Quandaries

“The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.” Emil Cioran, A Short Story of Decay

I’ve turned over the conundrum of fairness in my mind lately. I wonder if this is a concept that is purely human made, if this is something that actually applies to the Universe, or if we have a flawed perspective how we think this should apply to our lives and what we perceive as a linear pattern set before us by a deity or the Unmanifest. There have been a few studies that barely scrape the surface of the concept of fairness, and none of these seem to give a definitive answer. Some of these studies examine the behavior of young toddlers, concluding that at such a young age there is an understanding of the morality of fairness. There are many theories on this rudimentary understanding of a moral compass: evolutionary for the survival of tribes, cultural and taught by birth through actions of parents and other figures in the child’s life, some even suggest a Western-invented concept that has nothing to do with biology. I’d agree that this is a learned behavior – and yet this concept, in some form, exists in every single culture. Isn’t that something?

My current philosophical quandary is not that the concept of fairness exists, but how it has come to be that we believe it should apply to all aspects of life. I see this belief as something antiquated that was an ideal that I simply needed to hold on to for the sole purpose of my own survival. If I didn’t believe there would be a silver lining in the clouds someday I would have given up ages ago. Perhaps I never understood the concept of karma, but hasn’t there always been a belief that good behavior, a good life, is somehow rewarded? I just can’t believe that anymore. I suppose it’s because I thought that there was some sort of purpose to my life, some linear path . . . . some force behind all that I’ve lived. That doesn’t exist. What takes place in life that is outside of our control is purely random.

There is no linear projection - no path to follow.

When something awful happens our first thought tends to be, ‘It’s not fair.’ No, it’s not. This is simply life. It’s not fair that anyone we love in this life suffers, or has left us suffering by their departure from this world. Would it be any fairer if that fate had befallen someone else? I ask myself that a good deal, and recently saw something that caused me to pose the question again.

Kurt Kuenne filmed a documentary in the wake of his best friend’s death, ‘Dear Zachary’. He intended this tragically beautiful film as a letter to his departed friend’s son, Zachary, who would never know his father. It’s the celebration of one man’s life, and also the mourning of his passing as well as a tremendous loss that should have never happened. It should never have happened because it was preventable and it should never have happened because these are the tragedies in life that make us say, “It’s not fair” and leave us to question that powers that be.  

It made me think of my own father as well. What are his thoughts on what I've done with myself?

I can think of only two people who live on this earth, aside from my therapist, who know the dark secrets my past holds, particularly regarding my father’s death – and that fact that I know I will never see justice for him is one of the many issues I’ve been working through. For those few that know me in this regard and watch this documentary, I think one could easily make the correlation of why this young boy’s short lived life struck such a chord with me . . . .  There were so many parallels regarding his father and mother, his grandparents, custody, and the blatant failings of the legal system. Nothing is perfect in this life. The judicial system exists to protect most, but the same rules don’t apply to all and this is why something so awful was allowed to happen; because it could have been prevented.

I think I can begin to understand how hard my grandmother fought for me. She never stopped, not even when cancer was besting her. I can't imagine the anger and sadness she felt when she would have to look my mother in the eyes, hand me over to my mother, and know that she was giving me to the person responsible for my father's death. I understand now why my grandmother had so much worry for me when I wasn't where I was supposed to me. I can't imagine how she felt knowing she was grappling with the devil and knowing there would never be justice for her son, my father.

Dearest Zachary - you are in my thoughts and I've never met you.

I have often asked myself what my life has exactly amounted to, and if I would have been better off had I not survived . . .  because at times I honestly feel as if I’ve made nothing of myself and perhaps the gift of life was wasted on me entirely. Please don't think me suicidal. That's not the case. It just raises the question in my mind and I'm searching to find what, if anything, of value I have contributed to the world. I wonder about that boy, Zachary, who happens to share the name of my father. I wonder how his life would have formed knowing what happened to his father, knowing who was responsible. I wonder if the outcome of my own life thus far would be any different had I never known that truth about my own parents.

My grandmother, Patricia, in her young years of motherhood. 

My father, Zachary, just as I remember him. Always smiling. 

This is where they are now.

One thing I’ve heard throughout most of my life that drives me slightly batty is, “You’ve had more than your fair share.” I know they mean well. It’s just something that weighs heavy on me because I know how unfair life can feel and the saying almost insinuates that there is still something better, something somehow deserved solely because life has beat me up a bit. Being good, or trying to be good in this life does not guarantee that good things will happen. Suffering doesn’t guarantee that, either. I remember my babysitter telling me frequently when I was a young girl that I was destined for great things because I had suffered so much. At the time her words were encouraging. Now I feel as though I’ve somehow failed.

It’s during these times in life I work harder to count my blessings because sometimes they are hard to see. It’s far easier to see what is going wrong in life and how unfair it is that someone I loved died; someone I loved lost a battle to cancer, someone I love may not be here much longer because of Alzheimer’s. It’s during these times in life I am grateful to those who know who I truly am and remind me of that.

I have known someone for many years of my life. We lost touch because that’s what happens in life and since we’ve reconnected we’ve been solid ground for one another during our transitions and doubts. I’ve shared with her my spiritual journey of working with a psychic and being protected and guided by the Wolf Spirit through that amazing journey in the spiritual realm. My beautiful Sister reminded me of who I was, who I am now, and what I can be. I’ve re-posted those blog entries due to her words of encouragement . . . . . because these things we experience, even if only small glimpses, really are something amazing and of value – if not to the individual, than perhaps to someone else hearing the story.

We run and howl together, even if from a distance. 

On that note, Beautiful Sister – if you’ve ever doubted (as I have) your purpose in life, how you fit into this world, know that you are the world to me. You remind me that I’m strong, loved, and still evolving in this life. Our spiritual journeys are never over, just as our journeys in life are not. Even though we’re separated by many miles, you emanate such a radiant light in my life. 

Heavy

“Though I live, yet am I not, since my sweet hazel-nut has fallen’ since my dear love departed, bare and empty is the dark world.” – Muireadhach Albanach, Irish Bardic Poetry

Sometimes grief is so heavy that it's hard to even breathe

After the death of a loved one, we no longer walk the same earth as everyone else. Part of us lingers at the frontier of death’s domain, looking into its unknown distance for signs that the soul is safely over, or for comforting messages that will assure us that we are not really, finally alone.

The sudden loss of someone vital to our life’s story means that our own story may be whirled out of context into total disorientation or petrified into a stasis wherein time no longer runs at the same speed as it does for others. Since every daily action, every piece of forward planning, necessitates the painful realization of how different life will be from now on, how lonely, how impossible, time and our progress through it alter our perceptions completely. Personally, I feel as if my perception has never been the same.

The world felt big, empty and dark for far too long.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job? I do very much and my favorite part is the few friendships I’ve made with folks who are healing from such an intense ordeal. A patient shared something written by his son that described knowing, but not wanting to acknowledge that his world would never be the same again. This part really hit me, “There, I felt that dark, dark little weight. It was in the corner of your heart, where what you find distasteful, what you hate, goes. I pushed it away, didn’t want to feel that weight, didn’t want there to be anything wrong.” On a brief side note, those words were written by a young teenaged boy. If you’re not amazed you should be.

I kept turning that passage over in my mind, struck by how he managed to capture that heavy sense of dread one feels with the loss of someone so integral to your own existence. I remember how I felt when I found my father dead. Even as a girl so young, I knew that something was wrong, something was about to turn my entire perfect world upside down and I was very upset. After beating the walls in an attempt to wake him I fell to the ground in an exhausted slump, crying. I felt so heavy. I felt that weight. I remember when I was told he was gone and I still couldn’t quite grasp the finality that he would no longer be there to sing to me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I reacted similarly at his funeral. I just couldn't let him go.

As I was remembering these events in my life, I was walking with the hound through a cemetery near my apartment. It’s a beautiful place. I felt myself tear up. This time it wasn’t so much of a longing for my father, but a sadness I felt for that little girl who knew she would never experience that kind of unconditional love again – the little girl who was left alone in the world. I was grieving her experience.

I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

I noticed people around and quickly told myself to push those feelings down and bury them. I’m now slightly chiding myself for that. I was in a cemetery; people grieve there. Even if I wasn’t in a cemetery and needed to ball my eyes out, so be it. I don’t care if the world looks at me as if I’m a madwoman. I can’t live my life burying feelings forever.

As we continued walking a dog ran up to me that had a striking resemblance to Cassie. This made my eyes tear up again. She’s been on my mind lately. Such a sweet, beautiful little being that came into my life and changed it forever.

One of life's greatest gifts: My sweet little girl who never posed for the camera.

I keep reminding myself to stay in this present moment, reflecting gratefully on who is in my life here and now. The love of my life is a basset hound and I get the best greetings when I get home every day. I have friendships that I value and am learning to cut out what is emotionally and psychically damaging to me. I am close to my brother and know he’s always in my corner. My growing women’s hiking therapy group where we vent and let our dogs run free. And then there’s this guy who grieves as I do and we’ve spent our time encouraging and building up the other. The companionship he’s given me over the last few weeks is unique and meaningful.

Learning to treasure the memories instead of reliving them.

These are the things that deserve my focus. Of course those that have parted from my life are not forgotten, I’m simply making a conscious decision to remember them and simultaneously being done with grieving because my memories of them are what's important now - not that they are no longer in my life. I still hope to see them in the next one. 

Echo

“We can endure much more than we think we can; all human experience testifies to that. All we need to do is learn not to be afraid of pain. Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it, don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever. One day, the pain will be gone and you will still be there.” – Harold Kushner, When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough

I have a tendency towards self-loathing. Lately it’s an intensified self-loathing with self-destructive behavior added to the mix. I had a pretty severe wakeup call a little over a week ago when I realized I couldn’t continue to drown out what I was feeling or silence my mind. That is the poorest form of coping.

It’s amazing what occurs on a subconscious level. There’s a disconnect that occurs between the mind, heart and soul. The soul can feel things the mind can’t explain, the heart feels emotions that the mind attempts to drown out.

You are capable, Mind, Body, Soul and Heart. You can align, I know it. 

My therapist told me that we often take the place of our own abuser(s) when the abuser has been removed from our lives. She told me that I needed to crush that aspect of myself. A friend told me recently that I needed a new approach. He told me that instead of trying to drown her out, tell the hurting, afraid little girl that she’s okay and put her back to bed.  That certainly seems like a much more compassionate approach – and this comes from someone who is constantly telling me to be kind to myself, and pushes me to dance tango because it’s a soothing form of therapy.

It's the constant hugging. Who wouldn't feel better after several hours of cuddling with strangers? 

I’ve been blessed to share an office with a truly amazing person. I can often share my thoughts or feelings and she is more than willing to lend a listening ear. She shared with me the story of her dog that had an accident and broke his spine. Exactly a year after his accident he collapsed at the park and was unable to move. He was fine the following day when she took him to the vet. The vet told my co-worker that this is a very common occurrence in animals who have suffered trauma. They sense time differently than we do and don’t have a mind that continues to rationalize our basic instincts, needs and feelings.

Honestly, I think dogs are a small few of living beings that really get it. 

I was sending out a call schedule for medical residents today. I had to double check their G-mail calendar to ensure I had an accurate schedule before sending it out and then I saw the name ‘Patricia Woodring’ listed next week. That’s my grandmother’s name, I thought. There’s someone by that name in the medical program? How odd. Then I realized that it wasn’t there for the medical program, it was something I had put in my calendar last year to remind myself when I felt like I was losing grip on reality that it wasn’t out of sanity, but unprocessed grief.

No, Irish Lass. You are not losing it - your subconscious is just remembering on a cellular, surface level. 

In the months leading up to her death, I lived with whatever relative that would take me in. I wasn’t wanted; I was an obligation that had to be dealt with. Reflecting on the last month and the intensity of my own abuse directed towards me it makes sense. Subconsciously I’m repeating an echo, of an echo, of an echo. To my surprise, I got through the anniversary of my father’s death last year with a grace and ease that were foreign to me. I have no words to explain why I am still struggling with her; I can only speculate. I dreamed of her once. She was on a desolate highway and while her lips were moving she didn't make a sound. 

I've only just begun to ask myself, Why was she here? Why is this where I found her? 

I feel like processing my father’s death came to me a little bit easier because I know he’s still with me. I’ve been with him in other dimensions, other spans of time and he’s found ways to let me know that he’s present even when I can’t feel him. Perhaps it was a part of my psyche that conjured up these experiences to help me work through the emotions of his loss, perhaps I really was with him in spirit somewhere beyond the time and universe that we understand in our own human experience. Either way, this did not happen with my grandmother or I think this is a big factor. I had been far away from her for so long and then she was gone and I felt even more unloved and alone – even though my soul knew the day she was gone. There was a heaviness to the world around me that I couldn’t explain or identify.

He told me he'd been gone for a while. Everything would be okay. 

So now that I’ve recognized history repeating itself, the child that felt (and still feels) alone and unloved, and the woman who struggles to cope with this echo,  I can calm down a little because now I know why I’m consistently trying to drown out my thoughts, particularly my own voice that spews out the harshest form of hatred directly towards me. Of the cruelty that I’ve experienced in this life, my own infliction is by far the worst. I am my own worst enemy.

Truth be told, realizing I am the worst of them all was a tough pill to swallow.

I’ll spend some time with the hurting girl this weekend. She needs to be told it’s okay. She needs to be told she can let go of the guilt over things that she can’t control, know that she is loved, and put back to sleep. 

You're okay. You're safe. You are deeply loved. 

Howl

Ever feel like walking off into the wilderness and howling? I do. The wolf howl is perhaps one of the most beautiful and mournful sounds I’ve ever heard. It speaks to me. I want to howl and let my sorrow drift into the air with it’s mournful sound . . . . then someone can wake me up when October ends.

This October marks the 23^rd anniversary of my father’s death. I remember it as the day that my perfect little world was shattered and nothing in life has ever been the same for me since. In the wake of his death, my grandmother, Patricia, selfless as always, went out of her way to maintain a sense of normalcy for me. She was ill with advanced and undiagnosed pancreatic cancer, had just lost her son, and had another son that was in an assisted living center being treated for schizophrenia. In spite of all of this, she fought to preserve my childhood and happiness.

I went trick or treating that year. I remember my costume: a black plastic trash bag and pharmacy store bought witch’s hat. In the aftermath of my father’s death, this was some much needed fun for five-year-old me. It wasn’t long after this that my crazy mother took me to Georgia and left me there with complete strangers. To this day, I still can’t decide if she was crazy, cruel or some insidious mixture of the two.

It’s not like it was all unhappy, I was just frightened and feeling very alone. I spent about a year in Georgia before I made a miraculous return home. I was with a woman named Myrna. According to my birth mother, this was my grandmother on her side. Myrna, knowing the deceitfulness and destruction that most often followed in my mother’s footsteps, played close attention to my chatter about home, losing my father and my longing to be with my grandmother Patricia.

I remember Myrna going through one phonebook after another, making phone call after phone call until she located my grandparents. She bought two plane tickets and accompanied me home. I wish I knew her better. Myrna is gone now, but I remember her as being the one constant and solid thing in my life when I was surrounded by turmoil and doubt.

A year after returning home to the west coast, my grandmother was in the hospital dying of cancer. I lived with whoever would take me in over the next year until cancer got the better of her. I remember the day she died as vividly as the day my father died. The air felt heavy and suffocating and I simply wanted to melt into the earth beneath my feet and disappear into the essence of the universe.

I look at the approach of this month with dread. I keep my birthday hidden on my online profile because all of the wishes for happiness only serve as a reminder of what’s been taken away and the looming sadness that I know will take over even though I try to keep it at bay. My father’s death marked the beginning of an immense amount of sadness that entered my life that I am still trying to process and come to terms with.

I’d like to think that someday all of this won’t make me so sad. In the meantime, I’ll try to create some happy memories for myself. At least I know I’ll survive it; I always do. 

"And can it be that in a world so full and busy the loss of one creature makes a void so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it" ~ Charles Dickens