  I've spent the last few months in a unique state of self absorption.  I don't like it much, and as a result, I'm not very fond of myself either.  Maybe that's come across.  I'm not sure.  But, I don't know that's the reason for the dramatic drop off in readers.  I think there's simply just nothing fresh to say on the topic of living past a devastating loss.

There are some conclusions I have come to as I've traveled through the last few years.  I'll share those over the next few weeks as I ponder the future of both this blog and myself.  One thing I can tell you, whatever direction I end up taking, I never made a dime writing this blog, but what it gave me was priceless.  I always said if I helped even one other person, it would be worth it, and that was/is true, but I think even back then, I knew it was really for me that I wrote it.  And ultimately, if I decide it's run its course, then I'm saying I am well enough and strong enough to do without it.  That's a little scary.  Kind of like someone trying to recover from a disease as complex as ED; one of the hard parts is really committing to recovery.  In a way, grief is like that.  It's something to hang on to because it feels like you're hanging on to the person you lost that way.  But how can you face the future if you're always turned around looking at the past?

A Look Back

What a bizarre year.  For me anyway.  And it's all in your own personal perspective, isn't it?  If you've never been separated before, the first year after one probably seems crazy and traumatic.  If you've been married four times and the recent one is going down the tubes, it probably just seems more of the same (of course, here's a hint:  if you've been married that many times, the institution probably is not for you).  I'm not divorced, so it's just an example, but I am - for lack of a better word - separated, and just spent the first Christmas without Greg sitting at my side since we started dating in 1982 (holy crap!  I am really that old?!).  And, I really have to say, on balance, it was okay.  I mean, as I sit here, the main television in the Sports Cave is not working, having crapped out the day after the Steelers-Green Bay game (I think I have some Packer fan friends who will tell me that is karma coming to call), only to have the oven door come completely off on Christmas day.  Thanks to Marissa's boyfriend, the over door was put back on, but it really doesn't close right now so I'm afraid to use it.  So, I trudged over to Best Buy after a baby shower for our Lovely Philly Friend and buried myself in some more debt.  But, if not for those "little" issues and the fact that Ripley knocked me down the other night, so my knee is a bruised mess, and the fact that I'm waiting on the plumber to fix the new leak in the tub and I think he's forgotten about me, it would have been a delightful Christmas.  And even with all of those calamities, it was a pretty nice one (remember that Christmas took place before the Steelers Nation got screwed right on out of the playoffs).  Marissa and her boyfriend went out of their way to make it that way for me.  Hopefully I was able to return the favor to a degree.  Greg sent gifts for all, including the boyfriend, which I was touched by, so hopefully there was no one in this house on Christmas Day who didn't feel like they belonged to part of a family unit.  And that, I think, in the end analysis, is the best gift I could ask for.

So, as I sit here, pondering this climatic week to such a weird year, I am trying to work out the life lessons I'm supposed to take from everything that has happened.  For one thing, I won my fantasy football league.  That may seem sort of funny to list as a major accomplishment that teaches a life lesson, but bear with me.  It's a league through work, and they invited me to play the year Kelsey died.  I knew at the time it was a pity invitation - the core group of co-workers who gave me a spot knew I loved football, and I think believed it would be a fun distraction for me.  And it was, but I totally sucked at it (I drafted mainly all Steelers that first year because that was all I really knew about).  I've played ever since, but I've always dwelled in the basement.  This year, completely on my own with no input whatsoever from Greg, I won the whole thing!  I drafted the players, moved them around to form the best roster every week, and I nailed it (actually, I came in second during the regular season, but won the playoffs).  The sense of accomplishment I got from that was enormous.  Because the biggest issue I've had since Greg left this summer was trying to make major decisions without him.  Take the whole TV/oven thing.  I was almost paralyzed for a couple of days trying to figure out what to do.  I didn't have my sounding board.  At one point, I had Marissa cornered in my office trying to spell out the options and make her help decide.  She was not having it.  Truthfully, what sometimes happens is I talk to Greg about it and then do what I want anyway, but at least I get to work it out strategically with someone who has a vested interest.  It has been sort of frightening not to have that.  He's still around, of course, it's not like he went to Mars and doesn't get cell phone reception.  But he's busy.  He doesn't have time to fool with me.  No, it's on me to manage this house.  What I've learned is I can do it.  All by myself.  Fantasy football taught me that I've got the ability to pull it off and gave me the confidence to use it.

What I'm still working on is The Lonelies.  I can do without the physical contact really - I'm so tired most nights, that's the last thing on my mind anyway.  But some nights, if there is no hockey on in particular, the house seems sort of - not empty, not quiet, not stale - I'm not even sure what the right word is, but it's off somehow.  I've always got the dogs, the cats, my books, my music and the ability to catch up on all the episodes of Revolution and Mob City I miss when hockey is on, but some nights I just am really aware of being on my own.  Marissa has worked really, really hard to keep those moments minimal.  She's here every weekend and many weeknights.  But she's in her 20's.  The way it's supposed to work is the baby bird leaves the nest, not nurses the mother bird through her anxieties.  I watch the two widows who live next to me (in separate houses) because they are my inspiration - both strong and independent despite their advancing ages.  I can tell, and they will confess, that despite their having built a lifetime of relationships here and being still pretty socially active, they get The Lonelies still too.  I'm thinking then that it never goes away.  Some nights will just be like that.  I think as long as it's not most nights, then it's just the price you pay when you've been with someone for a really long time and then, suddenly, you're not.  I think that's an homage to the relationship.  If you never miss your spouse, he/she probably was a heel.

As you know, I often have a moral to the story, so here is this one: you have the inner strength to overcome the things you think will overwhelm you.  You have to believe it and believe in yourself first, but you can do it.  Then have patience with yourself on the days when you don't like the job you're doing.  Life is a lesson.  If you knew all about it already, then what would be the point in showing up to live it?

May we all have a wonderful 2014 that includes, for me anyway, a Stanley Cup.  In the meantime, here are some of my favorite photos from 2013 to cheer you on your way:

One of Greg's last evenings with Ripley

Charlie Batch, great Pittsburgher, great guy and a dog owner!  Wow!

Marissa Pearl graduates college!

Antonio Brown - and trust me, it's the subject, not the photographer that makes this a good photo

Ripley gets photo bombed by a big rubber ducky

A Humbug's Holiday Wish to You

Well, it's almost here.  Christmas.  Again.  You know how I know?  My entire neighborhood looks like a Christian version of the Las Vegas Strip.  People who have had lights up and on for over a month now still continue to add to their displays, believe it or not.  As I walk the dogs around in the evening I'll see that someone added a nativity scene next to Santa's sleigh or added lights to their back or side yard now.  It's like a community full of Clark Griswald's.  Even the hippie-dippy neighbors across the street have crept into the season, first with nice little candles in the window, followed by big old neon things in the windows next to them.  I actually have a few less outdoor decorations up than I have had in the past, but I do have some, so I guess I'm like the small little casino on a side street - I'm there, but much more understated.  And that's all you're getting from me.  I'm content to watch everyone else go nuts and then figure out how they're going to pay the electric bill in a month.

I considered not putting much up in the way of decorations at all actually.  But I did, much like I do in every other year no matter what drama is going on because, for one thing, I figured I needed the routine:  keeping things as much the same as I could in a year when things were anything but normal.  And it wouldn't be fair to take a full Christmas away from Marissa.  And finally, I like the way this little house looks all dressed up for Christmas.  So here I sit in my decorated cottage waiting for the holiday to come and go like it does every year and then sort of wondering what the next year will bring.  About the only thing I know for sure so far is that it will have to bring a new TV since the big one in the Sports Cave crapped out yesterday, so in a week when I'm trying to figure out how I spent so much on the holidays while still worrying that people will be disappointed, that was the most unwelcome holiday surprise I could have gotten.  But for now, I'm trying to shake that off and get in the "season" as they say.  So, here is my holiday wish to all of you:

First of all, thank you to all my friends and family for being so supportive, kind and loving no matter what life or my own actions has hit our friendship with.  I never really know what I've done to deserve such wonderful people in my life, but I have been truly blessed with all of you, even if it is a virtual one with many of you now, trying to shrink the miles through Facebook and email.  So, I wish for all of you not only a happy holiday, but a content one.  And not only for tomorrow, but may that extend well past the New Year on until the end of your days.

I know not to wish us Peace on Earth or anything so impossible like that, so I'll wish that you have an inner peace.  Of course, maybe that's what contentment is.  Being at peace with who you are, where you are and what you are:  no matter what that is.  But I think there's a subtle difference too.  Finding an acceptance gives you peace, learning to be happy with who you are leads to contentment, I would hope.  So, long way to say, I wish both for you.

I am hoping that each of you will have a Cheyenne in your life.  Someone or something who loves you more than he or she loves themselves and whom you can in turn love that way too.  Because that is a powerful and empowering feeling.  And a comforting one on cold nights when the Penguins lose big and you're watching it on a crappy upstairs TV.  May you have someone like Marissa who will keep telling you that it'll all work out when you're nearly in tears because that's just one more crappy thing you don't need in your life right now.

But because I know that all your days will not be rosy, life just does not work that way, may you have the strength to carry on through dark and frightening times.  Many of you were my source of strength in just such times.  May I be that in return for you if need be.  But if it's not me, may you find what you need to act as a talisman to rise above whatever tries to bury you.  And I know you can do it:  one thing I can say about all the friends I have ever known, they are all very strong of character.

May your sports teams always be winners (unless you're in Boston or a Flyers fan, then you can go suck it), but if they are not, may you have the grace to know that there is always next year and that's why they call it a "game".

Finally, may each of you find your own Pittsburgh.  And whether that is a place or a state of mind, I can't really say.  But you will know when you get there.  And may you never be lost wherever it ends up being.

And if I've never ever met you and vice versa, and you just stumbled across this post, I still wish the same for you too.  As the Irish would say, "May you be as contented as Christmas finds you, all the year round."

Mean Coping Skills

As you know if you've been reading for a while, our family therapist who is active in the ED community with a particular passion for working with male eating disorders, coined the term "Mean Season" in referencing the holidays.  That resonated with me.  Because, as I've said before, for someone struggling with an eating disorder in particular, it's a nightmare time of the year.  There are so many occasions which are centered around food, and not just food but really threatening stuff for someone with eating issues:  cookies, cakes, egg nog, rich casserole dishes smothered in cheese or whatever, gravy, breads, and so on.  Then there are the family members you don't see everyday who don't have a clue about what you're going through who come up to you with the best of intentions and inadvertently say the very worst of things!  And that's when they are sober.  Alcohol flows freely through all of this in many households. It can be a veritable nightmare.   For everyone.   I struggled to balance what my daughters needed with what their grandmothers needed and wanted, and the two very often were not compatible.  That meant life was pretty miserable for all of us.  And the societal pressure we feel to make nice and be happy on a particular day of the year just made it that much harder, I think.  As a result, I wrote a piece I was pretty passionate about a couple of years ago right before Thanksgiving that is probably worth dusting back off and looking at again:  Welcome to the Mean Season.  I was thinking about it yesterday because I was reading the posts by some of the moms in my support group.  I made a couple of suggestions here and there, but finally I had to just navigate away because it was just breaking my heart too much.  A lot of it was just all too familiar.  In a way there is a comfort in that because I can now tell you I'm not the only one who deals with this stuff.  Or, in my case, dealt with it.  But I just ache for all those mothers and their sons and daughters who struggle through this time of the year.

It's not easy for others out there either.  My daughter's boyfriend, for example, struggles with the holidays because his dad died around Thanksgiving a couple of years ago.  He hasn't even bounced back yet when he got more bad news this year, so the holidays are a poison for him.   I get that to an extent.  I miss my dad the most during the holidays.  I think I've told you before, for a seasoned war veteran, he had this child-like love of Christmas - any holiday really - and that was a pretty grand thing to grow up with, so I miss that around this time of the year.  But, on the other hand, I know that our parents don't want us wasting our lives mourning for us, because they would know that this is the natural order of things - we all hope our children outlive us, and we want their happiness above all else.  That's the way it's supposed to go.  So, I always hope for him he'll realize that life is too short to be this unhappy and let his grief relax more into fond memories.  But, for now, it hasn't.  Therefore, we'll all be together on Christmas potentially more or less feeling way sorry for ourselves.  I think I'd like to break the pattern for my family anyway.  And I've really worked to do that this year, with some mixed success, so I thought I'd share my top five coping skills.  They have absolutely no scientific basis, and I am not a professional (although I certainly have paid enough of them over the years), so take it for what it is worth, but if any of them help you even a little, then it will be my holiday gift to you:

5)  Cry a little when you need to.  I had a rough moment yesterday when I got a piece of junk mail addressed to Kelsey.  It's happened a couple of times in the last few months.  I can't figure out how companies - Pittsburgh based companies at that - get her name, but it's the height of insensitivity and really drives home the hole in our household.  That gets worse at the holidays.  Society tells us to celebrate the season.  Well, sometimes we're just not in sync with that.  And that's okay - don't make it worse by feeling guilty over it.

4)  Don't try and be perfect; prioritize and then accept the rest.  Always the biggest stressor for me long before the girls got sick was that normal life keeps going and the holidays just pile it on.  Shopping, wrapping, shipping all of that, addressing cards, functions to attend, great movies coming out because it's awards season.  If you try to be Super Mom you'll end up being super stressed.  And that's exactly what always happened to me.  And I'd end up having a little meltdown - okay, okay, a big meltdown - at some point.  Now I'm trying to tell myself if the house doesn't get cleaned to the max because I'm wrapping stuff, we'll all survive.  If cookies I always bake don't get baked, it's like Marissa told me on Sunday:  we'll bake them for another holiday.

3) Plan in advance.  It comes every year.  We all know it's coming, so it's always puzzled me a bit when people are scrambling at the last minute for Christmas gifts (and by people, I generally mean men).  I start shopping for Christmas in the spring and squirrel away things all year long.  So I was able to wrap the presents I needed to ship, which was almost everything, right after Thanksgiving and we made a run to the post office that took three of us to pull off two weeks ago.  People got their stuff absurdly early, but I'm done with the "heavy lifting", if you will, of the holidays and can concentrate a little more on Tip No. 2.  Plus I spread the expense out.

2)  Take the time to enjoy life a little.  I struggled how to list Tips 2 and 1 - they are almost neck and neck in importance for me.  So, maybe really this is Tip 1.5 because I am serious about this one.  At some point, I had to give myself permission to actually savor some of the things that do happen around the holidays.  And I said it that way very purposefully.  If you have suffered a loss, it's easy sometimes to feel like you are guilty of something because you're still alive.  As a parent in particular.  So, you feel unworthy of anything enjoyable in life.  Please don't.  I believe truly that there is a reason we remain.  So while we figure out what our purpose is, don't let the life you have pass you by.  Take a moment or two every day to relax.  For me, I take a few moments in the morning to read a few pages of my book.  Today I took a couple of minutes after I shoveled the snow to slide down the hill in our backyard.  Childish maybe, but the dogs and I had a lot of fun before we buckled down to work for the day.  But I've also taken in some events around town instead of addressing holiday cards or baking those cookies like part of me worries I should.  This is an amazing city.  Missing out on the wonders it presents doesn't bring Kelsey back to us.

1) Accept help.  None of these coping tips would have mattered, and I would be in a rubber room right now if Marissa had not helped as much as she has this year.  She's wrapped gifts, gone to the store for me, baked a couple batches of those cookies I keep fretting over, cleaned the house repeatedly, done my laundry for me, cooked for and fed me, and kept me company above all else.  I think the tendency is for people (and in this case I mean women) to think they have to do it all themselves to truly pull off a good holiday for their family.  I'm trying to accept that it's just not the case.  And as a matter of fact, your family members may enjoy helping.  I hope that's true for Marissa.  But, either way, she's the greatest Christmas gift of all.

I can't tell you this is the best holiday we'll ever have.  We're scattered across the country. Money was tight, so the gifts are modest.  But it's not going to be the worst.  And sometimes, after a year like this one, that's plenty good enough for me!

The Alternative Holiday Letter

What Santa does on his off time

Every year I write a holiday letter to stick in with the Christmas cards.  I even managed to pull one together the year Kelsey died.  I'm not sure how, but I wanted to talk about her upcoming art exhibit, so I made myself do it.  And because of it, my friend Betty knew to come and that was the last time I really got to spend time with her, so...

But anyway, it occurred to me this year that there is a certain narcissism inherent in writing holiday letters in a social media world.  Most of the people you know well enough to exchange cards or gifts with also connect with you on Facebook and can catch up with you online, via text or phone or even video chat.  Therefore, do the ones who don't know you well enough to do any of that even really care what you've been up to over the past year?

And then they have to have a certain tone to them, because they are, after all, holiday letters, so I always felt like I had to keep them light.  And they don't allow for a lot of room to delve into issues too deeply anyway, so they can only skim the surface of an individual's complex life in the course of a year.  Once the Beast entered our home, our lives were anything but light or simple, particularly during the holidays - the Mean Season.  But, I've always persisted in crafting something, no matter how much it didn't really represent what was truly happening to us, because we have friends and family who, believe it or not, aren't really on social media, and care enough to hear from us at least.  And so I did this year.  If you end up getting one from me, it's all true.  Just like all the others were.  But there's a lot I didn't say.  So, here's my alternative version where I get to say a little bit more:

"Dear Friends and Family,

So, here we are again.  It's the holidays.  Some of you love them, some of you hate them.  I want to love them, but I in fact tend to loathe them.  You probably think that's because of Kelsey.  And you'd be right, but I'm not a fan for other reasons too, which I'll explain.

First of all, who decided that the holidays should also be when you're expected to give to charities?  I know, I know, it's the end of the year, sliding in of the tax deductible contribution thing, plus the need is greater.  But, my theory is that kids who are hungry at Christmas are hungry in June too.  Let's give to them all year long, not just at the holidays.  As I write, I have a stack of mail on my kitchen counter from charities I've supported in the past:  Red Cross, Safeplace, Habitat for Humanity, The Carnegie Museums, the Pittsburgh Symphony (who keep telling me I pledged $100 and I keep telling them there's no way I would do that over the phone), and the Mario Lemieux Foundation.  That's just the last couple of days.  My email inbox is much worse.  I hate looking at them.  They're all deserving in their own ways (which is why I've supported them at some point in the past), but I can't possibly support them all now.  I HATE the guilt and the pressure.  I'm just trying to pay my bills here people.  Please, please leave me alone.

Then there's the whole gift giving thing.  I love buying presents for people.  I put a LOT of time and effort into it.  It doesn't always work out quite as well as I would hope.  And that hurts me more than you know.  Because I do want you to love what I get you, but if we've known one another for a long time, odds are that at some point, I'll misfire on the choice I make.  For example, last year I thought I just slayed it with the gift I got one family in particular.  The father didn't like his part and had his daughter ask me how he could return it.  Don't tell me that!  Just go exchange it for something you like.   Or at least thank me for the effort first.  I was crushed.  You know, my mom got me stuff often that I didn't care for because it was her tastes, not mine, but I always knew a lot of love and effort went into it, so I appreciated all of that useless crap for that reason.  I still have some of it because I look at it and it reminds me that someone loved me enough to do something for me (some of it I dumped like a hot potato as soon as I could, but the point is:  she never knew).  That's not to say you have to keep something I gave you that you don't want, but understand that the lack of appreciation for the effort cuts like a knife.  Think about that as you respond to your loved one's gifts this year.

And that's the other thing:  when did gift giving become such an obligation?  There are people who plan to send us gifts this year who really can't afford it, but feel like they have to.  No, you don't.  I have so much stuff already.  You can just tell me you can't do it.  Or pick one of those charities I listed and send them $10 in my name.  Lifting that weight of guilt off my shoulders would do more than you know.  If I send you something, then accept that it's because I want to and don't feel like there is a quid pro quo.  But please also know that I had my own challenges this year.  My gifts are not as elaborate as they have been in the past.  Please, please, don't be offended by that or feel slighted.  Honestly, I think we've all lost the whole point of the season in our material world.  And I include myself in that.  But, you know what I really, really want?  Just your friendship.  It's been a hard year.  I feel lonely sometimes and a little afraid about what my future will hold.  Sometimes I could use a shoulder - even if it's just virtual.  That doesn't cost you much.  Just be there for me when I need it.  That's the greatest gift of all.

For the first time in over 30 years, I will face the holidays without Greg by my side.  That's a little depressing.  I'll confess that I began this holiday season in a rotten, rotten mood as a result.  It's been hard to figure out what to write to you and give you any sense of holiday cheer.  But, I've been contemplating the life and death of Nelson Mandela since I heard the news and pondering how a white woman on another continent can best honor the great man's memory.  I've decided it's by trying to embody the lessons his life taught us.  There are many to choose from.  But for me, now, at this moment, it's not to give up on hope and give in to despair.  Therefore, I plan on squaring my shoulders, holding my head up high and being thankful for the things I do have:  my beautiful daughter Marissa, healthy now and sober, my pets, the roof over my head and the food in my pantry (tiny as it may be).  I am grateful that I am fortunate enough to have come to Pittsburgh and found the place where I truly belong.  I thank all of you for what you have been to me and my family over the years.  I am blessed in my friends.  And while I don't see them much, I am ever so grateful for my mom's family, who accept me as one of their own.  I will rejoice in Sidney Crosby's 3 assists and Marc Andre Fleury's 44 saves against one of the best teams in hockey and choose not to despair a football season in shambles.  I hope much the same for all of you.  Hug the family around you tight and realize that they are your real gift, not that material stuff under the tree.

Much love, Cheryl"

Tum Tum posed the question, "What?  You mean these aren't all mine?"

Almost Home for the Holidays

I'll keep this brief.  For one thing, I've got a lot to do and only one more day in the long weekend to do it.  The holidays, as I've complained many times before, are relentless.  This, apparently, does not change even when you find yourself by yourself.  But, for most of the holiday weekend, the family was back together, so I know many readers have been waiting to hear how Greg is, so I knew I owed everyone an update on my husband's brief trip back up to Pittsburgh for the Thanksgiving holiday.

The short response is that everything went fine.  But of course, whenever there is a situation like this  - a long separation punctuated by brief visits here and there - the emotions surrounding the visit will be more complicated.  Or so I imagine it is in all cases, and so it was here.  First there was the preparation. Do you prepare the house as you would for a house guest?  Clean, polish and shine everything from top to bottom, lay out clean towels, put on clean sheets, and so on?  Or do you treat it like someone who was just away on a long business trip and is merely coming home now?  I chose a hybrid approach.  Cleaned everything, but let him get his own towels out of the closet.

And of course there is the worry that you'll look older, or things will have sagged a bit more in noticeable places.  Or that your spouse will just look at you with fresh eyes after a period of time and say to him or herself, "Really?  I am not attracted to that person at all anymore and not sure how I ever was."

Finally, for me, the creature of severe habit, there is the nagging sense that you'll find you've grown much too comfortable in the new routine - as much as a way to cope with the sudden change than anything else - to accommodate vestiges of the old one again.  That one didn't get a true test since the holidays are anti-routine by their very nature, and Greg's time here was pretty brief, but I think we did all see the same things about one another we find perplexing and realize we're still perplexed by them.  In short, we haven't changed as people in our months apart.  If I drove too timidly to suit Greg before and he drove WAY too aggressively to suit me, that's all still true.

But, for the most part, I think I'm safe in saying what we found is that we're still all a family.  We fell back into a comfort level of being together quickly.  There was a slight worry, I'll confess it now, that we'd find ourselves almost awkward strangers.  Which was a strange fret to have because I didn't stress over that when I came up here by myself for several months.  But the circumstances were different then, I guess.  And of course I was the one who had struck out on the journey, not the other way around.  I think that puts a little different spin on it.  But, it was a needless concern.  We've been together a long time and so it'll take a lot longer than four and a half months to make us all strangers.  Maybe ironically we went to see 12 Years a Slave on Friday. When Solomon is reunited with his family after more than a decade, to naturally find his children grown and even one of them married with a child, I reminded myself now that is what coming home to find yourself a virtual stranger must look like!  We're no where near that!

Greg looks fine.  Much the same.  I also worried the cares and responsibilities he has taken on would tax him.  And maybe, with more time, they will indeed.  But not seemingly so just yet.  I'll have to press him to write the guest post he agreed to in order to really get his thoughts and feelings, but I think it was bizarre being here for him - and by here, I mean the city as a whole - because it felt both familiar and a little strange.  Home in a way, yet not where he lives.  Maybe we all get that when we go back to visit our parents if we've moved away.  I did a bit when I would go back to Bozeman.  But I spent my formative years there, so there is a bond with the town that won't break.  Greg was here only relatively briefly.  I think that all messed with his head a bit.

And then there is Ripley, currently laying quietly at my feet.  Everyone noticed how she brought Greg through his grief.  My neighbor even commented on it one day not too long ago!  Yet here Ripley stays without him.  He commented that he had been away from her a quarter of her life.  I think he found saying goodbye to her the hardest.  And I get it if that's true.  I'm also fine with it.  I'm a dog person after all.  But the things dogs do for you are hard to match over Skype.  You need their wet doggy kisses, the warmth of their fur as they snuggle against you on the couch.  You need their need for you sometimes to remind yourself why you have to get up in the morning.

For my part, I was initially stoic about his leaving again because I have, maybe not by blood, but by familiarity, my mother's Pennsylvania steel heart.  Yet when I got back home yesterday from dropping my husband at the airport so he could fly back to Texas and found things he had left lying around - a half consumed bottle of water, his Cowboys pajama bottoms in the laundry pile, his windbreaker casually draped across a chair - all as if he were coming home in just a few hours, I had some bad moments.  Later in the day when I was putting up Christmas decorations and came across his stocking on top of Kelsey's, I sat on the floor and sobbed.

I know he's where he has to be.  The job of caring for his brother is too taxing for just one person.  And I know that's not really anyone's fault.  Life simply isn't fair or easy much of the time.  And there I will leave it for now, since I've already violated my promise to keep it brief.

Ruminating on the Age of Lost Innocence

Lionsgate

Like millions of people - well, females - I have one eye on the calendar waiting for November 22 so I can stand in really long lines and go see Catching Fire.  The difference from me and the others is that I'm probably on average three decades older than most of them, but let's just say I'm young at heart and let it go at that, shall we?  Personally, I "caught fire" if you will on the series after a dear friend of mine gave me a copy of The Hunger Games to read on the plane back to Pittsburgh after I had been in Austin for business.  I'm a slow reader because I have to visualize everything, and if I don't like the scene I create in my head, I'll re-read it and try again (a real bitch when reading A Song of Fire and Ice, trust me, because it's so richly detailed and it's easy to lose subtle plot points in the search to picture horrific scenes of torture, rape and battle), but in this case I, if you'll pardon the pun, devoured it.  I don't think I finished it on the plane, but I made a serious dent, and it was only days before I was trolling book stores for the other two of the series.  If anything, I read those faster.  I could not put them down.  But they are brutal reads.  The last one in particular made me feel like I had taken a serious punch to the gut.  I was emotionally, almost physically, spent as I closed it for the last time and I remember thinking, "That's meant for young adults?!"  There are some things that clue you in to that fact:  the author skims over tedious details, like a trial, that tweens wouldn't have the patience for, and then there is the love triangle that focuses more on the awakening of our innate sexuality and the confusing emotions that come along with it rather than actual sex.  But in terms of painting a bleak canvas of a savage and cruel existence, she doesn't pull any punches because her core audience is too young for a driver's license.  That got me to thinking about the other "young adult" series I've read both when I was actually young versus what has come out lately and I've concluded that there was a shift somewhere along the way in what we think we should expose our kids to, and currently it is that the world can be an ugly place and we might as well get our kids ready for that fact early.

Take the Harry Potter series v. The Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit for instance.  In the beginning little Harry Potter was facing adventure that had a tinge of danger like all the other series I had ever read, but it was still pretty light and fun stuff.  Boy, that changed by the end, didn't it?  Tell me true, did you cry when Dumbledore died?  If you didn't, then you're made of stouter stuff than me.  I sobbed.  I originally theorized that, as time went on, J. K. Rowling's own children got older and her writing got better, so the themes of the books developed with what her own children could emotionally handle and she could write, but maybe it was more than that.  So, looking at the The Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit, the biggies of fantasy literature in my young days, to compare the battles and the danger those heroes face one realizes it's all relatively tame.  As a matter of fact, when I re-read The Hobbit last year to get ready for the film, I was surprised by how glossed over the Battle of Five Armies was.  There was some sadness involved of course, but it was certainly not taken out and explored to the dark depths that Suzanne Collins did in her series.  Narnia for its part went through some tough times, but there was always a happy ending that involved mercy and goodness, and when creatures "died" they either came back to life or wandered off with Aslan.

If you want to trot out The Lord of the Rings to refute all this, let me remind you that it was not a children's series, we were just precocious children who read them anyway.  And really, think about how even that, as dark as that theme was, doesn't hold a candle to all the blood and gore we're rolling around now when we pick up a George R. R. Martin book.  Now, if you want to make the case that we were expected to use our imaginations more than we expect of our own children, that is a sustainable debate.  But the fact of the matter is, I still maintain that authors didn't spell out the world was an ugly place and heroes have to survive it somehow and make peace with that fact as best they can.  They put ugly things in it and then let the heroes defeat them.  In the end, I think that's the biggest difference.

But, here's the question I'm really asking.  Why?  What changed?

It's not a post 9-11 reaction.  Or maybe it is.  But, the world is no more evil of a place than it was when I was growing up.  Think about it.  My parents lived during the time the planet saw arguably the greatest evil ever unleashed in the Third Reich.  Fifty million people died during World War II, six million of them just because of their religion or sexual orientation.  And they didn't die pretty, easy deaths - not there is such a thing.  The world doesn't get any uglier than the global conflicts of the 20th century.  Then follow that up with the Cold War, and I was born into a time when we could not deny that life could be hard, unfair and tainted by true evil.  Yet, my parents sheltered me from all of that, as did many parents, and made me feel I lived in a secure world where, if I kept true and worked hard, all things would be alright.  My dad in particular certainly knew that wasn't necessarily true, but somehow seemed intent to shelter my childhood from that.  Did he do me a disservice that we're correcting in our own children?  Or did he give me, as best as he knew how, a happy childhood knowing that I would learn the hard lessons of life soon enough, so I should be allowed time to feel secure in the message I got from my books that right was might, not the other way around.

What do you think?