During my marriage to Shawn I saw my own personal friendships relegated to the couple time a year, "We should get together more often" conversations.
Because, really, how could you look your friends in the eye and either 1) put on a smiling face and lie about what your life is really like or 2) spill your guts and tell them how much your husband drinks and how scared you are for your life and his?
It robs your soul to try to put on the happy face with anyone other than acquaintances your true deep friends would say, "What are you doing? You have to get OUT!" if you told them your reality.
So Shawn's friends were also my friends. Ryan, Rob and Jason.
I liked them. We all hung out in the bike shop that adjoined our home for many, many hours each week and listened to music. We all resided in the bicycling world and talked bikes. They shared my same dark sense of humor and dry wit.
Our house was the "hang-out place" for the guys and I was "one of the guys".
Sure they were Shawn's drinking buddies and I never joined them on their "real" bike rides but that was okay because I had the children to care for and the behind the scenes work of the business to keep me busy.
Yet their presence in my home met my social needs and kept me from isolation.
Not surprisingly, when Shawn and I divorced they allied themselves with him.
This was logical, expected, and not hurtful. They weren't unkind to me - they just simply disappeared from my life.
For the sake of their friend they had to believe his stories that I had "broken up the marriage" and "left Shawn for someone else".
Perhaps the reason why none of this bothered me at the time was because I thought,
"They know the truth. They've seen how Shawn treats me. They know how much he drinks. I told them how he goes inside and sneaks extra shots when they are hanging out getting drunk. I told them he was suicidal. They've seen how much I gave to this marriage and this business. They KNOW me. They are my friends. They know who I really am."
When Shawn died I needed them.
I needed to grieve with them.
And they haven't been there for me.
I kept believing they would reach out to me and comfort me.
I feel embarrassed that I need this. And yet it feels to me like they are the only ones who might understand...how he could be so sick and yet still be someone with whom you wanted to spend time.
And they're not there.
They avoided me at the funeral.
The one time I saw Jason he was at work and he just maintained polite, distant, conversation.
They've never asked how I am doing. They've never asked how the kids are doing.
They watched our children growing from the time they were infants. These are their good friend's kids who have been left without a father. Kids who might appreciate someone who knew their father well.
I was asked, a few months ago, by Shawn's Dad to be part of the group he was gathering to come up with ideas for a memorial for Shawn in Fort Collins - something artistic and bike related that would make sure that Shawn wasn't forgotten.
The others in this group: Rob, Ryan, Jason and a few others from that time in my life.
There have been a number of "Reply to All" emails sent as ideas have been thrown around.
I participated in the ideas and talk of logistics for getting the memorial placed.
And every time I see these names on the email list it feels like a punch in the gut.
I guess it is a good thing because it made me realize how hurt I was feeling.
I sat on this situation and feeling for quite awhile. I didn't tell R. or my Mom or anyone else that I was participating in a memorial plan for Shawn. Probably because they might have questioned if it was healthy for me and my healing.
But I did finally bring it up with my therapist who pointed out, "It seems more like it is a memorial for them. Is this something you need for your own healing?".
And the answer is, "no". I don't need it for my healing.
I participated in the planning in an effort to be included in the group again. It was an invitation for one of them to email me privately to see how I was doing. It was a way of trying to show, "I DID care about Shawn. I do remember him." It was my way of asking, "Do you really think it was my fault?".
Because they haven't reached out to me I am left guessing the reasons why.
Do they believe his suicide was caused by me ending our marriage? Did they really believe all the things he told them about how I was making his life hell after the divorce? Couldn't they see that his anger was not about me or anything I did or didn't do?
Have they blocked out the time I called them asking for help because Shawn had disappeared into the mountains threatening suicide? Or do they feel guilty that they didn't take it seriously and are now struggling through their own grief and questioning of what they could have done done differently? (PS - there was nothing you could have done, guys).
Do they not realize that I crave a chance to talk to them - to be real with them?
Were they ever really my friends?
These questions are, of course, unanswerable right now.
I could reach out to them, I suppose. I could ask them how they are doing with their own grieving. I'm sure I have selfishly ignored how hard it must be to have a best friend commit suicide.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Rubik's Cube
I haven't been writing because everything feels too jumbled...or like there is too much to tell...or it is too inter-connected to sort through.
I just feel tired when I think about trying to form these jumbled thoughts into something coherent such that someone might be interested in reading.
I just feel tired when I think about trying to form these jumbled thoughts into something coherent such that someone might be interested in reading.
Friday, December 21, 2012
2 Days
I've got a lot of things I want to write about...
I did get a response to the email I sent to Shawn's Mom.
I want to explore how it feels that friends Shawn and I had during our marriage but who became "his friends" after the divorce have never reached out to me after his death.
What Lily "told" her Dad during her therapy session when she role-played that he had come back for just two days. Very powerful.
What would I say to him if he came back for two days?
Stay tuned.
I did get a response to the email I sent to Shawn's Mom.
I want to explore how it feels that friends Shawn and I had during our marriage but who became "his friends" after the divorce have never reached out to me after his death.
What Lily "told" her Dad during her therapy session when she role-played that he had come back for just two days. Very powerful.
What would I say to him if he came back for two days?
Stay tuned.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
I Guess She Doesn't Want to Talk About It.
I talked to Shawn's Mom on the phone for about 40 minutes this past Sunday.
His mother, Kathy, is someone who is always put together.
She is not one to show strong emotions - neither positive nor negative. I can't recall ever seeing her joyously happy, overcome with love or anything beyond mild annoyance.
During the 15 years of my marriage to her son, I saw her without full make-up, hair done and cute outfit only a handful of times.
You also don't really talk about your own feelings with her.
At Shawn's funeral she physically ducked away from hugs people tried to give her.
Stoic and controlled are words I would use to describe her.
Our conversation on Sunday started out light - talking about Christmas presents for the L's.
At some point we began to talk about Lily's struggles. I told her that Lily missed him, of course, but was also angry.
Kathy told me that she had never, not once, felt angry with Shawn. She said she didn't think it was possible for a parent to be angry at their child who had committed suicide and that her experience during the (very brief) time when she went to a Grief Group (which she told me did NOT help at all) was that children and spouses felt anger but none of the parents did.
This surprised me.
To me it would be normal for anyone to feel angry. It doesn't mean you didn't love them.
Maybe she has supressed her anger? Maybe it just hasn't come yet and it will come later?
Clearly I can't worry about how she is processing her own grief - I have mine and the children's to worry about without taking on others.
We talked further about how much pain Shawn must have been in to do what he did. She told me that, knowing how much pain he was in, that there was a sense of relief that he wasn't suffering anymore. She explained that, if he had cancer and was in severe pain, she would have told him, "It's okay, Buddy. Let it go."
As a parent this was touching. I do get this sentiment, although I haven't necessarily experienced it during my own grieving.
Next Kathy asked me..."but when do you think he first got sick?"
This caused me to pause. It was the first time she had ever asked me anything about his illness.
I never fully realized it on a conscious level but...I did truly know Shawn better than anyone - maybe even better than he knew himself.
Not only were we married for 15 years but he did actually talk to me on an emotional level.
Of course I never really understood the TRUE depths of his pain. Could he have even expressed how dark things were for him if he wanted?
And, although he had talked about suicide in detail for a number of years, I can't say that I ever thought he would actually do it.
I answered Kathy's question the best I could.
I told her that I thought starting to drink as young as he did, probably even younger than she and his Dad knew, had surely caused changes in his developing brain.
I told her about how after he was sober for 7 months and then relapsed that he said drinking was "different" for him because he realized he could never be happy sober and he could never be happy drunk. I shared that I wished I had been strong enough then to insist he get professional help - even though I knew it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome of things.
I told her we would never know if the reason he was so attracted to alcohol was because he was self-medicating a biological brain disease. I did share that he often referred to alcohol as his "medicine".
I told her about how scared I was that he was going to commit suicide while I was pregnant with Lily (I will have to look back and see if I've written on that, yet)!
I was very careful to share only information that would be helpful in her understanding of "WHY" while protecting her from specific details of the fear and anger that was a part of the last 5 years of our marriage.
I woke up the morning after this conversation thinking of Kathy. I knew that it was probably being processed with a mixture of new and resurfacing feelings and may even be leading her to have more questions.
By mid-morning I decided to write her and sent this...
His mother, Kathy, is someone who is always put together.
She is not one to show strong emotions - neither positive nor negative. I can't recall ever seeing her joyously happy, overcome with love or anything beyond mild annoyance.
During the 15 years of my marriage to her son, I saw her without full make-up, hair done and cute outfit only a handful of times.
You also don't really talk about your own feelings with her.
At Shawn's funeral she physically ducked away from hugs people tried to give her.
Stoic and controlled are words I would use to describe her.
Our conversation on Sunday started out light - talking about Christmas presents for the L's.
At some point we began to talk about Lily's struggles. I told her that Lily missed him, of course, but was also angry.
Kathy told me that she had never, not once, felt angry with Shawn. She said she didn't think it was possible for a parent to be angry at their child who had committed suicide and that her experience during the (very brief) time when she went to a Grief Group (which she told me did NOT help at all) was that children and spouses felt anger but none of the parents did.
This surprised me.
To me it would be normal for anyone to feel angry. It doesn't mean you didn't love them.
Maybe she has supressed her anger? Maybe it just hasn't come yet and it will come later?
Clearly I can't worry about how she is processing her own grief - I have mine and the children's to worry about without taking on others.
We talked further about how much pain Shawn must have been in to do what he did. She told me that, knowing how much pain he was in, that there was a sense of relief that he wasn't suffering anymore. She explained that, if he had cancer and was in severe pain, she would have told him, "It's okay, Buddy. Let it go."
As a parent this was touching. I do get this sentiment, although I haven't necessarily experienced it during my own grieving.
Next Kathy asked me..."but when do you think he first got sick?"
This caused me to pause. It was the first time she had ever asked me anything about his illness.
I never fully realized it on a conscious level but...I did truly know Shawn better than anyone - maybe even better than he knew himself.
Not only were we married for 15 years but he did actually talk to me on an emotional level.
Of course I never really understood the TRUE depths of his pain. Could he have even expressed how dark things were for him if he wanted?
And, although he had talked about suicide in detail for a number of years, I can't say that I ever thought he would actually do it.
I answered Kathy's question the best I could.
I told her that I thought starting to drink as young as he did, probably even younger than she and his Dad knew, had surely caused changes in his developing brain.
I told her about how after he was sober for 7 months and then relapsed that he said drinking was "different" for him because he realized he could never be happy sober and he could never be happy drunk. I shared that I wished I had been strong enough then to insist he get professional help - even though I knew it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome of things.
I told her we would never know if the reason he was so attracted to alcohol was because he was self-medicating a biological brain disease. I did share that he often referred to alcohol as his "medicine".
I told her about how scared I was that he was going to commit suicide while I was pregnant with Lily (I will have to look back and see if I've written on that, yet)!
I was very careful to share only information that would be helpful in her understanding of "WHY" while protecting her from specific details of the fear and anger that was a part of the last 5 years of our marriage.
I woke up the morning after this conversation thinking of Kathy. I knew that it was probably being processed with a mixture of new and resurfacing feelings and may even be leading her to have more questions.
By mid-morning I decided to write her and sent this...
Hi, Kathy. I just wanted to check in with you after our long conversation yesterday and make sure you are doing okay.
I will always answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.
I wanted so badly for so many years for Shawn to get well. He was a truly amazing human - a young man with a wit that wouldn't quit, a love of nature and animals, a sense of justice in the world, a man who adored his children.
I had always hoped and believed that he would find a way to get help and that we would be friends again.
Just wanted you to know I am thinking of you today.
Jennifer
I will always answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.
I wanted so badly for so many years for Shawn to get well. He was a truly amazing human - a young man with a wit that wouldn't quit, a love of nature and animals, a sense of justice in the world, a man who adored his children.
I had always hoped and believed that he would find a way to get help and that we would be friends again.
Just wanted you to know I am thinking of you today.
Jennifer
As of today I haven't received a response, although there have been other email exchanges between us about Christmas gifts.
My feelings aren't hurt. I guess I did hope for an acknowledgement...
Of what?
That what I told her was helpful? That she knows I did care about him? That I tried to help? That she wants to know more?
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Something to Read: Last 100 Days Alcoholic: Gotta Be More#c7586603641299020482
This is a blog I follow which is written by a man struggling for sobriety.
I have tried many times to explain how my husband of 15 years and father of my two children described his relationship to alcohol before his suicide.
And he has done it so hauntingly and beautifully that I am considering sharing this piece with his friends and family in an effort to help them understand how stuck he felt.
Last 100 Days Alcoholic: Gotta Be More#c7586603641299020482
I have tried many times to explain how my husband of 15 years and father of my two children described his relationship to alcohol before his suicide.
And he has done it so hauntingly and beautifully that I am considering sharing this piece with his friends and family in an effort to help them understand how stuck he felt.
Last 100 Days Alcoholic: Gotta Be More#c7586603641299020482
Friday, November 30, 2012
I Know Too Much.
Every morning when I take Lily to the bus stop she clings to me.
She weepily begs me not to leave and tells me she "doesn't want to go". She tells me she "needs me". At night she makes me signs for work telling me I am special and make her day better just by being in it.
Any therapist will tell you this is separation anxiety that is natural after the loss of a parent. They would tell you to do exactly what I do which is to stay calm and assure her that I know she has these feelings and that I know she can handle them. They would tell you to not give too much attention when she is showing the regressive behavior and simply show your confidence in her ability to get through them. They would tell you to talk about the feelings during a different, calm time and to acknowledge why she has them.
Yes, I've done all these things.
But what do I do to stop MY separation anxiety?
I know too much.
Every time I drive the car without the kids I worry, "What if I get killed in a car accident?".
When I found out I have to have a fairly minor surgery to remove ovarian cysts in January I thought, "What if it is cancer? What if they put me under for the surgery and I never wake up?"
I know that these things DO happen, despite my assurances to her that everything is fine.
I worry all the time about something happening to me and my kids being orphans.
What would happen to them? Would they really be able to handle it? Or would they be doomed to a sad life?
I don't want this for them.
I worry that Lily is not resilient enough.
She doesn't seem to have (yet?) developed the ability to rise above hardship.
Is it just in her nature to be most comfortable in the role of victim? I get so frustrated with her when I see her going straight to this role every time she gets upset.
It's how her father was. He was always a victim of someone else or circumstances.
Despite my anxiety about all these things I understand that this fear will always be with me and I can't let it change how I live my life (except in a positive way of always being fully present). And I acknowledge that these fears aren't truly different or unique to me. All parent worries about what would happen to their children if they were gone.
I just wish it weren't so.
She weepily begs me not to leave and tells me she "doesn't want to go". She tells me she "needs me". At night she makes me signs for work telling me I am special and make her day better just by being in it.
Any therapist will tell you this is separation anxiety that is natural after the loss of a parent. They would tell you to do exactly what I do which is to stay calm and assure her that I know she has these feelings and that I know she can handle them. They would tell you to not give too much attention when she is showing the regressive behavior and simply show your confidence in her ability to get through them. They would tell you to talk about the feelings during a different, calm time and to acknowledge why she has them.
Yes, I've done all these things.
But what do I do to stop MY separation anxiety?
I know too much.
Every time I drive the car without the kids I worry, "What if I get killed in a car accident?".
When I found out I have to have a fairly minor surgery to remove ovarian cysts in January I thought, "What if it is cancer? What if they put me under for the surgery and I never wake up?"
I know that these things DO happen, despite my assurances to her that everything is fine.
I worry all the time about something happening to me and my kids being orphans.
What would happen to them? Would they really be able to handle it? Or would they be doomed to a sad life?
I don't want this for them.
I worry that Lily is not resilient enough.
She doesn't seem to have (yet?) developed the ability to rise above hardship.
Is it just in her nature to be most comfortable in the role of victim? I get so frustrated with her when I see her going straight to this role every time she gets upset.
It's how her father was. He was always a victim of someone else or circumstances.
Despite my anxiety about all these things I understand that this fear will always be with me and I can't let it change how I live my life (except in a positive way of always being fully present). And I acknowledge that these fears aren't truly different or unique to me. All parent worries about what would happen to their children if they were gone.
I just wish it weren't so.
Like an old fashioned coffee pot...
Although I haven't been writing there have been a lot of thoughts percolating that will soon get shared...
Saturday, November 10, 2012
It's unavoidable
"I could just kill myself!"
"I would rather take a bullet to the brain!"
I don't think one notices the prevalance of these types of expressions in our vernacular until you've had a loved one kill themself in this manner.
I cringe when I hear these comments - especially when the kids are present.
People mean no harm by them, of course. These statements are just a way of expressing how strongly someone feels about a situation.
Lily had to go to the counselor's office at school last week because there was a story (that 4th graders were reading!) where someone got shot in the head.
She got visibly upset and the teacher, fortunately, knew what was going on and excused her.
I know with time we will all have less of a visceral reaction to hearing these comments but for right now I am going to feel nauseous everytime I hear Lily innocently dancing to "Livin' La Vida Loca".
"She will take away your pain...like a bullet to the brain."
I keep debating whether to tell her the song makes me uncomfortable - thus drawing attention to a line she hasn't deciphered yet - or just let her enjoy being 9 and dancing to a catchy song.
"I would rather take a bullet to the brain!"
I don't think one notices the prevalance of these types of expressions in our vernacular until you've had a loved one kill themself in this manner.
I cringe when I hear these comments - especially when the kids are present.
People mean no harm by them, of course. These statements are just a way of expressing how strongly someone feels about a situation.
Lily had to go to the counselor's office at school last week because there was a story (that 4th graders were reading!) where someone got shot in the head.
She got visibly upset and the teacher, fortunately, knew what was going on and excused her.
I know with time we will all have less of a visceral reaction to hearing these comments but for right now I am going to feel nauseous everytime I hear Lily innocently dancing to "Livin' La Vida Loca".
"She will take away your pain...like a bullet to the brain."
I keep debating whether to tell her the song makes me uncomfortable - thus drawing attention to a line she hasn't deciphered yet - or just let her enjoy being 9 and dancing to a catchy song.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Surprise!
Last night I went to a friend's 40th Birthday Surprise Party.
Her husband was meticulous in his planning. He thought of every detail including a map of where people should park so their vehicles weren't seen and a back-up plan in case it snowed (which it did) so there weren't footprints leading up to the house when she came home.
I was so excited! I have always wanted to be at a party where you jump out and yell SURPRISE and the person has the look of shock and delight that people would go to such lengths to show how much they care.
Everything went off exactly as planned.
The birthday girl came home with her two children from a long afternoon of practices and lessons and the look on her face was priceless.
As I watched her husband anxiously wait for the door to open and then the look they shared when she realized what he had done for her, I felt a tear escape the corner of my eye.
And then I crashed...
All my feelings of sadness and grief over my 40th birthday bubbled to the surface.
It wasn't just the pain of remembering that the only person who remembered my 40th birthday was Shawn - it was having to sit there in a crowd of 60 jovial people telling stories about what people did for their 40th and knowing that there was no socially acceptable way of sharing any stories about MY 40th birthday.
I mean this is a PARTY for goodness sake!
After feeling the tears well up a few times I went into the bathroom where I tried to decide between taking some deep breaths and pulling it together or staying in there and actually letting myself grieve.
I can guarantee if I could have just let it out and not had to walk out of the bathroom with a red nose, puffy lip and smeared eye make-up I would have just let it happen.
I can also guarantee that if I hadn't had the L's with me I would have just said my goodbyes and driven home in tears.
I took the deep breaths, went and had some cake (who says a little comfort food can't help!) and thought about how nice it would be to go home and let myself cry after the kids were tucked into bed.
What actually happened was that the intensity of the emotion faded once I was out of the situation. And I came home and read the story about the mother in NYC who came home from her middle child's swimming lesson to discover her nanny had stabbed her eldest and youngest children to death.
Surprise! Just when you feel the most sorry for yourself you can be reminded of how small your problems really are.
Her husband was meticulous in his planning. He thought of every detail including a map of where people should park so their vehicles weren't seen and a back-up plan in case it snowed (which it did) so there weren't footprints leading up to the house when she came home.
I was so excited! I have always wanted to be at a party where you jump out and yell SURPRISE and the person has the look of shock and delight that people would go to such lengths to show how much they care.
Everything went off exactly as planned.
The birthday girl came home with her two children from a long afternoon of practices and lessons and the look on her face was priceless.
As I watched her husband anxiously wait for the door to open and then the look they shared when she realized what he had done for her, I felt a tear escape the corner of my eye.
And then I crashed...
All my feelings of sadness and grief over my 40th birthday bubbled to the surface.
It wasn't just the pain of remembering that the only person who remembered my 40th birthday was Shawn - it was having to sit there in a crowd of 60 jovial people telling stories about what people did for their 40th and knowing that there was no socially acceptable way of sharing any stories about MY 40th birthday.
I mean this is a PARTY for goodness sake!
After feeling the tears well up a few times I went into the bathroom where I tried to decide between taking some deep breaths and pulling it together or staying in there and actually letting myself grieve.
I can guarantee if I could have just let it out and not had to walk out of the bathroom with a red nose, puffy lip and smeared eye make-up I would have just let it happen.
I can also guarantee that if I hadn't had the L's with me I would have just said my goodbyes and driven home in tears.
I took the deep breaths, went and had some cake (who says a little comfort food can't help!) and thought about how nice it would be to go home and let myself cry after the kids were tucked into bed.
What actually happened was that the intensity of the emotion faded once I was out of the situation. And I came home and read the story about the mother in NYC who came home from her middle child's swimming lesson to discover her nanny had stabbed her eldest and youngest children to death.
Surprise! Just when you feel the most sorry for yourself you can be reminded of how small your problems really are.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Damn you, Santa!
Is Santa Claus real?
He is real to my sweet Lily-Girl.
And believing he is real is only hurting her.
I never wanted to "do the Santa thing". I always felt that it was a bad message to send...Santa brings toys to all the good boys and girls in the world.
No. Actually there are many, many good boys and girls in the world who won't even get dinner that night.
But Shawn insisted. He called me a Scrooge. He asked why "I would want to take that away from the kids".
So I acquiesced.
It seems to me that every Christmas has been a disappointment to my kids.
In movies kids see knee high piles of presents surrounding a big tree on Christmas morning.
Except it's not like that when your parents are divorced. Your gifts get spread out among multiple celebrations. It's hard to manage your expectations when you're a kid.
After the divorce I basically turned Christmas over to Shawn and his family. The day itself didn't matter to me.
We had a beautiful Winter Solstice celebration with my Mom each year that included gifts as well as readings from various religions and a lighting of candles to welcome the longer days. The kids always wondered of Santa was going to visit our house as well as Daddy's but I just told them it didn't work like that - only one stop per kid.
The December before Shawn died I decided to celebrate Christmas Day with the kids (in addition to Solstice) because I wanted to take them to the mountains and enjoy a special day with them.
Before we even hit December 24th the L's had celebrated: Solstice with Grandma (and gifts), Christmas with Daddy (and gifts) and Christmas with their paternal Grandparents (and gifts). They were ALL fired up because they were thinking, "This is great! We've already received all these cool things and the BIG day is yet to come!"
They aren't spoiled kids. Or entitled kids. But they are kids. And they do like presents.
On Christmas Eve, after hearing their excited chatter, I realized...they are expecting gifts from SANTA under the tree. I had spent a lot of time selecting gifts that I thought they would love.
I didn't plan on giving Santa any credit for things I had so painstakingly purchased!
And I didn't really have a lot of extra money left to go buy more things.
And yet there I went off to Walmart on Christmas Eve.
On the barren shelves I found mostly cheap plastic junk that I am inherently against.
Finally I saw a variety of (cheaply made) board games - chess, checkers, bingo, etc and decided that maybe Santa would bring these types of things as a message that he wanted you to play nicely with your sibling.
Christmas morning arrived with excitement and the gifts were opened in no time flat.
And then my kids began acting like brats.
I finally called them out on their behavior and said, "I'm sorry if Christmas didn't live up to everything you expected."
And Lennon. Poor boy. He was foolish enough to indignantly say, "Yeah! Five gifts isn't enough!"
There was a lot of Mommy-Guilt laid down in the next 30 minutes with threats of taking the toys to Goodwill for other, more grateful children, to enjoy and long statements of how they had "robbed me of any joy that I might have felt from watching them play with these toys".
We all were crying. It wasn't pretty.
It was when I felt myself wanting to tell them, "You don't know ANYTHING about shitty Christmases! Let me tell you about the time my Dad told my Mom to throw away all of my Christmas gifts and then beat my feet with a 2x4 all day" that I realized STOP!! This isn't about them - it's about you!
They wrote me beautiful thank you notes and I calmed myself and apologized.
Eight months later their father killed himself.
And four months after his death the kids went off to Florida by themselves to see their paternal grandparents.
They had gone by themselves to see their grandparents on multiple occassions and had spent most Christmases of their lives there so it seemed like an okay decision at the time.
I was so, so wrong.
Lily was very homesick and cried on the phone every time she called me.
When she came home she was an emotional wreck for months.
How stupid could I have been to not realize that Shawn's parents were as deep in their grief as the rest of us? They weren't able to provide Lily with the kind of emotional support she needed because they needed it themselves.
And this is a family whose motto could be "Suck it Up" - you just don't talk about feelings.
This doesn't work for Lily.
She is highly emotive.
And the thing that threw her for a real loop was Santa...
Shawn's parents hung a stocking for Shawn, just as they always had. It was comforting for them.
On Christmas morning the kids got up to dig through their full stockings. After sorting through her assorted packs of gum, candies, toothbrushes, etc Lily discovered that Santa had brought Daddy an ornament in his stocking.
When she got home she told me this...
"I know why Santa only brought Daddy one thing in his stocking. It was because he was bad last year."
Oh, God! What do I say to that?
There IS no Santa! It was your Grandma that put in the ornament because it helped her with her grieving!
But, of course, I couldn't tell her that right then.
And then there were the gifts under the tree from Santa.
Her younger cousins who are basically hell on wheels and who had been harassing Lily endlessly had mounds and mounds of presents because...all their presents from Mom, Dad, two sets of grandparents, Lennon, Lily and Santa were all in one place to be opened on the same morning.
Lily was so upset because she couldn't figure out why her cousins got so many gifts when they had been behaving so badly.
Oh, Lily. It's because there is no Santa and the world isn't a fair place.
Here we come up on Christmas 2012.
Lily still believes in Santa even though he has let her down over and over.
She decided not to go to Florida - even though her brother wants to and is going. She wrote a beautiful letter to her Grandparents telling them how much she loves and misses them but that "Christmas is a really hard time" and that she is "still grieving a lot".
She specifically requested that we have Christmas at home - our home. She wants to wake up in her own home on Christmas morning to the presents Santa brought.
Writing this, part of me thinks maybe I should try to make the big Christmas for her she's always wanted. I can afford to spend more on presents this year than I could a few years ago.
But I also know that happiness doesn't come from THINGS and that no amount of gifts will fix the anxiety she feels over Christmas.
I need to talk with her soon (with the help of a therapist) and let her know that Santa resides within all of us. We can be Santa to others who are in need - we've always donated to charity as a family but we could emphasize it even more this year.
We can decorate the house heavily the way she envisions a house should looke (lots of lights!).
We can do our Solstice Celebration sans gifts.
I can ask all of the friends and family who give the L's gifts at Christmas if they are willing to sacrifice seeing the kids open the gifts in person and send them to the house so they can be opened on Christmas morning.
I can give her love and hugs and time together.
He is real to my sweet Lily-Girl.
And believing he is real is only hurting her.
I never wanted to "do the Santa thing". I always felt that it was a bad message to send...Santa brings toys to all the good boys and girls in the world.
No. Actually there are many, many good boys and girls in the world who won't even get dinner that night.
But Shawn insisted. He called me a Scrooge. He asked why "I would want to take that away from the kids".
So I acquiesced.
It seems to me that every Christmas has been a disappointment to my kids.
In movies kids see knee high piles of presents surrounding a big tree on Christmas morning.
Except it's not like that when your parents are divorced. Your gifts get spread out among multiple celebrations. It's hard to manage your expectations when you're a kid.
After the divorce I basically turned Christmas over to Shawn and his family. The day itself didn't matter to me.
We had a beautiful Winter Solstice celebration with my Mom each year that included gifts as well as readings from various religions and a lighting of candles to welcome the longer days. The kids always wondered of Santa was going to visit our house as well as Daddy's but I just told them it didn't work like that - only one stop per kid.
The December before Shawn died I decided to celebrate Christmas Day with the kids (in addition to Solstice) because I wanted to take them to the mountains and enjoy a special day with them.
Before we even hit December 24th the L's had celebrated: Solstice with Grandma (and gifts), Christmas with Daddy (and gifts) and Christmas with their paternal Grandparents (and gifts). They were ALL fired up because they were thinking, "This is great! We've already received all these cool things and the BIG day is yet to come!"
They aren't spoiled kids. Or entitled kids. But they are kids. And they do like presents.
On Christmas Eve, after hearing their excited chatter, I realized...they are expecting gifts from SANTA under the tree. I had spent a lot of time selecting gifts that I thought they would love.
I didn't plan on giving Santa any credit for things I had so painstakingly purchased!
And I didn't really have a lot of extra money left to go buy more things.
And yet there I went off to Walmart on Christmas Eve.
On the barren shelves I found mostly cheap plastic junk that I am inherently against.
Finally I saw a variety of (cheaply made) board games - chess, checkers, bingo, etc and decided that maybe Santa would bring these types of things as a message that he wanted you to play nicely with your sibling.
Christmas morning arrived with excitement and the gifts were opened in no time flat.
And then my kids began acting like brats.
I finally called them out on their behavior and said, "I'm sorry if Christmas didn't live up to everything you expected."
And Lennon. Poor boy. He was foolish enough to indignantly say, "Yeah! Five gifts isn't enough!"
There was a lot of Mommy-Guilt laid down in the next 30 minutes with threats of taking the toys to Goodwill for other, more grateful children, to enjoy and long statements of how they had "robbed me of any joy that I might have felt from watching them play with these toys".
We all were crying. It wasn't pretty.
It was when I felt myself wanting to tell them, "You don't know ANYTHING about shitty Christmases! Let me tell you about the time my Dad told my Mom to throw away all of my Christmas gifts and then beat my feet with a 2x4 all day" that I realized STOP!! This isn't about them - it's about you!
They wrote me beautiful thank you notes and I calmed myself and apologized.
Eight months later their father killed himself.
And four months after his death the kids went off to Florida by themselves to see their paternal grandparents.
They had gone by themselves to see their grandparents on multiple occassions and had spent most Christmases of their lives there so it seemed like an okay decision at the time.
I was so, so wrong.
Lily was very homesick and cried on the phone every time she called me.
When she came home she was an emotional wreck for months.
How stupid could I have been to not realize that Shawn's parents were as deep in their grief as the rest of us? They weren't able to provide Lily with the kind of emotional support she needed because they needed it themselves.
And this is a family whose motto could be "Suck it Up" - you just don't talk about feelings.
This doesn't work for Lily.
She is highly emotive.
And the thing that threw her for a real loop was Santa...
Shawn's parents hung a stocking for Shawn, just as they always had. It was comforting for them.
On Christmas morning the kids got up to dig through their full stockings. After sorting through her assorted packs of gum, candies, toothbrushes, etc Lily discovered that Santa had brought Daddy an ornament in his stocking.
When she got home she told me this...
"I know why Santa only brought Daddy one thing in his stocking. It was because he was bad last year."
Oh, God! What do I say to that?
There IS no Santa! It was your Grandma that put in the ornament because it helped her with her grieving!
But, of course, I couldn't tell her that right then.
And then there were the gifts under the tree from Santa.
Her younger cousins who are basically hell on wheels and who had been harassing Lily endlessly had mounds and mounds of presents because...all their presents from Mom, Dad, two sets of grandparents, Lennon, Lily and Santa were all in one place to be opened on the same morning.
Lily was so upset because she couldn't figure out why her cousins got so many gifts when they had been behaving so badly.
Oh, Lily. It's because there is no Santa and the world isn't a fair place.
Here we come up on Christmas 2012.
Lily still believes in Santa even though he has let her down over and over.
She decided not to go to Florida - even though her brother wants to and is going. She wrote a beautiful letter to her Grandparents telling them how much she loves and misses them but that "Christmas is a really hard time" and that she is "still grieving a lot".
She specifically requested that we have Christmas at home - our home. She wants to wake up in her own home on Christmas morning to the presents Santa brought.
Writing this, part of me thinks maybe I should try to make the big Christmas for her she's always wanted. I can afford to spend more on presents this year than I could a few years ago.
But I also know that happiness doesn't come from THINGS and that no amount of gifts will fix the anxiety she feels over Christmas.
I need to talk with her soon (with the help of a therapist) and let her know that Santa resides within all of us. We can be Santa to others who are in need - we've always donated to charity as a family but we could emphasize it even more this year.
We can decorate the house heavily the way she envisions a house should looke (lots of lights!).
We can do our Solstice Celebration sans gifts.
I can ask all of the friends and family who give the L's gifts at Christmas if they are willing to sacrifice seeing the kids open the gifts in person and send them to the house so they can be opened on Christmas morning.
I can give her love and hugs and time together.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Here's the Proof
The fact that I've been quiet here means a few different things...and it's not just because I've been too busy.
I have been feeling so overwhelmed by my emotions and the enormity of all the crap I have to work on that I have found myself unable to be very introspective about what I am feeling.
I have had WAY too many times in the past few weeks when I have found myself in a very child-like mode emotionally. This, of course, means I have been very difficult to live with and just want to shut down/run away to a place where I can be by myself so at least there is an explanation for why I feel so lonely inside.
Sometimes when you feel so alone you just want to be alone.
There may also be an element of not wanting anyone who cares about me to see how **cked up I really am inside.
Ugh!
I feel as if I've spent the past 5 years - or maybe my whole life - fooling myself into thinking I'm really okay inside...believing that the trauma I've experienced in life didn't impact me...that I am stronger than all that. I want so badly to believe that everyone has bad things happen and that mine are not worthy of being traumatized.
But when I get in these modes I start to make a laundry list of my life and it seems pretty bad...and then I feel stupid for fooling myself.
So maybe I've been quiet in my writing because I want to prove to myself I am alone?
I have been feeling so overwhelmed by my emotions and the enormity of all the crap I have to work on that I have found myself unable to be very introspective about what I am feeling.
I have had WAY too many times in the past few weeks when I have found myself in a very child-like mode emotionally. This, of course, means I have been very difficult to live with and just want to shut down/run away to a place where I can be by myself so at least there is an explanation for why I feel so lonely inside.
Sometimes when you feel so alone you just want to be alone.
There may also be an element of not wanting anyone who cares about me to see how **cked up I really am inside.
Ugh!
I feel as if I've spent the past 5 years - or maybe my whole life - fooling myself into thinking I'm really okay inside...believing that the trauma I've experienced in life didn't impact me...that I am stronger than all that. I want so badly to believe that everyone has bad things happen and that mine are not worthy of being traumatized.
But when I get in these modes I start to make a laundry list of my life and it seems pretty bad...and then I feel stupid for fooling myself.
So maybe I've been quiet in my writing because I want to prove to myself I am alone?
Friday, October 5, 2012
A Nightmare
My sweet little Lily-Girl was in tears shortly after she awoke this morning.
She told me she had a dream about Daddy.
I knew we were already running late and were going to be late for sure but I immediately stopped my frantic morning routine to go and sit on the bed and hug her.
The dreams of her Daddy she has told me of previously were happy ones where she was seeing him and hugging him. I knew this was different.
She said, "I dreamed that he was about to...to do what he did...I was calling to him saying, 'No! No Daddy!' but he couldn't hear me."
Oh, my Lily-Girl. I am so sorry you had this dream.
Sometimes I forget that you will have to deal with this the rest of your life in a way that the rest of us escaped. He was your Daddy. He loved you so much. And you adored him.
I am sorry he was so incredibly sick.
And may you be immune to this sickness.
May you never fall into that darkness.
She told me she had a dream about Daddy.
I knew we were already running late and were going to be late for sure but I immediately stopped my frantic morning routine to go and sit on the bed and hug her.
The dreams of her Daddy she has told me of previously were happy ones where she was seeing him and hugging him. I knew this was different.
She said, "I dreamed that he was about to...to do what he did...I was calling to him saying, 'No! No Daddy!' but he couldn't hear me."
Oh, my Lily-Girl. I am so sorry you had this dream.
Sometimes I forget that you will have to deal with this the rest of your life in a way that the rest of us escaped. He was your Daddy. He loved you so much. And you adored him.
I am sorry he was so incredibly sick.
And may you be immune to this sickness.
May you never fall into that darkness.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
The Facade
There was an article in the local paper last week titled "Bringing Suicide Out of the Shadows". It was about the high rate of suicide among white males age 35-65 who have lived with depression their entire life but who hide it until...they just can't anymore.
It took me many years to realize that Shawn was severely depressed. In fact, I think the first time the notion even occurred to me was in 2002 when he stood there in the dark and told me, in precise detail, of a suicide plan he had formulated.
He told Amber at some point during their marriage that he "had thought about killing himself every day for 20 years".
I didn't know the darkness that resided within him.
He had always seemed carefree and happy-go-lucky.
It was an act he had perfected and he had a lot invested in it.
As he got older he couldn't maintain the facade with me and, later, with Amber.
The article identified the warning signs of suicide in "middle-aged" men who had been living with depression for many years. This list was one of the first that I thought reflected what I saw in Shawn.
Perhaps other lists over suicide warnings were written for teenagers or, more likely, women who display the more stereotypical signs of depression (lethargy, crying, etc).
This list and the mission described in the article seem important! There are other men out there who have suffered silently their entire lives. Men, who are wearing a happy mask while hurting inside in a way that damages their soul. Maybe their is help for them. Maybe the stigma of depression can be removed for these men so they have a voice and use it to DEMAND help for themselves!
I can't say that if I had seen this list during our marriage that I could have done anything differently. Nor can I tell you that I would have ever believed you if you had said he would become one of the 80% of suicides in our county that are committed by men between the age of 35-65.
I can tell you now, however, that it seems so obvious to me now that the ending of Shawn's story had been heading there for many years.
Here is the list...
• Threatening to hurt or kill oneself or talking about wanting to hurt or kill oneself. Yes, starting in 2002 - almost 10 years before he made his first and final attempt.
• Looking for ways to kill oneself by seeking access to firearms, pills or other means. Yes. It turns out that him hoarding pain pills after surgery wasn't for recreational use as he claimed. He later admitted to Amber he had been trying to save enough to kill himself. And then there was the gun collecting and target shooting he started - with no previous interest - in 2009.
• Talking or writing about death, dying or suicide when these actions are out of the ordinary for the person. It was certainly out of nowhere the first time he detailed a suicide plan to me. And there were all the times when he would go stand out in a lightning storm as if challenging the lightning to hit him.
• Feeling hopeless. He kept this hidden behind the anger.
• Feeling rage or uncontrolled anger or seeking revenge. Oh, boy! This became prominent in the years after the kids were born.
• Acting recklessly or engaging in risky activities. I guess standing in lightning storms counts? Or doing crazy things on a mountain bike.
• Feeling trapped — like there’s no way out. Again, he kept this hidden behind his anger. Although he did talk about feeling trapped in our marriage when he wanted to be with someone else "because it was the honorable thing to do"
• Increasing alcohol or drug use. Yep.
• Withdrawing from friends, family, society. Does hating "society" as a whole count?
It took me many years to realize that Shawn was severely depressed. In fact, I think the first time the notion even occurred to me was in 2002 when he stood there in the dark and told me, in precise detail, of a suicide plan he had formulated.
He told Amber at some point during their marriage that he "had thought about killing himself every day for 20 years".
I didn't know the darkness that resided within him.
He had always seemed carefree and happy-go-lucky.
It was an act he had perfected and he had a lot invested in it.
As he got older he couldn't maintain the facade with me and, later, with Amber.
The article identified the warning signs of suicide in "middle-aged" men who had been living with depression for many years. This list was one of the first that I thought reflected what I saw in Shawn.
Perhaps other lists over suicide warnings were written for teenagers or, more likely, women who display the more stereotypical signs of depression (lethargy, crying, etc).
This list and the mission described in the article seem important! There are other men out there who have suffered silently their entire lives. Men, who are wearing a happy mask while hurting inside in a way that damages their soul. Maybe their is help for them. Maybe the stigma of depression can be removed for these men so they have a voice and use it to DEMAND help for themselves!
I can't say that if I had seen this list during our marriage that I could have done anything differently. Nor can I tell you that I would have ever believed you if you had said he would become one of the 80% of suicides in our county that are committed by men between the age of 35-65.
I can tell you now, however, that it seems so obvious to me now that the ending of Shawn's story had been heading there for many years.
Here is the list...
• Threatening to hurt or kill oneself or talking about wanting to hurt or kill oneself. Yes, starting in 2002 - almost 10 years before he made his first and final attempt.
• Looking for ways to kill oneself by seeking access to firearms, pills or other means. Yes. It turns out that him hoarding pain pills after surgery wasn't for recreational use as he claimed. He later admitted to Amber he had been trying to save enough to kill himself. And then there was the gun collecting and target shooting he started - with no previous interest - in 2009.
• Talking or writing about death, dying or suicide when these actions are out of the ordinary for the person. It was certainly out of nowhere the first time he detailed a suicide plan to me. And there were all the times when he would go stand out in a lightning storm as if challenging the lightning to hit him.
• Feeling hopeless. He kept this hidden behind the anger.
• Feeling rage or uncontrolled anger or seeking revenge. Oh, boy! This became prominent in the years after the kids were born.
• Acting recklessly or engaging in risky activities. I guess standing in lightning storms counts? Or doing crazy things on a mountain bike.
• Feeling trapped — like there’s no way out. Again, he kept this hidden behind his anger. Although he did talk about feeling trapped in our marriage when he wanted to be with someone else "because it was the honorable thing to do"
• Increasing alcohol or drug use. Yep.
• Withdrawing from friends, family, society. Does hating "society" as a whole count?
Cue - Scream
I woke up screaming at 3:10am.
The dream was so bad that I was actually nauseated when I got out of bed in an effort to re-enter reality.
Hours later, when I rose for the day, I realized it didn't take much effort to figure out why I had the dream.
You may have seen the headline in the past few days about how Fox News inadvertently aired a suicide on live TV.
They were following a police chase live, apparently that is a popular news story since the OJ Simpson excitement of years ago.
Instead of surrendering peacefully, the suspect got out of his car, pointed the gun at his head, and - as the news anchor hurriedly commanded to "cut" the scene - shot himself.
Of course, websites picked up this story and had the video available so you could watch it for yourself.
I clicked on the video...without even considering the ramifications.
But it wouldn't pull up and I returned to my work day.
This was all forgotten until about 11pm when I woke up after several hours of sleep and checked my phone. I know they say not to do this but I do it every night.
There, in front of me, was an article on Slate chastising websites for posting this video - pointing out that it risks sensationalizing suicide.
Even in my sleepy state I questioned myself as to whether it was a good idea for ME to watch the video and I realized how stupid I had been to click on it earlier without even thinking about the impact it could have on me.
I drifted back to sleep only to dream this...
I was sitting in my living room watching a Denver football game on TV. Suddenly the broadcast was interrupted by news media saying that multiple planes had been hijacked across the US and that they were following the story live. I watched in horror as they suddenly showed the Denver football stadium as a plan approached. I saw the people fleeing and screaming. And then I saw the plane hit the stadium.
The broadcasters kept replaying the video over and over in slow motion so you could see the people running, falling and burning. It was extremely graphic. Horribly graphic.
And then they showed that there were hundreds of planes - all across the US and they were flying into crowded places.
I ran terrified in to where R. was sleeping - yelling and trying to wake her to tell her of the danger and to get comfort from my fear. She wouldn't wake despite my desperate shaking and pulling of her arm.
And then I saw the plane flying sideways outside along the windows of the house.
Cue scream.
Analysis:
I thought he was angry.
The dream was so bad that I was actually nauseated when I got out of bed in an effort to re-enter reality.
Hours later, when I rose for the day, I realized it didn't take much effort to figure out why I had the dream.
You may have seen the headline in the past few days about how Fox News inadvertently aired a suicide on live TV.
They were following a police chase live, apparently that is a popular news story since the OJ Simpson excitement of years ago.
Instead of surrendering peacefully, the suspect got out of his car, pointed the gun at his head, and - as the news anchor hurriedly commanded to "cut" the scene - shot himself.
Of course, websites picked up this story and had the video available so you could watch it for yourself.
I clicked on the video...without even considering the ramifications.
But it wouldn't pull up and I returned to my work day.
This was all forgotten until about 11pm when I woke up after several hours of sleep and checked my phone. I know they say not to do this but I do it every night.
There, in front of me, was an article on Slate chastising websites for posting this video - pointing out that it risks sensationalizing suicide.
Even in my sleepy state I questioned myself as to whether it was a good idea for ME to watch the video and I realized how stupid I had been to click on it earlier without even thinking about the impact it could have on me.
I drifted back to sleep only to dream this...
I was sitting in my living room watching a Denver football game on TV. Suddenly the broadcast was interrupted by news media saying that multiple planes had been hijacked across the US and that they were following the story live. I watched in horror as they suddenly showed the Denver football stadium as a plan approached. I saw the people fleeing and screaming. And then I saw the plane hit the stadium.
The broadcasters kept replaying the video over and over in slow motion so you could see the people running, falling and burning. It was extremely graphic. Horribly graphic.
And then they showed that there were hundreds of planes - all across the US and they were flying into crowded places.
I ran terrified in to where R. was sleeping - yelling and trying to wake her to tell her of the danger and to get comfort from my fear. She wouldn't wake despite my desperate shaking and pulling of her arm.
And then I saw the plane flying sideways outside along the windows of the house.
Cue scream.
Analysis:
- Clearly there is a 9/11 theme - an event that I had a somewhat interesting reaction to considering I was 40 weeks pregnant when it happened and gave birth 8 days later
- The news showing death is clearly about the suicide video
- The part about R. not waking up - even though it was her in the dream I don't think it really was her (if that makes any sense) - I think that I was actually about me trying to "wake Shawn up" to alert him to the danger (of his ultimate suicide) and that it was too late. The trying to wake scene was a familiar one of trying to get Shawn up after he had passed out.
I thought he was angry.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
The Invisible Photo
I recently went down to the basement and waded through boxes to where I had buried the photo albums from...my youth.
It's funny how I see my life before the divorce as my youth and my life since the divorce as...oldness.
I had the thought that I would find some photos of Shawn and of the two of us together to scan and post.
As I flipped through the albums I was careful not to think too much over any one picture (other than to notice I once had a bikini body!!) - I'm still so cautious about "going there" - but I couldn't find the picture I sought.
There were plenty of snapshots of us outdoors enjoying our life together with our pets. Shots where we looked young and tan and carefree.
But these shots weren't satisfying the itch that needed scratching.
I realized what I was looking for was a photo of Shawn as I remember him at the end. Sitting in a chair with a blank look on his face and a beer tipping precariously from his grip.
Why did I want to find this photo?
It doesn't even exist except in my mind.
I mean who, in their right mind, takes a photo of their husband in a drunken stupor.
It's not an attractive look.
In fact it is down right disgusting.
It robs you of any respect you once had for a person.
Do I want this photo to prove something to myself?
Do I need to see it now to shut off any sadness or pity I might feel?
Do I need to see it to hang on to the anger?
It's funny how I see my life before the divorce as my youth and my life since the divorce as...oldness.
I had the thought that I would find some photos of Shawn and of the two of us together to scan and post.
As I flipped through the albums I was careful not to think too much over any one picture (other than to notice I once had a bikini body!!) - I'm still so cautious about "going there" - but I couldn't find the picture I sought.
There were plenty of snapshots of us outdoors enjoying our life together with our pets. Shots where we looked young and tan and carefree.
But these shots weren't satisfying the itch that needed scratching.
I realized what I was looking for was a photo of Shawn as I remember him at the end. Sitting in a chair with a blank look on his face and a beer tipping precariously from his grip.
Why did I want to find this photo?
It doesn't even exist except in my mind.
I mean who, in their right mind, takes a photo of their husband in a drunken stupor.
It's not an attractive look.
In fact it is down right disgusting.
It robs you of any respect you once had for a person.
Do I want this photo to prove something to myself?
Do I need to see it now to shut off any sadness or pity I might feel?
Do I need to see it to hang on to the anger?
Monday, September 24, 2012
I'm scared
My thoughts don't sound very eloquent in my head but I feel I need to at least spill them out on the screen. Perhaps I can clean them up later.
EMDR involves reliving traumatic experiences in your life while retraining the physiological reactions in your body - a person is basically making new neural pathways. It has been shown to be effective for PTSD in numerous studies and I DO believe it will work for me because: a) as much as I've tried to ignore, I do have a number of what most most people would describe as "traumatic experiences" in my life (Ugh! I hate to think of myself as "that person") and b) I have had a few instances recently where I was able to recognize myself having a physiological response to someone else's actions and I can recognize that it is not about me just being emotional but, rather, how my brain learned - starting at the age of 2 - how to react when there was "danger" around me. The only problem was I'm not a very good judge of what is dangerous because, in my house, danger came out of nowhere.
So my decision for this week is to decide which traumatic experiences I want to start with...
Do I start chronologically working forwards from childhood? Or backwards? Or with the most traumatic experiences of them all? Or maybe begin with the "little t" traumas? With such a menu to choose from it is hard to know.
As I reflect on this decision I realize that the incidents in my life that would seem to be the most traumatic aren't the ones that cause me the most pain. Why is this? Is it like this for everyone?
Logically you would think that having my feet beaten with a board all day for leaving my toys on the stairs and ultimately being lifted and thrown across the room like a rag doll would be one to start with but...the part of this that is traumatic is the feeling I had this day, and many others, of being summoned from my room and not knowing what awaited me. It wasn't the actual beating that was traumatic, it was the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen or when it was going to end. So there's my first one to re-experience.
The second trauma I have chosen to relive in an effort to retrain is the sound of my Mother crying and begging my father not to hurt her. She took the brunt of his anger. As long as I stayed in my bedroom and was quiet I generally was safe. I want to get rid of the anger and helplessness I felt when I peered through the floor vent and tried to see what he was doing to her. The VENT is really fixated in my memory as a traumatic visual. It was a symbol of being cut off from what was going on downstairs. I can still feel the cold metal against my face as I tried to see and listen. I can still hear the sound of it opening and closing. I can still remember how to open it s-l-o-w-l-y so he wouldn't know.
And third. Can I stop here? Can I be done if I work through these three?
Third is the moment when I asked Shawn, when he was in the middle of a black out, "Would you ever hurt me?"
And his icy reply was, "Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
That trauma was different than the others because it was one specific event. It was instantaneous. What followed that statement was not traumatic! It was that instant that I realized, "This man could hurt me."
EMDR involves reliving traumatic experiences in your life while retraining the physiological reactions in your body - a person is basically making new neural pathways. It has been shown to be effective for PTSD in numerous studies and I DO believe it will work for me because: a) as much as I've tried to ignore, I do have a number of what most most people would describe as "traumatic experiences" in my life (Ugh! I hate to think of myself as "that person") and b) I have had a few instances recently where I was able to recognize myself having a physiological response to someone else's actions and I can recognize that it is not about me just being emotional but, rather, how my brain learned - starting at the age of 2 - how to react when there was "danger" around me. The only problem was I'm not a very good judge of what is dangerous because, in my house, danger came out of nowhere.
So my decision for this week is to decide which traumatic experiences I want to start with...
Do I start chronologically working forwards from childhood? Or backwards? Or with the most traumatic experiences of them all? Or maybe begin with the "little t" traumas? With such a menu to choose from it is hard to know.
As I reflect on this decision I realize that the incidents in my life that would seem to be the most traumatic aren't the ones that cause me the most pain. Why is this? Is it like this for everyone?
Logically you would think that having my feet beaten with a board all day for leaving my toys on the stairs and ultimately being lifted and thrown across the room like a rag doll would be one to start with but...the part of this that is traumatic is the feeling I had this day, and many others, of being summoned from my room and not knowing what awaited me. It wasn't the actual beating that was traumatic, it was the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen or when it was going to end. So there's my first one to re-experience.
The second trauma I have chosen to relive in an effort to retrain is the sound of my Mother crying and begging my father not to hurt her. She took the brunt of his anger. As long as I stayed in my bedroom and was quiet I generally was safe. I want to get rid of the anger and helplessness I felt when I peered through the floor vent and tried to see what he was doing to her. The VENT is really fixated in my memory as a traumatic visual. It was a symbol of being cut off from what was going on downstairs. I can still feel the cold metal against my face as I tried to see and listen. I can still hear the sound of it opening and closing. I can still remember how to open it s-l-o-w-l-y so he wouldn't know.
And third. Can I stop here? Can I be done if I work through these three?
Third is the moment when I asked Shawn, when he was in the middle of a black out, "Would you ever hurt me?"
And his icy reply was, "Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
That trauma was different than the others because it was one specific event. It was instantaneous. What followed that statement was not traumatic! It was that instant that I realized, "This man could hurt me."
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I just came across the “Life History” I completed in 1991 prior to beginning with my first therapist in college. It asked me to list my “five main fears”.
Here they were at age 20:
1. Being made fun of
2. Sounding stupid
3. Appearing childish
4. Death
5. Being criticized
I described my home atmosphere as a child as “very routine oriented – no spontaneity except when something bad happened”.
I wrote that "punishments as a child" were“humiliation, sent to room for a week (allowed to come out for school or to go to bathroom), beating and ignoring”
In answer to the question, “How would someone who likes you describe you?” I said, “Jennifer is generous, kind, enthusiastic, intelligent, happy, sensitive and kind-hearted”.
And to the question of, “How would someone who dislikes you describe you?” I wrote, “Jennifer talks too much, is stupid, awkward looking, childish, thinks she’s smart and is too dumb to know she’s not, simple-minded and boring.”
Ouch!
It is interesting for me to revisit my self-assessment from 21 years past as I began some very difficult work with a new therapist. After a couple of sessions of getting an overview of my life history she had some interesting observations... First, no shocker here...I have some pretty serious trauma work for PTSD - both from my childhood and my marriage - that I haven't dealt with (unless you count convincing myself "it wasn't that bad" as a form of "dealing"). I am going to be trying something called EMDR to work through these experiences and change how I react physiologically to these memories. Based on what I know so far, it is going to involve reliving these painful memories while learning a technique for reprocessing them. It can be difficult but has proven effective in the long run. You can read more about it here.
Second, she observed how I really was the one holding everything together during my years with Shawn. I had no one (sober) to support me when it came to the business, the finances, the house, the kids, the marriage. And so I became what she called "Super Functional". Yeah, that probably describes me. And I take that title with pride BUT...clearly it is not sustainable over the course of a lifetime. She suggested I may have reached a point in my life where I don't have to function for everyone in every area of life. Crazy!
Third...oh where is the third?? My mind is swimming with all of this.
Just when I thought I was getting "better" because, "Hey! I've dedicated a whole three months to processing the past 5 years of my life while simultaneously ignoring some of the foundations that found me in the situation I did".
Now I have a lot of hard work to do.
I will do this for me. I will do this for my kids. I will do it for my Mom. I will do it for my partner. I will do it because, as far as we know, we only get ONE LIFE and I want to make the most of it because it is so precious.
Here they were at age 20:
1. Being made fun of
2. Sounding stupid
3. Appearing childish
4. Death
5. Being criticized
I described my home atmosphere as a child as “very routine oriented – no spontaneity except when something bad happened”.
I wrote that "punishments as a child" were“humiliation, sent to room for a week (allowed to come out for school or to go to bathroom), beating and ignoring”
In answer to the question, “How would someone who likes you describe you?” I said, “Jennifer is generous, kind, enthusiastic, intelligent, happy, sensitive and kind-hearted”.
And to the question of, “How would someone who dislikes you describe you?” I wrote, “Jennifer talks too much, is stupid, awkward looking, childish, thinks she’s smart and is too dumb to know she’s not, simple-minded and boring.”
Ouch!
It is interesting for me to revisit my self-assessment from 21 years past as I began some very difficult work with a new therapist. After a couple of sessions of getting an overview of my life history she had some interesting observations... First, no shocker here...I have some pretty serious trauma work for PTSD - both from my childhood and my marriage - that I haven't dealt with (unless you count convincing myself "it wasn't that bad" as a form of "dealing"). I am going to be trying something called EMDR to work through these experiences and change how I react physiologically to these memories. Based on what I know so far, it is going to involve reliving these painful memories while learning a technique for reprocessing them. It can be difficult but has proven effective in the long run. You can read more about it here.
Second, she observed how I really was the one holding everything together during my years with Shawn. I had no one (sober) to support me when it came to the business, the finances, the house, the kids, the marriage. And so I became what she called "Super Functional". Yeah, that probably describes me. And I take that title with pride BUT...clearly it is not sustainable over the course of a lifetime. She suggested I may have reached a point in my life where I don't have to function for everyone in every area of life. Crazy!
Third...oh where is the third?? My mind is swimming with all of this.
Just when I thought I was getting "better" because, "Hey! I've dedicated a whole three months to processing the past 5 years of my life while simultaneously ignoring some of the foundations that found me in the situation I did".
Now I have a lot of hard work to do.
I will do this for me. I will do this for my kids. I will do it for my Mom. I will do it for my partner. I will do it because, as far as we know, we only get ONE LIFE and I want to make the most of it because it is so precious.
Seepage
I was foolish enough to recently wonder if I was "in remission" from my grieving or maybe even...done.
Ha!
It turns out that after the very raw grieving the evening of my birthday I must have subconsciously put a very thick bandage around the gash. And, as tends to happen to a gaping wound left untreated, after a period of time the gunk starts to seep through even the thickest of bandages.
As you may recall, when I first resumed writing, it was because I had left my longtime therapist in tears thoroughly convinced that she "hated me". I poked fun at myself for the patheticness of the thought but, of course, it still hurt.
What was really happening was that the universe was using this as an opportunity to demonstrate to me, once again...
"IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, JENNIFER!"
Yes, you see, the very day I returned home from a visit to my new therapist (more on that later) I found a letter in my mailbox from this person who supposedly hated me.
It was a goodbye letter.
The ovarian cancer that she had fought for two years has quit responding to treatment and she is now receiving Hospice care in her home.
She didn't hate me.
She was dying.
And I suppose that might make someone a little impatient with someone who was stuck not dealing with her own emotions.
Thank you, Dr. Peters, for teaching me, "You don't have to believe everything you think."
For helping me learn to detach from my emotions and rob them of the power over me.
I promise I will continue the hard work.
And, maybe next time, when I try to convince myself, "This person doesn't like me." I will remeber that IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT ME!
Ha!
It turns out that after the very raw grieving the evening of my birthday I must have subconsciously put a very thick bandage around the gash. And, as tends to happen to a gaping wound left untreated, after a period of time the gunk starts to seep through even the thickest of bandages.
As you may recall, when I first resumed writing, it was because I had left my longtime therapist in tears thoroughly convinced that she "hated me". I poked fun at myself for the patheticness of the thought but, of course, it still hurt.
What was really happening was that the universe was using this as an opportunity to demonstrate to me, once again...
"IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, JENNIFER!"
Yes, you see, the very day I returned home from a visit to my new therapist (more on that later) I found a letter in my mailbox from this person who supposedly hated me.
It was a goodbye letter.
The ovarian cancer that she had fought for two years has quit responding to treatment and she is now receiving Hospice care in her home.
She didn't hate me.
She was dying.
And I suppose that might make someone a little impatient with someone who was stuck not dealing with her own emotions.
Thank you, Dr. Peters, for teaching me, "You don't have to believe everything you think."
For helping me learn to detach from my emotions and rob them of the power over me.
I promise I will continue the hard work.
And, maybe next time, when I try to convince myself, "This person doesn't like me." I will remeber that IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT ME!
Life Lesson - Part Deuce
Epilogue: Thank you, Universe, for the follow-up lesson of letting people know EVERY DAY that they are making a difference in your life.
I just wrote to Dr. Peters thanking her for the things she taught me. When I went to look up her address I found the update on her website.
She went on to the next stage of the journey yesterday. She did not suffer long in her final days on earth.
I will still mail the card. I believe she knows she made a difference and perhaps it will be a comfort to her family.
I just wrote to Dr. Peters thanking her for the things she taught me. When I went to look up her address I found the update on her website.
She went on to the next stage of the journey yesterday. She did not suffer long in her final days on earth.
I will still mail the card. I believe she knows she made a difference and perhaps it will be a comfort to her family.
Authenticity
Call me a flip-flopper if you must but, after struggling for the past week, receiving emails from people saying I was helping them through their own journey of grief, and thinking about being authentic...I have decided to keep my blog open to all who wish to read it.
I can only claim to speak what is true for me and how I interpreted the events in my life.
I have gone back into old posts and used a pseudonym where I felt it was important to protect the individual because I have grown to care for them.
Please, if you are sharing this blog with someone, do it because it will be helpful to them. If you think it would be hurtful for them to read my private thoughts, please protect them, they have already been through pain that they are journeying through on their own.
In peace,
Jennifer
I can only claim to speak what is true for me and how I interpreted the events in my life.
I have gone back into old posts and used a pseudonym where I felt it was important to protect the individual because I have grown to care for them.
Please, if you are sharing this blog with someone, do it because it will be helpful to them. If you think it would be hurtful for them to read my private thoughts, please protect them, they have already been through pain that they are journeying through on their own.
In peace,
Jennifer
Sunday, September 16, 2012
By Invitation Only
The personal writings on this blog are intended to be read by invitation only. I chose to do this in order to allow myself to write freely and explore my feelings without fear of hurting others.
I had realized all along it was extraordinarily risky to write in a public forum using real names and had thought many times recently about changing to pseudonyms and removing personal photos. However, because I do truly wish to protect the innocent bystanders in my life/Shawn's life and know that pseudonyms do not truly make things private, I have temporarily converted all postings to draft status.
If you are someone who has been reading my blog, either by personal invitation or by recommendation from a friend who was personally invited, please contact me at jensbrooks@live.com for continued access to the blog.
I will be adding many new postings in the coming weeks.
In peace,
Jennifer
I had realized all along it was extraordinarily risky to write in a public forum using real names and had thought many times recently about changing to pseudonyms and removing personal photos. However, because I do truly wish to protect the innocent bystanders in my life/Shawn's life and know that pseudonyms do not truly make things private, I have temporarily converted all postings to draft status.
If you are someone who has been reading my blog, either by personal invitation or by recommendation from a friend who was personally invited, please contact me at jensbrooks@live.com for continued access to the blog.
I will be adding many new postings in the coming weeks.
In peace,
Jennifer
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Don't touch that dial
Work has gotten in the way of fingers touching keyboard. But it hasn't stopped a host of new thoughts and feelings.
Next week looks to be prolific.
Next week looks to be prolific.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Or...
Since my birthday I have felt less tormented - maybe even a sense of peace. And today I noticed that I may have even had a 24-hour time period go by where I didn't think of Shawn and "what he did".
As recently as a week ago there was a constant track running in my head that thought about Shawn's death regardless of what else I was doing. Almost like a program running in the background on your computer...you can't necessarily see that it is there or what it is doing unless you look for it...and yet it is there slowing everything else down.
Could it be that I am "done grieving"?
Or am I just in remission?
Or maybe I just needed a break after the intensity of the emotions on my birthday and I have subconsciously shut them down?
Or maybe it is that the kids have been struggling more in the past week and so my focus is on them?
Lily is clearly feeling some anger. I have finally learned that when she is grouchy, impatient and most notably needing to control everyone and everything around her that the underlying emotion is anger. My observation is that, for her, this emotion has been the hardest of all the grieving stages. She was never an angry child and I don't think she knows what to do with this feeling.
Lennon has been...a mixed up combination of 11 year old boy hormones. Maybe he is grieving somewhere in his little Asperger's brain or maybe he really is as matter-of-fact as he seems about his Dad's death. I do know that no amount of gentle, patient or humorous reminders, removal of screen time or positive goal setting seem to work to get him to pick up his towel, brush his teeth, put in the rubber bands for his braces, shut the door or put the toilet seat down.
Perhaps it is time for me to do some writing about the L's.
As recently as a week ago there was a constant track running in my head that thought about Shawn's death regardless of what else I was doing. Almost like a program running in the background on your computer...you can't necessarily see that it is there or what it is doing unless you look for it...and yet it is there slowing everything else down.
Could it be that I am "done grieving"?
Or am I just in remission?
Or maybe I just needed a break after the intensity of the emotions on my birthday and I have subconsciously shut them down?
Or maybe it is that the kids have been struggling more in the past week and so my focus is on them?
Lily is clearly feeling some anger. I have finally learned that when she is grouchy, impatient and most notably needing to control everyone and everything around her that the underlying emotion is anger. My observation is that, for her, this emotion has been the hardest of all the grieving stages. She was never an angry child and I don't think she knows what to do with this feeling.
Lennon has been...a mixed up combination of 11 year old boy hormones. Maybe he is grieving somewhere in his little Asperger's brain or maybe he really is as matter-of-fact as he seems about his Dad's death. I do know that no amount of gentle, patient or humorous reminders, removal of screen time or positive goal setting seem to work to get him to pick up his towel, brush his teeth, put in the rubber bands for his braces, shut the door or put the toilet seat down.
Perhaps it is time for me to do some writing about the L's.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Thoughts from Others
With permission, I am sharing a few of comments sent privately to me by friends who are reading this blog...your comments help me process and understand. With love, J.
From MKH: I think it's important that you made a decision to not put your kids through an abusive childhood; just imagine what a strong message you sent by getting out of the situation you were in. As someone on the outside looking in I do believe he did what he did on your birthday to be a forever reminder... I can understand his wife not wanting to acknowledge that because in a warped sense it undermines her importance to him. I think it literally "killed" him to see you happy and strong without him. Just a guess. He certainly didn't have the last word and I believe that this will be the hardest birthday but will only get easier as time goes on. I think it was very profound and says volumes about you that you would rather live the last night 100 times rather than the night in 2006 once. Since I, too, grew up in an abusive household I can relate to that so well. You always have been and always will be totally AMAZING and no one can take that away from you!! Once again, Happy Happy Birthday! And no, do not change the date of celebration!
From LMH: I'm glad you don't have to live those moments again either. Hopefully through Shawn's death the cycle will be broken. Your kids won't think that is normal and how relationships should be. You are strong and an excellent example for them.
From MKH: I think it's important that you made a decision to not put your kids through an abusive childhood; just imagine what a strong message you sent by getting out of the situation you were in. As someone on the outside looking in I do believe he did what he did on your birthday to be a forever reminder... I can understand his wife not wanting to acknowledge that because in a warped sense it undermines her importance to him. I think it literally "killed" him to see you happy and strong without him. Just a guess. He certainly didn't have the last word and I believe that this will be the hardest birthday but will only get easier as time goes on. I think it was very profound and says volumes about you that you would rather live the last night 100 times rather than the night in 2006 once. Since I, too, grew up in an abusive household I can relate to that so well. You always have been and always will be totally AMAZING and no one can take that away from you!! Once again, Happy Happy Birthday! And no, do not change the date of celebration!
From LMH: I'm glad you don't have to live those moments again either. Hopefully through Shawn's death the cycle will be broken. Your kids won't think that is normal and how relationships should be. You are strong and an excellent example for them.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
How it Went
I made it all the way until dinner time before I found myself curled up, in the fetal position, on the floor of the closet sobbing so hard it sounded like a cross between howling and laughter.
I guess it was probably something that had to happen at some point. Aalthough I've certainly cried along this journey, not once in the past 365 days had a let myself "go there".
I knew when Lily weepily clung to me as I dropped her off to catch the school bus that it was unlikely I was going to make it through the day without crying.
I couldn't help it as the day wore on. I kept marking certain times and thinking of what I was doing last year at that time.
At 12:41AM I woke up, sat bolt upright in bed and thought, "This is when he did it". Even thought I had always just assumed it was "sometime after midnight" I realized as I laid there doing the math that it would be about right. Leave the car at midnight once it was officially my birthday, hike two miles at his usual walking pace of 4mph, spend about 10 minutes contemplating...
It didn't take too much to set me off. The kids were being hyper and R. came home exhausted and cranky from a week of hell at work.
I couldn't let the kids see me crashing - it would be too scary for them - so I sent them outside to wait for dinner.
Poor R. took the brunt of it. There may have been some accusations hurled about how my birthday had turned into exactly what I had feared...me plastering a fake smile on my face. And it was all her fault, of course.
She spoke the truth when she said, "I tried for weeks to ask what you wanted to do for your birthday and you never answered me. There is nothing I could have done to make your birthday the way you want it because you decided months ago it was going to be bad".
So there you have it...
It wasn't R. who spoiled my birthday.
It wasn't even Shawn who spoiled my birthday.
It was ME!! I was the one who was spoiling my birthday!
I ended up eating dinner with just the kids on the deck. It was a beautiful, golden evening with a light breeze. Perfect Colorado weather.
So I got up and sat in a ray of sun that was shining across the grass. The perfect angle to warm your back.
Lily followed me and I told her, "Mommy just want to sit on the grass. No talking, okay?" She snuggled in and put her head on my shoulder and asked, "Are you sad? About Daddy?" I nodded and then we sat there and quietly cried together. A few moments later Lennon sat on my other side and quietly hugged me.
And then one of the dogs started barking next door. We laughed and got up to go visit and get some of those healing dog kisses.
The kids wanted to stay outside. I went in to find R.
And then I found it within me to ask for what I needed.
Despite me vacillating between shouting that I didn't want to have a damn cake and that we should throw it in the garbage then crying that we HAD to do the cake that night because I "wanted to get it over with" and if we didn't "it would mean Shawn won"...
I asked Robin if she would go in the kitchen, with the kids, get the cake ready and then call me in so I could feel special.
I laid on the bed and read until Lily came tiptoeing in. I was calm in a way had not been all day.
Everyone sang. I blew out the candles. My smile was genuine.
They all formed a circle around me, said something about me that they were thankful for and then they gave me a group hug.
Happy Birthday to Me!
I guess it was probably something that had to happen at some point. Aalthough I've certainly cried along this journey, not once in the past 365 days had a let myself "go there".
I knew when Lily weepily clung to me as I dropped her off to catch the school bus that it was unlikely I was going to make it through the day without crying.
I couldn't help it as the day wore on. I kept marking certain times and thinking of what I was doing last year at that time.
At 12:41AM I woke up, sat bolt upright in bed and thought, "This is when he did it". Even thought I had always just assumed it was "sometime after midnight" I realized as I laid there doing the math that it would be about right. Leave the car at midnight once it was officially my birthday, hike two miles at his usual walking pace of 4mph, spend about 10 minutes contemplating...
It didn't take too much to set me off. The kids were being hyper and R. came home exhausted and cranky from a week of hell at work.
I couldn't let the kids see me crashing - it would be too scary for them - so I sent them outside to wait for dinner.
Poor R. took the brunt of it. There may have been some accusations hurled about how my birthday had turned into exactly what I had feared...me plastering a fake smile on my face. And it was all her fault, of course.
She spoke the truth when she said, "I tried for weeks to ask what you wanted to do for your birthday and you never answered me. There is nothing I could have done to make your birthday the way you want it because you decided months ago it was going to be bad".
So there you have it...
It wasn't R. who spoiled my birthday.
It wasn't even Shawn who spoiled my birthday.
It was ME!! I was the one who was spoiling my birthday!
I ended up eating dinner with just the kids on the deck. It was a beautiful, golden evening with a light breeze. Perfect Colorado weather.
So I got up and sat in a ray of sun that was shining across the grass. The perfect angle to warm your back.
Lily followed me and I told her, "Mommy just want to sit on the grass. No talking, okay?" She snuggled in and put her head on my shoulder and asked, "Are you sad? About Daddy?" I nodded and then we sat there and quietly cried together. A few moments later Lennon sat on my other side and quietly hugged me.
And then one of the dogs started barking next door. We laughed and got up to go visit and get some of those healing dog kisses.
The kids wanted to stay outside. I went in to find R.
And then I found it within me to ask for what I needed.
Despite me vacillating between shouting that I didn't want to have a damn cake and that we should throw it in the garbage then crying that we HAD to do the cake that night because I "wanted to get it over with" and if we didn't "it would mean Shawn won"...
I asked Robin if she would go in the kitchen, with the kids, get the cake ready and then call me in so I could feel special.
I laid on the bed and read until Lily came tiptoeing in. I was calm in a way had not been all day.
Everyone sang. I blew out the candles. My smile was genuine.
They all formed a circle around me, said something about me that they were thankful for and then they gave me a group hug.
Happy Birthday to Me!
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
A Squonk
The lyrics I quoted to Shawn in our last email exchange are from the song, "Any Major Dude" by Steely Dan
It was one of our favorite songs by one of our favorite bands and I knew that it would resonate with him.
As I read the full lyrics after Shawn's death I saw a reference to a "squonk" in the line...
"Have you ever seen a squonk's tears? Well, look at mine"
And, of course, I got to wondering, "What IS a squonk??"
It turns out...
"The Squonk is a legendary creature reputed to live in the Hemlock forests of northern Pennsylvania. Legends of squonks probably originated in the late nineteenth century, at the height of Pennsylvania's importance in the timber industry.
The legend holds that the creature's skin is ill-fitting, and covered with warts and other blemishes, and so it hides from plain sight and spends much of its time weeping.[2] Hunters who have attempted to catch squonks have found that the creature is capable of evading capture by dissolving completely into a pool of tears and bubbles when cornered. A certain J.P. Wentling is supposed to have coaxed one into a bag, which, while he was carrying it home, suddenly lightened. On inspection, he found that the bag contained only the liquid remains of the sad animal."
I think Shawn was a squonk.
It was one of our favorite songs by one of our favorite bands and I knew that it would resonate with him.
As I read the full lyrics after Shawn's death I saw a reference to a "squonk" in the line...
"Have you ever seen a squonk's tears? Well, look at mine"
And, of course, I got to wondering, "What IS a squonk??"
It turns out...
"The Squonk is a legendary creature reputed to live in the Hemlock forests of northern Pennsylvania. Legends of squonks probably originated in the late nineteenth century, at the height of Pennsylvania's importance in the timber industry.
The legend holds that the creature's skin is ill-fitting, and covered with warts and other blemishes, and so it hides from plain sight and spends much of its time weeping.[2] Hunters who have attempted to catch squonks have found that the creature is capable of evading capture by dissolving completely into a pool of tears and bubbles when cornered. A certain J.P. Wentling is supposed to have coaxed one into a bag, which, while he was carrying it home, suddenly lightened. On inspection, he found that the bag contained only the liquid remains of the sad animal."
I think Shawn was a squonk.
My Last Email Exchange with Shawn (Identifying Information Deleted to Make it Difficult for the Uninvited to find the Blog :-)
To Jennifer
From: Shawn
Sent: Fri 8/26/11 1:49 PM
I listened to this today, thanks.
On Wed, Aug 24, 2011 at 12:12 PM, Jenniferwrote:
Everything will be okay.
J~
________________________________________
Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2011 19:27:36 -0600
Subject: Re: Announcement From [Shawn’s Bike Shop]
From: Shawn
To: Jennifer
Thank you. I am sad but relieved at the same time, it has been so incredibly difficult for three years, it hasn't been much fun.
On Tue, Aug 23, 2011 at 6:01 PM, Jenniferwrote:
I'm sorry to hear the news. I'm sure it must have been a very difficult decision. I know you put everything you had into the business and you made a difference for a lot of people over the years.
Jennifer
________________________________________
Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2011 17:13:59 -0600
Subject: Announcement From [Shawn’s Bike Shop]
From: xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com
Dear Friends, Family, Customers and Vendors,
Effective October 31, 2011, [The Bike Shop] will be closing permanently. I have enjoyed over thirteen great years serving the cycling community.
I am grateful to everyone in the cycling community, and especially to my loyal clients who have put their trust in me over the years.
Starting today, everything in the store is going to be 25% off of regular price. As we get closer to October 31st, we will also be liquidating all of our tools and equipment as well as store fixtures and furnishings.
Starting August 25, I will be beginning the next chapter of my bicycle industry career as the certified technician at the [big box outdoor store]. I am very excited to join such a great company and to be able to continue to work in the industry and city about which I am so passionate. I will be working at [big box outdoor store] part time and at [the bike shop] full time until October 31st, at which point I will assume full time responsibilities at [big box outdoor store].
I have just a few more details. If anyone is interested in hiring a hard-working, trustworthy, dedicated employee, contact me regarding [employee’s name], who has been working for me for over 2 years and would make a great addition to any company. Next, if there is anyone out there interested in taking over the lease on our gorgeous Linden Street location, contact our commercial realtor, [Realtor Name].
Thanks Again To All Of You,
Shawn
From: Shawn
Sent: Fri 8/26/11 1:49 PM
I listened to this today, thanks.
On Wed, Aug 24, 2011 at 12:12 PM, Jennifer
Everything will be okay.
"Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend
Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again
When the demon is at your door
In the morning it won't be there no more
Any major dude will tell you"
J~
________________________________________
Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2011 19:27:36 -0600
Subject: Re: Announcement From [Shawn’s Bike Shop]
From: Shawn
To: Jennifer
Thank you. I am sad but relieved at the same time, it has been so incredibly difficult for three years, it hasn't been much fun.
On Tue, Aug 23, 2011 at 6:01 PM, Jennifer
I'm sorry to hear the news. I'm sure it must have been a very difficult decision. I know you put everything you had into the business and you made a difference for a lot of people over the years.
Jennifer
________________________________________
Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2011 17:13:59 -0600
Subject: Announcement From [Shawn’s Bike Shop]
From: xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com
Dear Friends, Family, Customers and Vendors,
Effective October 31, 2011, [The Bike Shop] will be closing permanently. I have enjoyed over thirteen great years serving the cycling community.
I am grateful to everyone in the cycling community, and especially to my loyal clients who have put their trust in me over the years.
Starting today, everything in the store is going to be 25% off of regular price. As we get closer to October 31st, we will also be liquidating all of our tools and equipment as well as store fixtures and furnishings.
Starting August 25, I will be beginning the next chapter of my bicycle industry career as the certified technician at the [big box outdoor store]. I am very excited to join such a great company and to be able to continue to work in the industry and city about which I am so passionate. I will be working at [big box outdoor store] part time and at [the bike shop] full time until October 31st, at which point I will assume full time responsibilities at [big box outdoor store].
I have just a few more details. If anyone is interested in hiring a hard-working, trustworthy, dedicated employee, contact me regarding [employee’s name], who has been working for me for over 2 years and would make a great addition to any company. Next, if there is anyone out there interested in taking over the lease on our gorgeous Linden Street location, contact our commercial realtor, [Realtor Name].
Thanks Again To All Of You,
Shawn
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
August 28, 2012
August 28, 2012 - 7:26pm MST
My anxiety level is rising unexpectedly.
Interestingly, I wasn't consciously thinking of this time last year but, after working so hard over the past 5 years to be in touch with how I am feeling emotionally at any given moment, I recognized the physical symptoms of the anxiety and had to stop and think, "What is going on? Why am I feeling anxious?"
Oh, yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh....
That's right.
I shouldn't be surprised that those thoughts are running in the background like some sort of computer spybot.
It's not helping that the kids Grandfather, my Mom's husband of 25+ years and a man who is much more than a "step-father" to me is in the hospital suffering from the effects of chemo.
The superstitious part of me fears that something will go terribly wrong and that we will lose him on my birthday.
Only because I have learned to fear the worst in life. It doesn't take a therapist to figure out I learned that coping mechanism to protect myself. When the bad things happen I am not shocked by them because I have usually imagined something as terrible (but of course never the exact thing).
Still, I am stricken with this fear of loss right now. It's with me every day but very intensified right now.
I suppose, as much as I've tried to prepare myself intellectually for the host of emotions I will be feeling in the next 48 hours, they will be wholly unexpected in how they manifest themselves.
And, it's not just me to think about...
Lennon - He is silent on the matter of it being the anniversary of his Dad's death. My guess is he is dreading what he expects to be a house of grouchy and depressed people. I haven't tried to engage him in how he might be feeling because, for him, it is most comfortable to talk about his Dad on an intellectual level, share happy memories while occasionally acknowledging times when Daddy was "angry" and try to stay out of the thick of the girl's grief. I did notice him come downstairs wearing his Dad's baseball cap and sunglasses this morning. I think he is honoring in his own silent way.
Lily - Sweet Lily. She was sad last night and said she didn't think it was "because of Daddy" but she didn't know why she felt that way and wondered "what she could do about it". We got up at sunrise this morning and went for a walk together, we petted a Welsh Corgi puppy and cuddled on the front step. Tonight she said she was sad because it will be a year tomorrow. We talked about how, even though we will have sad feelings tomorrow, it is my birthday and it is important for me to spend it with my family doing happy things. We talked about honoring her Dad's memory, not by remembering this sad thing he did but by remembering his good. I told her I had been thinking today about nice things he had done on my birthday. I also shared with her that I had been writing a lot about her Dad and that I thought I could forgive him. She talked about how sometimes she thinks she can forgive him and sometimes she thinks she can't. Such a mature wonderful girl! She amazes me with her capacity to ponder life.
Shawn's Parents - I'm going to guess that tomorrow will be brutal for them. I don't believe they have had any professional help or support from other suicide survivors. They don't ask about the kids grieving and they don't talk about theirs.
Shawn's Sister - Unknown. This is a woman who was able to read a very clinical history of her brother's life at the funeral without even a quaver in her voice. Very stoic. A lot invested in keeping it together.
Amber - she told me she had decided to consider August 28th his date of death, regardless of what the death certificate said, because that was the last time she saw him - and maybe because she doesn't want to acknowledge that he chose my birthday as the day to die. At any rate, she texted me yesterday to see how I was doing and was talking as if yesterday, the 27th, was the day he had died. Perplexing as to why she is off two days now but I honor her need to grieve his loss on whatever day is right for her. She said she is replaying all of the events as if they are a bad movie.
Shawn's Friends - Unknown. They have not reached out to me even though we were mutual friends while Shawn and I were married. Maybe they blame his death on me...maybe they think if I hadn't "left" Shawn he would have never done this. This hurts but I haven't spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on this situation. I would like it if they reached out to me someday, though.
Who else? Who else will be remembering Shawn tomorrow?
My anxiety level is rising unexpectedly.
Interestingly, I wasn't consciously thinking of this time last year but, after working so hard over the past 5 years to be in touch with how I am feeling emotionally at any given moment, I recognized the physical symptoms of the anxiety and had to stop and think, "What is going on? Why am I feeling anxious?"
Oh, yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh....
That's right.
I shouldn't be surprised that those thoughts are running in the background like some sort of computer spybot.
It's not helping that the kids Grandfather, my Mom's husband of 25+ years and a man who is much more than a "step-father" to me is in the hospital suffering from the effects of chemo.
The superstitious part of me fears that something will go terribly wrong and that we will lose him on my birthday.
Only because I have learned to fear the worst in life. It doesn't take a therapist to figure out I learned that coping mechanism to protect myself. When the bad things happen I am not shocked by them because I have usually imagined something as terrible (but of course never the exact thing).
Still, I am stricken with this fear of loss right now. It's with me every day but very intensified right now.
I suppose, as much as I've tried to prepare myself intellectually for the host of emotions I will be feeling in the next 48 hours, they will be wholly unexpected in how they manifest themselves.
And, it's not just me to think about...
Lennon - He is silent on the matter of it being the anniversary of his Dad's death. My guess is he is dreading what he expects to be a house of grouchy and depressed people. I haven't tried to engage him in how he might be feeling because, for him, it is most comfortable to talk about his Dad on an intellectual level, share happy memories while occasionally acknowledging times when Daddy was "angry" and try to stay out of the thick of the girl's grief. I did notice him come downstairs wearing his Dad's baseball cap and sunglasses this morning. I think he is honoring in his own silent way.
Lily - Sweet Lily. She was sad last night and said she didn't think it was "because of Daddy" but she didn't know why she felt that way and wondered "what she could do about it". We got up at sunrise this morning and went for a walk together, we petted a Welsh Corgi puppy and cuddled on the front step. Tonight she said she was sad because it will be a year tomorrow. We talked about how, even though we will have sad feelings tomorrow, it is my birthday and it is important for me to spend it with my family doing happy things. We talked about honoring her Dad's memory, not by remembering this sad thing he did but by remembering his good. I told her I had been thinking today about nice things he had done on my birthday. I also shared with her that I had been writing a lot about her Dad and that I thought I could forgive him. She talked about how sometimes she thinks she can forgive him and sometimes she thinks she can't. Such a mature wonderful girl! She amazes me with her capacity to ponder life.
Shawn's Parents - I'm going to guess that tomorrow will be brutal for them. I don't believe they have had any professional help or support from other suicide survivors. They don't ask about the kids grieving and they don't talk about theirs.
Shawn's Sister - Unknown. This is a woman who was able to read a very clinical history of her brother's life at the funeral without even a quaver in her voice. Very stoic. A lot invested in keeping it together.
Amber - she told me she had decided to consider August 28th his date of death, regardless of what the death certificate said, because that was the last time she saw him - and maybe because she doesn't want to acknowledge that he chose my birthday as the day to die. At any rate, she texted me yesterday to see how I was doing and was talking as if yesterday, the 27th, was the day he had died. Perplexing as to why she is off two days now but I honor her need to grieve his loss on whatever day is right for her. She said she is replaying all of the events as if they are a bad movie.
Shawn's Friends - Unknown. They have not reached out to me even though we were mutual friends while Shawn and I were married. Maybe they blame his death on me...maybe they think if I hadn't "left" Shawn he would have never done this. This hurts but I haven't spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on this situation. I would like it if they reached out to me someday, though.
Who else? Who else will be remembering Shawn tomorrow?
Monday, August 27, 2012
How long does a person wait?
I used to hide the knives every night.
Whe Shawn resumed drinking, following 7 months of miserable sobriety, I started to get scared.
He was filled with rage.
During his non-drinking hours of the day he was agitated, mean and sarcastic.
And when he drank at night the rage turned cold.
He was largely mute once he reached his targeted blood alcohol content.
Instead of talking he would sit in the living room and, when he looked at me, it was a blank, cold, piercing stare.
Knowing the rage that lied behind that cold stare and, knowing he was fully blacked- out (i.e. he was up walking and doing things and would have ZERO recollection of anything the next day), I was chilled to the core and began to fear that some evening he would snap and kill me.
For years I simply hid the knives and told myself that this was all in my mind - simply a by-product of my scary childhood and reading too many People magazine articles about murdered wives. Every morning I would wake up and put the knives back out.
And then, on October 30, 2006, after I had tucked the kids into bed I came upstairs, found him sitting, in a stupor, in his chair and I summoned my courage...
"Shawn? Would you every hurt me?"
He turned slowly and looked blankly at me. And his reply was this...
"Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
Not, "No! Oh my gosh! How could you think that? I would never hurt you".
"Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
I instantly went into fight or flight mode. It suddenly seemed dangerous to have even asked the question. I feared that it was the trigger for the violence I had feared for so long.
"Shawn, I need you leave. I need you to leave the house right now." My voice was much more calm and firm than I felt inside.
I was eyeing the door and knew I could move fast to get the kids and run.
There was a moment of silence and then he looked at me with wide incredulous eyes. In a cold voice he said "You want me to leave? You want me to leave??"
"Yes, Shawn. I need you to leave the house right now."
He jumped out of the chair but didn't make a move for me. Instead he went downstairs to Lily's room and grabbed the duffel bag out of her closet.
"Daddy! Hi, Daddy", she squealed. Lennon came running into Lily's room, happy to see his Daddy at this time of night.
Shawn turned to the kids and said, "Mommy said I can't live here anymore. She doesn't want Daddy to live here."
I was horrified! The kids started crying, "No, Mommy! Please don't make Daddy move!"
I began crying, too, and pleading with Shawn, "I didn't say that, Shawn! Please just go to a friends house for tonight! We'll talk in the morning. I didn't say Daddy can't live here!"
All I had hoped was that he would ride his bike to a friend's house, wake up on the couch and think, "My wife is afraid I'm going to hurt her. I need to make some changes."
I ran and got a hundred dollar bill which I kept thrusting at him pleading, "Please just go to a hotel for tonight."
On the front porch the kids were clinging to Shawn crying, "No, Daddy! Please come back!"
And his reply to them...
"Maybe I'll just go drive into the reservoir."
"No, Daddy! Please don't do that!!"
"Shawn! Please don't drive the car! Please, just ride your bike! Please." He was way too intoxicated to drive and I knew he was safer on his bike.
I caught hold of his duffel bag as I continued pleading with him not to drive. With one aggressive, fast jerk he yanked the bag away and I felt the muscles in my shoulder tear.
At this point I knew it was better for everyone to let him go.
I shut the door and took our now hysterical kids upstairs.
Damn him! How could he do this to our kids??? After all the sacrifices we had made to be fully present for our kids! Didn't he know that scenes like this stay with you for a lifetime? I knew it all too well - I had lived it.
And then I knew I needed help.
No more hiding behind a smiling face. The happy wife, the happy kids, the successful business - it was a lie and I couldn't keep it up anymore.
I called my Mom first. God, I never wanted to be like her in this regard! The sobbing, helpless mother with the scared kids. It was too familiar to both of us.
I doubt she could understand much of what I said but she knew I needed her and she was there within 5 minutes. She was able to calm the kids and get them too sleep while I called the Sheriff and made a report that my husband had driven off, highly intoxicated, and threatening to drive into the reservoir.
It didn't sound as if the Sheriff was going to be sending out a search party - I got the feeling I would be lucky if the officer patrolling the reservoir kept an eye out on his rounds.
I called Shawn's two best friends and further broke apart the facade that had been my life with Shawn. I told them that he had been drinking around 16 drinks every night, that he blacked-out every single evening and that he had driven off threatening suicide. I begged them to go look for him. They responded, "He just needs time to think" and if he's not back in the morning they would "see if they could find him and talk to him".
What else was I to do then? I couldn't go out looking for him by myself - it was dangerous and I had to think about our kids.
As I recall, I let my Mom tuck me into bed and fell into a deep sleep while she slept restlessly on the couch.
Shawn wasn't home when we all woke up and I knew I had to crack the shell a little more.
I called Shawn's Dad and, crying, confided everything I had shared with the friends the night before. He responded with great seriousness, asked me to keep him posted and said he would fly out if needed.
And then, sometime around 10am, the VW pulled into the driveway. I can't remember what either of us said. I think I was calm and greeted him with a quiet hug.
The kids were at pre-school and Shawn and I went for a hike together. We needed to be outdoors.
He acknowledged that his drinking was a problem but kept telling me he "wasn't ready" to quit drinking. I pressed him for when he would be ready. He couldn't tell me. I pressed him, "How long do I wait?" He had no answer for this either.
We did not discuss whether he would ever hurt me or my fear. I didn't even know if he remembered me asking that question and I didn't want to hear the answer.
We both wanted everything to be okay and so we pretended it was.
We picked up the kids from pre-school together. We were all smiles. We went to the park and laughed and played. Shawn and I were affectionate with each other, united in our desire for everything to be normal for our family. We put on our Halloween costumes and went Trick-or-Treating.
I don't think Shawn's friends ever spoke to him about what happened. I don't think his parents expressed their worries to him. I guess they wanted everything to be okay as much as we did.
The kids remembered the events of this evening for a few months (Lennon, a few times, did a play-by-play reenactment with the exact intonations in everyone's voices) and then the details seemed to fade away. They were 3 1/2 and just barely 5 when this happened and don't seem to have any conscious recollection of it now.
It was a turning point for me. I had shut off close friendships for years. For the first time I had to be REAL with my friends and family about what my life was really like. I just couldn't do it on my own any more. And I discovered that I am stronger when I am real and let my friends support me during hard times.
I knew when Shawn threatened suicide in front of the kids that I wouldn't wait forever for Shawn to quit drinking. I knew I would not let my children grow up in a house with an alcoholic.
It turned out the answer to the question, "How long do I wait?" was 8 months.
Eight months to save money so I would have a place to live if he wouldn't move out of the house. Eight months to gather my mental strength to make the break and stick with it the first time without looking back.
And I did it! I didn't wait forever! And I wasn't the one who was there for the final act. I wasn't the one who had to plan his funeral.
And for that I am grateful.
An afterthought: When I look back at the day at the evening I describe here and then reflect on how terrible it was last year to spend the day worrying, learning of Shawn's death and staying awake all night waiting for morning to tell the kids - I am struck that I would rather relive August 29, 2011 a hundred times than relive October 30, 2006 even once. And I guess that tells you something.
Whe Shawn resumed drinking, following 7 months of miserable sobriety, I started to get scared.
He was filled with rage.
During his non-drinking hours of the day he was agitated, mean and sarcastic.
And when he drank at night the rage turned cold.
He was largely mute once he reached his targeted blood alcohol content.
Instead of talking he would sit in the living room and, when he looked at me, it was a blank, cold, piercing stare.
Knowing the rage that lied behind that cold stare and, knowing he was fully blacked- out (i.e. he was up walking and doing things and would have ZERO recollection of anything the next day), I was chilled to the core and began to fear that some evening he would snap and kill me.
For years I simply hid the knives and told myself that this was all in my mind - simply a by-product of my scary childhood and reading too many People magazine articles about murdered wives. Every morning I would wake up and put the knives back out.
And then, on October 30, 2006, after I had tucked the kids into bed I came upstairs, found him sitting, in a stupor, in his chair and I summoned my courage...
"Shawn? Would you every hurt me?"
He turned slowly and looked blankly at me. And his reply was this...
"Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
Not, "No! Oh my gosh! How could you think that? I would never hurt you".
"Why would I fuck up my life like that?"
I instantly went into fight or flight mode. It suddenly seemed dangerous to have even asked the question. I feared that it was the trigger for the violence I had feared for so long.
"Shawn, I need you leave. I need you to leave the house right now." My voice was much more calm and firm than I felt inside.
I was eyeing the door and knew I could move fast to get the kids and run.
There was a moment of silence and then he looked at me with wide incredulous eyes. In a cold voice he said "You want me to leave? You want me to leave??"
"Yes, Shawn. I need you to leave the house right now."
He jumped out of the chair but didn't make a move for me. Instead he went downstairs to Lily's room and grabbed the duffel bag out of her closet.
"Daddy! Hi, Daddy", she squealed. Lennon came running into Lily's room, happy to see his Daddy at this time of night.
Shawn turned to the kids and said, "Mommy said I can't live here anymore. She doesn't want Daddy to live here."
I was horrified! The kids started crying, "No, Mommy! Please don't make Daddy move!"
I began crying, too, and pleading with Shawn, "I didn't say that, Shawn! Please just go to a friends house for tonight! We'll talk in the morning. I didn't say Daddy can't live here!"
All I had hoped was that he would ride his bike to a friend's house, wake up on the couch and think, "My wife is afraid I'm going to hurt her. I need to make some changes."
I ran and got a hundred dollar bill which I kept thrusting at him pleading, "Please just go to a hotel for tonight."
On the front porch the kids were clinging to Shawn crying, "No, Daddy! Please come back!"
And his reply to them...
"Maybe I'll just go drive into the reservoir."
"No, Daddy! Please don't do that!!"
"Shawn! Please don't drive the car! Please, just ride your bike! Please." He was way too intoxicated to drive and I knew he was safer on his bike.
I caught hold of his duffel bag as I continued pleading with him not to drive. With one aggressive, fast jerk he yanked the bag away and I felt the muscles in my shoulder tear.
At this point I knew it was better for everyone to let him go.
I shut the door and took our now hysterical kids upstairs.
Damn him! How could he do this to our kids??? After all the sacrifices we had made to be fully present for our kids! Didn't he know that scenes like this stay with you for a lifetime? I knew it all too well - I had lived it.
And then I knew I needed help.
No more hiding behind a smiling face. The happy wife, the happy kids, the successful business - it was a lie and I couldn't keep it up anymore.
I called my Mom first. God, I never wanted to be like her in this regard! The sobbing, helpless mother with the scared kids. It was too familiar to both of us.
I doubt she could understand much of what I said but she knew I needed her and she was there within 5 minutes. She was able to calm the kids and get them too sleep while I called the Sheriff and made a report that my husband had driven off, highly intoxicated, and threatening to drive into the reservoir.
It didn't sound as if the Sheriff was going to be sending out a search party - I got the feeling I would be lucky if the officer patrolling the reservoir kept an eye out on his rounds.
I called Shawn's two best friends and further broke apart the facade that had been my life with Shawn. I told them that he had been drinking around 16 drinks every night, that he blacked-out every single evening and that he had driven off threatening suicide. I begged them to go look for him. They responded, "He just needs time to think" and if he's not back in the morning they would "see if they could find him and talk to him".
What else was I to do then? I couldn't go out looking for him by myself - it was dangerous and I had to think about our kids.
As I recall, I let my Mom tuck me into bed and fell into a deep sleep while she slept restlessly on the couch.
Shawn wasn't home when we all woke up and I knew I had to crack the shell a little more.
I called Shawn's Dad and, crying, confided everything I had shared with the friends the night before. He responded with great seriousness, asked me to keep him posted and said he would fly out if needed.
And then, sometime around 10am, the VW pulled into the driveway. I can't remember what either of us said. I think I was calm and greeted him with a quiet hug.
The kids were at pre-school and Shawn and I went for a hike together. We needed to be outdoors.
He acknowledged that his drinking was a problem but kept telling me he "wasn't ready" to quit drinking. I pressed him for when he would be ready. He couldn't tell me. I pressed him, "How long do I wait?" He had no answer for this either.
We did not discuss whether he would ever hurt me or my fear. I didn't even know if he remembered me asking that question and I didn't want to hear the answer.
We both wanted everything to be okay and so we pretended it was.
We picked up the kids from pre-school together. We were all smiles. We went to the park and laughed and played. Shawn and I were affectionate with each other, united in our desire for everything to be normal for our family. We put on our Halloween costumes and went Trick-or-Treating.
I don't think Shawn's friends ever spoke to him about what happened. I don't think his parents expressed their worries to him. I guess they wanted everything to be okay as much as we did.
The kids remembered the events of this evening for a few months (Lennon, a few times, did a play-by-play reenactment with the exact intonations in everyone's voices) and then the details seemed to fade away. They were 3 1/2 and just barely 5 when this happened and don't seem to have any conscious recollection of it now.
It was a turning point for me. I had shut off close friendships for years. For the first time I had to be REAL with my friends and family about what my life was really like. I just couldn't do it on my own any more. And I discovered that I am stronger when I am real and let my friends support me during hard times.
I knew when Shawn threatened suicide in front of the kids that I wouldn't wait forever for Shawn to quit drinking. I knew I would not let my children grow up in a house with an alcoholic.
It turned out the answer to the question, "How long do I wait?" was 8 months.
Eight months to save money so I would have a place to live if he wouldn't move out of the house. Eight months to gather my mental strength to make the break and stick with it the first time without looking back.
And I did it! I didn't wait forever! And I wasn't the one who was there for the final act. I wasn't the one who had to plan his funeral.
And for that I am grateful.
An afterthought: When I look back at the day at the evening I describe here and then reflect on how terrible it was last year to spend the day worrying, learning of Shawn's death and staying awake all night waiting for morning to tell the kids - I am struck that I would rather relive August 29, 2011 a hundred times than relive October 30, 2006 even once. And I guess that tells you something.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
What the Autopsy Told Me
So, the question on everyone's mind is...
"Was it a good idea for me to look at Shawn's autopsy report?".
My answer is, "I don't think I had any choice".
Does that make sense?
Knowing it was out there and that it could answer some of the questions that have kept me up at night made it a given, in my mind, that I would eventually have to read it.
And, yes, it did give answers to many things.
Some of the information I had heard third hand. Amber told her Mother, who told my Mother, who told me. Interestingly, Lily told me a couple of things recently that Amber had shared with her. And many of the final details were filled in yesterday.
On August 23, 2011 Shawn sent an email to friends, family and customers notifying them of the closing of the bicycle shop that had been his dream and his passion for 13 years.
On August 27th Shawn started his new job at a large outdoor retailer. He went from being a business owner to a new employee that day.
In the late afternoon of August 28th, Shawn initiated an argument with Amber. He threatened to leave her, said the kids were the most important thing in the world to him, and then stormed out of the house with the final words, "I'm outta here". He then drove 23 miles up the Buckhorn Canyon - his favorite outdoor spot - to Forest Service Road 100.
From here we have to make some guesses as to what happened based on what I know of Shawn, the "dress rehearsal" he did at least twice during our marriage, and the evidence that was left.
We can deduce that he stopped enroute and purchased a large bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. No one told me this but I know it couldn't have been anything other than Jack Daniels. His B.A.C. was .221 at the time of his death.
This level of intoxication was pretty standard Shawn levels every single night of our marriage however he had not had a sip of alcohol in 4 years. Knowing Shawn as well as I did I can guarantee that he was very calculated with how how much he drank and that he made sure he didn't drink so much that he passed out before doing what he had come to do. He always was that type of alcoholic - very regimented.
Maybe he sat in his truck for awhile staring at the bottle of whiskey. He had told me after he got sober in 2007 that he would "rather die than drink again".
He must have sat in his truck drinking and, most likely, listening to music for a few hours. I doubt he cried. He was stoic like that.
He wrote "pages of suicide notes" - filled with anger and vitriol - which he left on the front seat.
He also "wrote several goodbye text messages to his friends and wife". (My understanding is that no one received these text messages until after they had already learned of his death. When his body was recovered and he and his phone were brought out of the mountains and into cell phone range they automatically went through to people's phones).
"At some point he left his vehicle and walked two miles to the White Pine saddleback wilderness area, sat on a log and shot himself". The date of death was "the early morning hours of August 29, 2011".
The autopsy report describes a man who was physically healthy in every way other than the bullet that passed from his right temple all the way through his left temple.
The death certificate, which I had seen just a few days after the funeral, stated the time from "onset to death" was "minutes".
I had spent a lot of time dwelling on these so-called "minutes" and had envisioned him laying there on the ground with some sort of consciousness of what he had done. I was never sure whether it was good or bad if there had been the awareness of "I just shot myself in the head" - I just felt the need to know.
After reading the details from the autopsy, I can now be sure that his death was instant.
And here are some new or surprising things I learned:
There is not a single part of me that believes he was Bi-Polar. He had Major Depressive Disorder coupled with Naricissistic Personality Disorder as well as years of damage to his brain from nightly black-out drinking and marijuana consumption. Maybe there was a medication that could have helped. Maybe ECT could have helped.
I have spent many hours angry at him for NOT getting help, not admitting he needed help, and for being too egotistical to admit anything.
It is hard to realize that he was trying to get help. He did want to get better.
"Was it a good idea for me to look at Shawn's autopsy report?".
My answer is, "I don't think I had any choice".
Does that make sense?
Knowing it was out there and that it could answer some of the questions that have kept me up at night made it a given, in my mind, that I would eventually have to read it.
And, yes, it did give answers to many things.
Some of the information I had heard third hand. Amber told her Mother, who told my Mother, who told me. Interestingly, Lily told me a couple of things recently that Amber had shared with her. And many of the final details were filled in yesterday.
On August 23, 2011 Shawn sent an email to friends, family and customers notifying them of the closing of the bicycle shop that had been his dream and his passion for 13 years.
On August 27th Shawn started his new job at a large outdoor retailer. He went from being a business owner to a new employee that day.
In the late afternoon of August 28th, Shawn initiated an argument with Amber. He threatened to leave her, said the kids were the most important thing in the world to him, and then stormed out of the house with the final words, "I'm outta here". He then drove 23 miles up the Buckhorn Canyon - his favorite outdoor spot - to Forest Service Road 100.
From here we have to make some guesses as to what happened based on what I know of Shawn, the "dress rehearsal" he did at least twice during our marriage, and the evidence that was left.
We can deduce that he stopped enroute and purchased a large bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. No one told me this but I know it couldn't have been anything other than Jack Daniels. His B.A.C. was .221 at the time of his death.
This level of intoxication was pretty standard Shawn levels every single night of our marriage however he had not had a sip of alcohol in 4 years. Knowing Shawn as well as I did I can guarantee that he was very calculated with how how much he drank and that he made sure he didn't drink so much that he passed out before doing what he had come to do. He always was that type of alcoholic - very regimented.
Maybe he sat in his truck for awhile staring at the bottle of whiskey. He had told me after he got sober in 2007 that he would "rather die than drink again".
He must have sat in his truck drinking and, most likely, listening to music for a few hours. I doubt he cried. He was stoic like that.
He wrote "pages of suicide notes" - filled with anger and vitriol - which he left on the front seat.
He also "wrote several goodbye text messages to his friends and wife". (My understanding is that no one received these text messages until after they had already learned of his death. When his body was recovered and he and his phone were brought out of the mountains and into cell phone range they automatically went through to people's phones).
"At some point he left his vehicle and walked two miles to the White Pine saddleback wilderness area, sat on a log and shot himself". The date of death was "the early morning hours of August 29, 2011".
The autopsy report describes a man who was physically healthy in every way other than the bullet that passed from his right temple all the way through his left temple.
The death certificate, which I had seen just a few days after the funeral, stated the time from "onset to death" was "minutes".
I had spent a lot of time dwelling on these so-called "minutes" and had envisioned him laying there on the ground with some sort of consciousness of what he had done. I was never sure whether it was good or bad if there had been the awareness of "I just shot myself in the head" - I just felt the need to know.
After reading the details from the autopsy, I can now be sure that his death was instant.
And here are some new or surprising things I learned:
- There was no marijuana in his system. I had never known a Shawn who did not smoke marijuana. He smoked from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to bed the entire time I knew him. I had heard that Amber had insisted he quit smoking pot but I, honestly, never believed he had done that or would do that - especially after having to give up alcohol.
- The only drug in his system other than alcohol was an epilepsy drug that is commonly used to treat individuals with Bi-Polar Disorder. He was trying to get better.
There is not a single part of me that believes he was Bi-Polar. He had Major Depressive Disorder coupled with Naricissistic Personality Disorder as well as years of damage to his brain from nightly black-out drinking and marijuana consumption. Maybe there was a medication that could have helped. Maybe ECT could have helped.
I have spent many hours angry at him for NOT getting help, not admitting he needed help, and for being too egotistical to admit anything.
It is hard to realize that he was trying to get help. He did want to get better.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Apologies
I just finished a very difficult post that is sitting in my "Draft" folder.
I've been doing quite a bit of thinking about how reading so much pain and darkness may be affecting my friends who are reading this.
I worry that in my efforts to process my grief that I am taking you to depths where you don't deserve or need to go.
Therapists get paid good money to listen to this sort of thing and have training for how to deal with the emotions they might have related to hearing terrible things.
I started writing again because I had a therapist who couldn't seem to listen to my pain without judging me.
It suddenly seems unfair to me to have put you all in this situation.
I will keep writing but I think maybe some of the more difficult things should sit in the "Draft" folder.
I know you all will question whether reading the autopsy report was a good thing for me. All I can tell you is that I felt as if I had no choice. Knowing it was available and that it contained some of the answers I sought meant it had to happen.
I've been doing quite a bit of thinking about how reading so much pain and darkness may be affecting my friends who are reading this.
I worry that in my efforts to process my grief that I am taking you to depths where you don't deserve or need to go.
Therapists get paid good money to listen to this sort of thing and have training for how to deal with the emotions they might have related to hearing terrible things.
I started writing again because I had a therapist who couldn't seem to listen to my pain without judging me.
It suddenly seems unfair to me to have put you all in this situation.
I will keep writing but I think maybe some of the more difficult things should sit in the "Draft" folder.
I know you all will question whether reading the autopsy report was a good thing for me. All I can tell you is that I felt as if I had no choice. Knowing it was available and that it contained some of the answers I sought meant it had to happen.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
A Riddle
So here's a riddle for you...
I received the requested copy of Shawn's autopsy from the coroner today. I had decided it was TIME.
I have spent many sleepless nights with vivid images in my head....trying to understand. What was Shawn doing in the final hours? Was he crying? Was he numb? Was he standing up when he did it? Did he kneel down? Was he sitting? Did he sit there and think about it for a long time or did he do it without hesitation? What did the wound look like? Did he die instantly or was there a moment of awareness that he had pulled the trigger?
It's been terrible but, I've learned, something that is quite common for someone who has lost a loved one to suicide. Why it matters, I can't tell you. But it seems to.
So, here's the riddle...
Why is it, after reading the autopsy report, that it disgusts me to read what I wrote in the last posting?
It's not a feeling of anger. It's disgust. I want to look away when I see that posting on my screen.
I received the requested copy of Shawn's autopsy from the coroner today. I had decided it was TIME.
I have spent many sleepless nights with vivid images in my head....trying to understand. What was Shawn doing in the final hours? Was he crying? Was he numb? Was he standing up when he did it? Did he kneel down? Was he sitting? Did he sit there and think about it for a long time or did he do it without hesitation? What did the wound look like? Did he die instantly or was there a moment of awareness that he had pulled the trigger?
It's been terrible but, I've learned, something that is quite common for someone who has lost a loved one to suicide. Why it matters, I can't tell you. But it seems to.
So, here's the riddle...
Why is it, after reading the autopsy report, that it disgusts me to read what I wrote in the last posting?
It's not a feeling of anger. It's disgust. I want to look away when I see that posting on my screen.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
The Good
Dear Shawn,
I can't believe I'm writing to you. I've been so angry at you. Does this mean I am starting to forgive you? There is still a part of me that doesn't want to forgive you. What you did was a really terrible thing. And really, Shawn, your suicide was just the culmination of a lot of pretty terrible things you had done.
Do you deserve to have me remember the happy times we had?
Intellectually I know others would tell me this is a gift I give myself.
And I guess maybe I owe myself a nice birthday present after last year's doozy.
Shawn, when I think of our happy memories together they are always outside. With the dogs. In "the bus".
I remember how badly you wanted that VW when you saw it.
We had only been living together a few months. These were happy times when you were introducing me to so many new things in life - new genres of music, new foods, new books and the joy of hiking.
You came home and told me about how we could go camping in a bus like this one.
We had already gone on one camping adventure. Even though I had thought I would croak as we rode our bikes out to the Reservoir you encouraged me and we had a great time.
You told me about how we would have great camping adventures and I knew you were right.
As poor as we were, we found a way to buy that orange hippie bus! You were so excited. You went and bought an excellent stereo with the insurance money we got after the old lady scraped the side while you were test driving it and...coolest of all...you built a platform bed in the back that was just tall enough to store 5 gallon buckets of camping gear underneath.
We learned a lot on that first camping trip to Palisades. Arriving at dark and trying to set up camp is difficult and cold, having a little whisk broom to sweep out leaves from your sleeping area is important and, most importantly, we learned that we made a great team in the outdoors.
This was the start of the years of adventure in the VW.
The next few years are a happy blur of memories of you, me and the doggies in the bus.
Push starting the bus all the way to Florida in December (remember how we had to look for gas stations with a hill so you had some help from gravity while you pushed?).
Camping all over the Midwest.
Packing up all our belongings and moving to Arizona with $1,000 to our name. A couple of small-town kids showing up in a big city with no friends, no jobs and no place to live. And we made it - it was no big deal because the hard things didn't seem to faze us.
Our biggest adventure - 3 months of camping where we visited every state west of the Mississippi looking for a place to start a business and a family. Did we even have a disagreement that summer? I don't remember a single one.
And then once again packing up all our belongings, three dogs and a cat to move to Fort Collins where we had no friends, no jobs and no place to live. And again we made it! It wasn't even hard because we were a team.
Just a year later starting the bike shop together. We took a big risk on your dream and made it into something special over the next 10 years.
And then one last - and most important - adventure. Our decision to have our beautiful children!
Wow, Shawn! We built a pretty amazing life together.
The funny thing is that at some point you decided to quit living your life.
First it was just emotional. You were gone. I couldn't find the connection and I couldn't find you.
What was left was just a hollow, bitter, angry man.
And a year ago next week you decided to quit living your life physically.
You gave up on being outdoors. You gave up on music. You gave up on reading. You gave up on savoring good food. You gave up on your career. You gave up on your kids.
And now you are gone.
You really are gone.
I'm sorry, Shawn. It's still so hard to believe.
You were so young.
Jennifer
I can't believe I'm writing to you. I've been so angry at you. Does this mean I am starting to forgive you? There is still a part of me that doesn't want to forgive you. What you did was a really terrible thing. And really, Shawn, your suicide was just the culmination of a lot of pretty terrible things you had done.
Do you deserve to have me remember the happy times we had?
Intellectually I know others would tell me this is a gift I give myself.
And I guess maybe I owe myself a nice birthday present after last year's doozy.
Shawn, when I think of our happy memories together they are always outside. With the dogs. In "the bus".
I remember how badly you wanted that VW when you saw it.
We had only been living together a few months. These were happy times when you were introducing me to so many new things in life - new genres of music, new foods, new books and the joy of hiking.
You came home and told me about how we could go camping in a bus like this one.
We had already gone on one camping adventure. Even though I had thought I would croak as we rode our bikes out to the Reservoir you encouraged me and we had a great time.
You told me about how we would have great camping adventures and I knew you were right.
As poor as we were, we found a way to buy that orange hippie bus! You were so excited. You went and bought an excellent stereo with the insurance money we got after the old lady scraped the side while you were test driving it and...coolest of all...you built a platform bed in the back that was just tall enough to store 5 gallon buckets of camping gear underneath.
We learned a lot on that first camping trip to Palisades. Arriving at dark and trying to set up camp is difficult and cold, having a little whisk broom to sweep out leaves from your sleeping area is important and, most importantly, we learned that we made a great team in the outdoors.
This was the start of the years of adventure in the VW.
The next few years are a happy blur of memories of you, me and the doggies in the bus.
Push starting the bus all the way to Florida in December (remember how we had to look for gas stations with a hill so you had some help from gravity while you pushed?).
Camping all over the Midwest.
Packing up all our belongings and moving to Arizona with $1,000 to our name. A couple of small-town kids showing up in a big city with no friends, no jobs and no place to live. And we made it - it was no big deal because the hard things didn't seem to faze us.
Our biggest adventure - 3 months of camping where we visited every state west of the Mississippi looking for a place to start a business and a family. Did we even have a disagreement that summer? I don't remember a single one.
And then once again packing up all our belongings, three dogs and a cat to move to Fort Collins where we had no friends, no jobs and no place to live. And again we made it! It wasn't even hard because we were a team.
Just a year later starting the bike shop together. We took a big risk on your dream and made it into something special over the next 10 years.
And then one last - and most important - adventure. Our decision to have our beautiful children!
Wow, Shawn! We built a pretty amazing life together.
The funny thing is that at some point you decided to quit living your life.
First it was just emotional. You were gone. I couldn't find the connection and I couldn't find you.
What was left was just a hollow, bitter, angry man.
And a year ago next week you decided to quit living your life physically.
You gave up on being outdoors. You gave up on music. You gave up on reading. You gave up on savoring good food. You gave up on your career. You gave up on your kids.
And now you are gone.
You really are gone.
I'm sorry, Shawn. It's still so hard to believe.
You were so young.
Jennifer
Still Stuck
The fact that I've been pondering for 2+ weeks where to begin answering the question, "When did it all start?" has really highlighted for me how big and complicated this really is for me and how hung up on it I have been - probably even for years before Shawn's suicide.
Do I start with the happy memories?
Do I begin with the very first time I went to bed crying because of Shawn's drinking?
Or do I start with the times when things got really dark?
Surprisingly (at least to me) I find I want to explore the happy memories right now.
Do I start with the happy memories?
Do I begin with the very first time I went to bed crying because of Shawn's drinking?
Or do I start with the times when things got really dark?
Surprisingly (at least to me) I find I want to explore the happy memories right now.
Friday, August 17, 2012
The Start
The questions I've been pondering for weeks are...
When did it start?
When did it go bad?
When did Shawn get sick?
Was he always sick?
Of course this has brought up many memories - good and bad.
Which is another struggle. Where does one file the good memories? How can they exist alongside the bad? What compartment in your brain does each go - because they surely can't co-mingle.
Of course I've been accused of "black or white thinking" a few times in my life so maybe it is quite possible that they do exist in the same space.
It's just that it does seem that "it" was good mixed with a bit of bad for a long time. And then "it" was bad mixed with very little good.
Stick with me here because we may be about to take some dark turns on the next few postings.
But I also think the end is in sight. My grief, compared to a month ago, has taken on a much less tormented feel and I know it is because I have taken the time to write my thoughts.
When did it start?
When did it go bad?
When did Shawn get sick?
Was he always sick?
Of course this has brought up many memories - good and bad.
Which is another struggle. Where does one file the good memories? How can they exist alongside the bad? What compartment in your brain does each go - because they surely can't co-mingle.
Of course I've been accused of "black or white thinking" a few times in my life so maybe it is quite possible that they do exist in the same space.
It's just that it does seem that "it" was good mixed with a bit of bad for a long time. And then "it" was bad mixed with very little good.
Stick with me here because we may be about to take some dark turns on the next few postings.
But I also think the end is in sight. My grief, compared to a month ago, has taken on a much less tormented feel and I know it is because I have taken the time to write my thoughts.
Monday, August 13, 2012
The story of Lily
This is the totally 100% true story of my daughter, Lily Elaine Brooks.
It was July 2002.
Shawn and I had been married for 9 years. We had owned a business together for 5 years. Our son was 10 months. And Shawn had been white-knuckling sobriety for 3 months.
We knew we wanted to have a second child. We thought about 2 years apart would be just perfect. It had taken us about 7 months to get pregnant the first time and so we assumed it would be about the same the second time.
Three weeks after we started "trying" and one week after closing on a house up the street from where we were currently living I was struck with the thought, "I'm pregnant with a girl" Add in the fact that my right eye had started to twitch - just as it did my entire first pregnancy - and I became firm in my statements to Shawn, "I think I'm pregnant and it is a girl". So strong in this belief was I that I avoided all the chemicals being used to paint and make changes in the new house, much to Shawn's annoyance. And yet I was adamant in my thought of, "NO. The time is not right. It is too soon. We are just moving. Our lives are too unsettled."
The night we settled into our new home I put Lennon to bed and we decided to go walk around the 1/2 acre backyard of which we had just become the proud owners. It was the mid-summer of what I recall as a wet year and the flowers were in full bloom. As we strolled and inspected I stopped at the rose bushes and decided to pluck a petal for each person in our family to press in a book and remember our joy in the new home for years to come.
I carefully plucked the three petals and cupped them in my hand as we finished our walk.
When we got back on the deck I opened up my hand to find...
Four Rose Petals.
Not the three petals I had plucked. But a 4th smaller petal laying there in my hand.
I shook my head and thought again, "NO! It is too soon - the time is not right".
I kissed the petal and blew it off my hand with a wish for a little girl LATER - when the time was right.
And at that moment there was a sudden breeze from where there had been none.
And the petal came back and hit me in the stomach.
And then I knew. I really am pregnant.
And yet it would be several more weeks before I could take the pregnancy test to confirm what I had known, quite possibly, from the moment of her conception.
Our reaction, and that of our family the morning we had confirmation was, "Oh MY God!"
It was so soon. Lennon was just 11 months old. What about the "guest room" that we never got to use?
Despite the panic - we were both excited. Shawn gave me a hug goodbye and set out for a long bike ride.
Lennon and I were sitting on the floor in a sunny patch of the new bedroom while I folded clothes. I was smiling and thought, "I wonder what we should name this little girl."
The answer that immediately came to me was...Lily...
Lily...
Lily...Elaine
Yes, Lily Elaine Brooks. I like that.
Shawn returned home a few hours later and sought me out immediately.
He said, "While I was riding I suddenly thought of a name I like if the baby is a girl."
I told him, "So did I - what is the name you thought of?"
His reply...
Lily Elaine
I kid you not!
This was not a name we had discussed when I was pregnant with Lennon (my votes had been for Paisley, Caliope or Cadence). And this well before the name Lily became as a common as, well, Jennifer. We did know of anyone with a child named Lily, had never had a friend, aquaintance or co-worker with the name Lily. As far as I know, the name had never been uttered in our home.
To be fair, Elaine is my Mom's first name and Lennon's middle name is Shawn's Mom's maiden name so there was some precedence for having a family name as the middle name but again...Elaine had never been previously discussed as a possible middle name for a Brooks child.
And yet, somehow, Shawn and I independently came up with the same first and middle name of a child that I had sensed within me from very shortly after she was conceived.
And a very special child she is, my Sweet Lily Elaine. She loves for me to tell this story. I swear I am not embellishing a single word of it, it all happened exactly as I described.
I am not a religious in the traditional sense. I am not a person who believes in psychic abilities. And yet here lies evidence that my daughter was known to me, by name, from the start.
I love her dearly. I feel closer to her every day as I watch her mature and understand the world. I have no doubts she will go far and do amazing things in this world.
It was July 2002.
Shawn and I had been married for 9 years. We had owned a business together for 5 years. Our son was 10 months. And Shawn had been white-knuckling sobriety for 3 months.
We knew we wanted to have a second child. We thought about 2 years apart would be just perfect. It had taken us about 7 months to get pregnant the first time and so we assumed it would be about the same the second time.
Three weeks after we started "trying" and one week after closing on a house up the street from where we were currently living I was struck with the thought, "I'm pregnant with a girl" Add in the fact that my right eye had started to twitch - just as it did my entire first pregnancy - and I became firm in my statements to Shawn, "I think I'm pregnant and it is a girl". So strong in this belief was I that I avoided all the chemicals being used to paint and make changes in the new house, much to Shawn's annoyance. And yet I was adamant in my thought of, "NO. The time is not right. It is too soon. We are just moving. Our lives are too unsettled."
The night we settled into our new home I put Lennon to bed and we decided to go walk around the 1/2 acre backyard of which we had just become the proud owners. It was the mid-summer of what I recall as a wet year and the flowers were in full bloom. As we strolled and inspected I stopped at the rose bushes and decided to pluck a petal for each person in our family to press in a book and remember our joy in the new home for years to come.
I carefully plucked the three petals and cupped them in my hand as we finished our walk.
When we got back on the deck I opened up my hand to find...
Four Rose Petals.
Not the three petals I had plucked. But a 4th smaller petal laying there in my hand.
I shook my head and thought again, "NO! It is too soon - the time is not right".
I kissed the petal and blew it off my hand with a wish for a little girl LATER - when the time was right.
And at that moment there was a sudden breeze from where there had been none.
And the petal came back and hit me in the stomach.
And then I knew. I really am pregnant.
And yet it would be several more weeks before I could take the pregnancy test to confirm what I had known, quite possibly, from the moment of her conception.
Our reaction, and that of our family the morning we had confirmation was, "Oh MY God!"
It was so soon. Lennon was just 11 months old. What about the "guest room" that we never got to use?
Despite the panic - we were both excited. Shawn gave me a hug goodbye and set out for a long bike ride.
Lennon and I were sitting on the floor in a sunny patch of the new bedroom while I folded clothes. I was smiling and thought, "I wonder what we should name this little girl."
The answer that immediately came to me was...Lily...
Lily...
Lily...Elaine
Yes, Lily Elaine Brooks. I like that.
Shawn returned home a few hours later and sought me out immediately.
He said, "While I was riding I suddenly thought of a name I like if the baby is a girl."
I told him, "So did I - what is the name you thought of?"
His reply...
Lily Elaine
I kid you not!
This was not a name we had discussed when I was pregnant with Lennon (my votes had been for Paisley, Caliope or Cadence). And this well before the name Lily became as a common as, well, Jennifer. We did know of anyone with a child named Lily, had never had a friend, aquaintance or co-worker with the name Lily. As far as I know, the name had never been uttered in our home.
To be fair, Elaine is my Mom's first name and Lennon's middle name is Shawn's Mom's maiden name so there was some precedence for having a family name as the middle name but again...Elaine had never been previously discussed as a possible middle name for a Brooks child.
And yet, somehow, Shawn and I independently came up with the same first and middle name of a child that I had sensed within me from very shortly after she was conceived.
And a very special child she is, my Sweet Lily Elaine. She loves for me to tell this story. I swear I am not embellishing a single word of it, it all happened exactly as I described.
I am not a religious in the traditional sense. I am not a person who believes in psychic abilities. And yet here lies evidence that my daughter was known to me, by name, from the start.
I love her dearly. I feel closer to her every day as I watch her mature and understand the world. I have no doubts she will go far and do amazing things in this world.
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