But No One Wants to Talk About It

In September 2009 Eddie's dad turned 70.  He and his wife Susie invited the immediate family, Cathy, her husband, and their girls, and Trey, Emily, and me to celebrate his birthday with them by spending the weekend at Tybee Island.  Unlike the weekend of the memorial service for Eddie, I never even considered not going to this.  It was something I had to do even though I knew it wouldn't be easy.  This was the first time I had seen any of Eddie's family since his funeral.  I had talked to them on the phone fairly regularly, but they hadn't been back to Columbus and I hadn't been to Hinesville.  Trey had some of the same feelings of apprehension that I did, but Emily was just excited to be going to the beach.

I was glad to see everyone - Eddie's stepsister Brynn even came on Saturday night with her boyfriend and children - but it was a hard weekend just as I anticipated.  It was so obvious that Eddie was the only one not there, but it was like the elephant in the living room - no one wanted to talk about it.  It had only been six months since Eddie's death, but I had reached a point where I wanted to talk about him and what happened.  Susie and I talked some on Friday night, but as soon as the conversation started Cathy left the room and Ed followed soon after.  Neither of them said anything.  It was nice being at the beach on Saturday and Emily had a ball, but all I could think about all day was how much Eddie would have enjoyed it and that he should have been there.  Of course, again we went through the entire day without anyone mentioning him though.  That night we watched the Georgia game, had a big supper, gave gifts to Ed, ate cake, and sang happy birthday to him.  The entire evening it felt like everyone was going through the motions and trying to put up a happy front for Ed's sake.  By the end of the night I had reached a point where I wanted to scream at everyone that it was OK to acknowledge that Eddie wasn't there, that it was even OK to be mad at him for not being there - but of course I didn't.

When Sunday morning arrived it was difficult to say good-bye to everyone, but at the same time it was a relief to get away.  The weekend was fun but tense at the same time.  I had the feeling then (and I still have it today) that Cathy blames me for Eddie's death.  I may be completely wrong, but that's the impression I get when I'm around her.  Unfortunately we never talk, so I can't address the issue with her.  The family got together again this September for Ed's birthday, but Trey, Emily, and I weren't able to go.  I really regretted having to miss it this time, but I was in Atlanta with my mother for an outpatient procedure she was having.  Trey and Emily couldn't go because Emily had her first game as a cheerleader that Saturday.  Brynn was there again on Saturday night and she posted pictures on Facebook.  Looking at them brought back the same feelings I had when I was there two years ago.

It's been two and a half years since Eddie died, and I would very much like to talk about him - not so much about his alcoholism and suicide, but about his "other" life - about the good qualities, the good times, the happy memories.  My mother and my friends are willing to talk with me about him, but his family and even Trey don't seem to want to or be able to.  He lived for 48 years.  We were together for almost 30 years.  I don't want it to be as if he never existed.  


        Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

Yesterday's dead, tomorrow's unborn,
So there's nothing to fear and nothing to mourn,
For all that is past and all that has been
Can never return to be lived once again.
And what lies ahead, or the things that will be,
Are still in God's hands, so it's not up to me
To live in the future that is God's great unknown,
For the past and the present God claims for His own.
So all I need do is to live for today
And trust God to show me the truth and the way,
For it's only the memory of things that have been
And expecting tomorrow to bring trouble again
That fills my today, which God wants to bless,
With uncertain fears and borrowed distress.
For all I need live for is this one little minute,
For life's here and now and eternity's in it.

-Helen Steiner Rice

Same Feelings, Different Situation

My mother started her chemotherapy treatments for the cancer two weeks ago.  She's taking her treatments in Atlanta, so I'm not there with her for a lot of what she's going through.  When she left for her first treatment it reminded me so much of the day Eddie left to go to rehab.  I remembered the mix of feelings and emotions I had as I watched him leave.  I was sad that things had reached the point where he had to go away to get help but also relieved that he had finally agreed to seek the help he needed.  I was angry that he had a disease he couldn't control but glad there were others who could help him learn to control it.  I was scared because I didn't know for sure what the results of the treatment would be but hopeful that the results would be positive.  I had those same feelings when my mother left - sad, relieved, angry, glad, scared, and hopeful.  

Although the feelings have been the same everything else is very different.  I knew when Eddie left that his treatment would last for about six weeks.  I have no idea how long my mother's treatment will continue.  I knew that I wouldn't be able to see or talk to Eddie while he was gone, but I talk to my mother every day and see her every week.  I've met the doctors who are helping my mother but I didn't see any of the people who were helping Eddie until the end of his stay.  My mother's treatment will be physical whereas Eddie's treatment was mainly psychological (although attitude and state of mind are important factors in both cases).  While Eddie was gone, my mother was here to help me get through it.  Eddie isn't here to help me with what my mother is going through now.

I know how things ended with Eddie, but I don't know what the outcome of my mother's treatment will be.  I hope and pray that it will be different from Eddie's.  Although his time in rehab seemed to have helped him initially, the positive results weren't lasting.  Hopefully the results of my mother's treatment will not only be successful but permanent.

"We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts."  Romans 5:3-5      

The Same, But Different

Even now, two and a half years later, I still have times when I wish I could build a cocoon, crawl inside of it, and shut the rest of the world out.  I'm not sure how much of that is related to Eddie's death and how much is because of everything that is going on in my life now.  I had actually started to feel pretty good about the way things were going until my mother's cancer returned.  I was moving forward with my life, enjoying time with friends, working, going to school, and even adjusting to living alone.  Then I was thrown a curve ball, just as I was when Eddie died.  I've been surprised to find that so many of my feelings now are the same as they were prior to and just after Eddie's death.  When I was dealing with Eddie's alcoholism and then his suicide, there were times when I wanted to pretend that none of it was happening.  I feel the same way now ... I want to pretend that my mother isn't sick, that she isn't beginning chemotherapy treatments next week, and that everything is going to be OK.  Unfortunately pretending that things don't exist doesn't make them go away.  It didn't make Eddie's alcoholism disappear.  It didn't make his suicide not true.  And it's not going to make my mother's cancer any less real.  No matter how hard I try, I can't hide from the truth.

After Eddie's death I didn't really want to do anything.  I didn't want to see or talk to people.  I didn't want to go anywhere.  I couldn't work.  If I had had my way I would have isolated myself completely (thankfully I didn't get my way!).  While my feelings about my mother's cancer have been very similar to my feelings about Eddie's alcoholism and suicide, my actions have been the complete opposite.  Since finding out about my mother's cancer I have kept myself as busy as I possibly can.  In addition to doing my regular job as a teacher, I went from being on just one committee at school last year to being on four this year.  I decided to continue with classes towards my specialist's degree (Mama wasn't happy when I told her I was going to take a break).  I'm going out and doing things with my friends, as well as spending time with Trey and Emily.  Then last week, I joined a gym.  I felt like I needed a way to relieve the stress in my life and exercise seemed the best way to do it.  I'm not sure how I'm going to fit that in, but I guess I'll just have to make the time.

I'm sure there is a happy medium somewhere between how I reacted to Eddie's death and how I'm reacting to my mother's illness, but I haven't found it yet.  For now, just as I've done many times over the past two years, I have to do what works best for me.  Sometimes I feel like I'm so busy that I don't have time to breathe, but I guess that's better than just existing and literally reminding myself to breathe.

"A Word of Understanding"

May peace and understanding
Give you strength and courage, too,
And may the hours and days ahead
Hold a new hope for you.
For the sorrow that is yours today
Will pass away; and then
You'll find the sun of happiness
Will shine for you again.

-Helen Steiner Rice             

Time for a Change

For several months following Eddie's death, I did everything I could to help myself through that difficult time.  As I've said before, I met regularly with a pastor, attended counseling sessions every week, read practically every book I could find on grief, and finally started seeing a psychiatrist.  I also read daily devotions from several different books, made notes of uplifting sayings and bible verses, and wrote fairly regularly in a journal.  I was still going to the cemetery almost every week, even after six months.  Then one day it hit me - I needed a break.  I realized there was actually such a thing as going overboard with the grieving/healing process.  I had to stop trying so hard and let myself just "be" for a little while.

I ended the meetings with the pastor (he agreed we had covered everything anyway).  I talked to my counselor, and we decided I would see her on an "as needed" basis.  I put away all of the books on grief, even if I hadn't finished reading them.  I chose one book to read devotions from each day.  I stopped making notes of sayings and verses.  Instead I put what I had already written in my purse so I would always have it with me if I felt the need for something uplifting.  I quit making myself write in my journal every day and started writing only when  I really had something I wanted to talk about.  I stopped going to the cemetery except on special occasions.

Over time I've managed to find a balance between doing too much and doing too little.  I went back for counseling a few more times, mostly to help me get through the holidays and the first one-year anniversaries.  I sometimes refer to one of the books on grief when I start having certain feelings or questions again.  I still carry the notebook of sayings and verses in my purse "just in case".  I've switched from keeping a journal to writing a blog.  Now I go to the cemetery if I want to - not because it's a special day or because I feel like I should.

The road to recovery is a winding, up and down one.  It's full of potholes, but you'll also encounter smooth patches as you go.  You will make wrong turns and get lost sometimes, but you'll eventually find your way again.  As with any trip, it will probably take longer than you want.  Just as I did when I was a child, I find myself now wanting to ask someone "Are we there yet?"  I'm not sure if the journey we take after losing a loved one ever actually ends, but I do know it helps to stop and ask for directions along the way.

"Words to Live By"

We all need words to live by,
To inspire us and guide us,
Words to give us courage
When the trials of life betide us.
And the words that never fail us
Are the words of God above,
Words of comfort and of courage
Filled with wisdom and with love.

-Helen Steiner Rice       

It's OK to Laugh

I'm sure I smiled or maybe even laughed sometime during the first six months following Eddie's death.  It wasn't until September of that year that I was actually aware of it though.  I had attended a birthday get-together with a group of my friends.  We talked, ate, and watched the birthday people open their gifts.  I was glad to be sharing time with my friends, but what I was going through was always in the back of my mind.  A few days later I received a thank you card from one of the ladies whose birthday we had celebrated.  She said she appreciated the gift I had given her, but that more than anything she was glad to hear me laugh again.  That took me completely by surprise.  Although I had enjoyed the evening, I didn't even realize that I had been laughing. 

At first I felt guilty.  How could I laugh when Eddie had only been gone for six months?  Wasn't it too soon for me to be laughing and having fun?  Then along with the guilt I also started to feel scared.  If I could laugh, did that mean I was forgetting about Eddie?  How could I possibly forget that quickly?  As usual, I looked through the books I had been reading for any information on laughing while grieving.  I found that almost every book addressed the issue (which told me my feelings weren't any different from everyone else's), and they all said the same thing ... it's OK to laugh.  God gave us the ability to laugh as well as to cry because laughter is as healing as tears, both emotionally and physically.  It relieves stress, stimulates healing, and gives us hope. 

I gradually started to accept that laughter and grief can exist together.  Just because you have one doesn't mean you can't also have the other.  It wasn't too soon for me to have fun, and I hadn't forgotten Eddie.  I learned that it's not wrong to feel good sometimes, even after a tragic event in your life.  Feeling good didn't mean that the grief had ended, but it did give me hope that I could enjoy life again.  I wasn't being disloyal to Eddie by going on with my life.  I found that the good days would come and go, just as the bad days still did.  The grief went on, but I learned to enjoy the relief that came with being able to laugh again. 

"A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones." -Proverbs 17:22

"He will once again fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy." -Job 8:21

"Laughter can conceal a heavy heart, but when the laughter ends, the grief remains." -Proverbs 14:13
        

Nothing Stays the Same

My granddaughter Emily started to school this past week.  Wednesday was her first day of kindergarten.  It doesn't seem possible that she's five years old.  It seems like only yesterday that she was born, yet so much has changed during that time.  Trey and Emily's mother are no longer together.  She is married to someone else now and has a new baby.  Trey is in a serious relationship with someone, and they just recently moved into a house together.  My grandmother came here to live, fell and broke her hip and is now in North Carolina with my aunt.  I've been back in college working on my specialist's degree for a full year now.  One of my best friends at work retired from teaching, and I really miss seeing and talking to her every day.  Other friends have married, gotten pregnant, and one has passed away.  My mother has cancer and will soon begin chemotherapy treatments.  Eddie died, and his family and I have started to gradually drift apart.  Life goes on after the death of a loved one but in a very different direction.

I couldn't stop thinking about Eddie all day Wednesday, the day Emily started to school.  I couldn't believe he wasn't here to be a part of it.  This was just one more thing in a long list of events that he's missed out on because of the choice he made.  I know how much he loved Emily, so I know how excited and proud he would have been.  I couldn't help asking the why question again.  Why did he choose to leave and miss out on Emily's entire life?  She was only two when he died, so she didn't have long to get to know him.  She recognizes him in pictures and occasionally says something about her "Papi".  (Whenever she does I still feel a physical pain in my chest.)  She remembers that he drove a truck, liked to hunt, played softball with her daddy, and took her for rides on the 4-wheeler.  Whenever he rode her on the 4-wheeler she would sit in front of him with her legs propped up and tell him to "go faster".  In time I'm sure she will forget what little she does remember though.  I regret that he's not here to spend time with her because I know she would have enjoyed it.  She loves to be outside just like he did.  I can only imagine all of the things they would have done together if Eddie had lived.

There's no way to predict what the future holds, just as there's no way to go back and change what has happened in the past.  We just to have to accept the hand life deals us and do the best we can with what we have.  There are times when I feel like I've really moved forward and am going to be OK.  But then there are others when I still feel tired, sad, lonely, and even a little scared.  This past week has been one of those times.  I guess this is what one of my books called a "grief spasm".  I know it will pass, but I have to wonder if it will ever completely go away.  

"You can never change the past.  But by the grace of God, you can win the future.  So remember those things that will help you forward, but forget those things that will only hold you back." -Robert C. Woodsome

The Beginning of Recovery

Once I started sleeping at night I found that I was better able to face what I had to go through each day.  I was still sad, I still missed Eddie, I was still lonely and angry, and I still didn't understand why this had happened.  But at least I now had the energy I needed to make an effort to move forward with my life.  The shock and numbness had worn off, and I knew I had to allow myself to feel the pain of my loss in order to get through it, but I was ready to begin the recovery process.  ("There is no way to the other side of this storm but through it." - Raymond Mitsch & Lynne Brookside, Grieving the Loss of Someone You Love).   I wanted to do something constructive with my grief rather than letting it destroy me.  I gradually began to feel a desire to live again, even though I knew it was going to take time and energy to rebuild my life.  I had to realize and accept that I wouldn't get through this rebuilding all at once.  It was going to be a step by step process, one in which I had to pick up the pieces of my life one at a time and move on. 

I said earlier that taking a leave of absence from work for the remainder of the school year after Eddie's death was one of the hardest things I had ever done.  It was the right decision because I needed that time to cope with what happened and get myself together.  But I realized that summer that I didn't want any more time off.  For the first time in my teaching career, I actually wanted the summer to end so the next school year could begin.  I needed a schedule, a routine, something to keep me busy and my mind occupied.  I started going to the school during the summer gradually getting my room ready.  Thankfully I had to change rooms because our grade level was moving into the new wing of the school.  It made it easier not having to go back to the same room I had been in for so many years.  I remember thinking one day when I was putting up a bulletin board that this was one place I had absolutely no memory of Eddie because he had never been in that room.  This was a welcome change amid so many unwelcome, unwanted ones in my new life.

When it was time for preplanning to begin, my room was completely ready and so was I.  I was anxious to get out of the house and be around people again.  I was even looking forward to spending seven hours a day with 20+ nine and ten year olds!  They didn't know it, but this class was going to benefit from what had happened in my life.  Once school started I went in at 7:30 every morning and stayed until 5:00 or 6:00 every evening.  I took work home with me at night and over the weekends.  I planned extra activities for my students and bought things for them whenever I could.  I poured all of my energy into making that year the best I had ever had as a teacher.  As much as I felt like I had let my previous year's class down, I intended to give this class everything they needed and more.  I guess in some ways I was trying to make up for leaving my students the year before.  Those two classes will always be the two I remember the most ... one for being with me at the worst point of my life and the other for helping me recover from that point.

"Think of a painful feeling as being like a bonfire in a field.  At first it is hot, unapproachable.  Later it may still smolder.  Even later, you can walk on the ground without pain, but you know there is an essence of the fire that still remains.  Take your own time, but be sure to walk over the ground again.  You must do so because whatever you run away from runs you." - Gay Hendricks, Learning to Love Yourself