Rapid Cycling

Shifting between being happy and being sad....hard
Originally uploaded by shadowplay

As many of you know my two sons suffer from mood disorders, and I have written in recent past about the cycles of a mood disorder. When your child goes through a manic phase it can be quite distressing. They have little control over their emotions, and you as the parent have even less.

Today I was preparing to go to work. I thought my day was starting out well, but I kept finding myself sitting back down on the sofa rather than walking out that door. Each time I thought I was feeling strong, I got up to gather my things, but then found myself distracted, choosing to do one more thing, then back to the sofa again. It was one of those mornings where I find myself taking deep breaths, and doing some moaning out loud. I guess it is more like a very long, and loud, sigh. When I get this way I feel like I need to create some kind of noise to go along with my sigh. Somehow I feel like I am not fully catching my breath without the sound.

Eventually I got into my car and began my drive. Nothing on the radio sounded of interest so I eventually just turned it off. Actually, I did sing along to Lady Antebellum's "Need You Now." I just can't seem to get enough of that song. Anyway, I arrived at the office parking lot, got out of my car, and began walking toward the building. Suddenly without warning I began crying. I stopped walking, took a deep breath, and pulled myself together. I started walking once again, and was thinking about how odd this was. I told myself that this would be a fine day, as it really was my day off. I was only going in for a meeting, and would be done in a few hours. I promised myself I would do something special for myself, and to spend some time preparing for tomorrows interview. This made me smile. As I did this I imagined Michael standing beside me. He would be running his hand down toward the curve of my back, and give me his devilish grin. This grin meant I love you, and I will have you later tonight. I smiled again, and kept walking.

A few feet forward, and I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. I began choking up once again. I stopped, and thought that I need to get a hold of myself. I have an important meeting with a client and many service providers. I need to keep it together.

I don't like when I get this way. Maybe I should point out here, that I don't often get this way. My grief, my sadness, usually settles in like a dark rain cloud. I usually see it coming, and it often stays awhile. All I can say is that this was a bit different for me. I felt a little less in control.

Suffice to say, I don't like being out of control.

To Have and to Hold

Hug it out
Originally uploaded by tranism

Today's outing was a brunch hosted by our good friends Steve and Nancy. Nancy is one of Michael's dear friends from back in his Peace Corp days. They hosted all of the bay area peace corp gang, which I am now an official member. In my mind I think of this group at the 'friends of Mike.' This is the same group of people that gathered in Big Sur for a memorial weekend in Michael's honor. Each person hold so much love of Michael, and each carries part of Michael's history. It was a lovely day, with lovely people.

As you may guess, it also makes me miss Michael even more. He is my connection to all of these people. They have become like family to me. When I talk to them it comes directly from the heart. When they listen you can see the love and care in their eyes. It's almost heartbreaking. Well, it is heart breaking. I know that they each have their own feelings of loss, yet they are so good to me, being very observant of my feelings.

I will miss each of them very much when I move. And yet, I will have several other of Michael's good friends around when I move to San Diego. Those peace corp people are just everywhere!

It's amazing to me that individual people can carry someones history with them, every where they go. It like each of us holds a piece of the puzzle. Some of those pieces join right up next to each others. Some pieces may not be necessarily connected, yet understood. Some of the pieces of history shine light on what we knew of our loved one. Some pieces shared shed light on something about them that we never fully realized.

I love this concept. There is no way I could know everything about Michael. I only had him for such a short time. Yet in the time I had him I got to know a very deep and personal side of him that others don't necessarily know. Some of my knowledge of him can be shared with his friends. Other parts were just for me. I love to hear what they know of Michael, and then put that along side my memories of what he shared with me. It often give nuance to tangential information that I picked up along the way.

When I am around people that carry so many years of history with Michael, I often feel closer to him. His energy is there. Today I could feel his love. Today I carried an image of his smile, and of the love he easily conveyed in his eyes. When I saw his friends interact with their spouses, it reminded me of how Michael and I did in their presence. It was as if he was standing right there beside me. When I saw his friends touch, or share affection with their spouses, I could remember how comfortably we shared our affection in their presence. It was all so bittersweet.

As time goes on I sometimes feel like it has been a life time since he left. I sometimes fear that I will lose that physical memory of how he was with me. Being in his friends' presence today brought that sensation right back to me. As I sit here I am filled with mixed emotions. One second I am smiling, the next I am crying. It's as if he is holding me, allowing me to feel his love, and allowing me to express my pain.

I loved being held by him. I loved holding him.

To have and to hold.

Better Things

[All good things must come to an end]
Originally uploaded by Fabrizio C. Carta

After last nights heavy sobbing, I have moved to a place of numbness.

This evening I watched a very haunting film about a girls early death due to a heroin overdose, called "Better Things." It was quite poetic and quiet in it's presentation of all the people in this girls community. Each of the people in the story were dealing with their feelings of isolation. Some were truly alone, other's were feeling a sense of lost attachment to the people around them. There was definitely a tone of sadness, yet I found it quite moving.

I clearly got the sense that these people had not realized how detached and lost they had become. Somehow this girls death created both fear of their emotions, and clarity of where they didn't want to be. As is the reality of life, many of them were either too deep into their isolation to know where to turn, or so hurt by life to dare to step outside their dark shelter.

What I liked about the film was that these interwoven stories we told through the lives of young teens, and elderly individuals. We usually look at the young, and think about how they have their whole lives ahead of them. We sometimes envy their naivete, and wish we could go back to that age with the wisdom we now have. What was interesting though was that the young people appeared so jaded by their harsh realities. They had lost their wonder and amazement with life. The older folks seemed to be reassessing the trauma's in their lives. One couple spent their days in silence. The wife longing for the lost connection with her husband, who sat just a few feet from her everyday. She had wronged him many years prior, and she feared that his loved had waned. In one scene the husband talks about being in a nursing home, where he witnessed another elderly couple who were never apart. Their love is what filled their days. When the wife died he recalled the husband just sitting in a chair, staring out into no where. The husband telling the story said that as he looked at the elderly widower he realized that he no longer looked the same. His appearance had physically changed.

This story within a story really hits home. I understand what the husband was describing. When the other man's wife died, so did he. What was left was somewhat of an empty shell. The widower was too old, and too tired to figure out how to carry on. They appeared to have lived out their last years in this nursing home. Without the his lovely wife by his side, he was devoid of his spirit.

I know that I am too young to find myself where this other widower had been left, but that's not to say that I don't identify with those feelings. I continue to stare into the mirror to find some part of me that has been missing for many months now. During these eight months the air around me appears to have thickened. Either that or I am now moving quite slowly. I know that the muscles in my face have suffered some atrophy, for they rarely move beyond a blank joyless expression.

And like the youth, I often wonder what life truly has in store for me. If I make the effort, will their really be something there waiting for me that is worth it? I know that I don't want to wither and die. Well, last month I did. Today I do look toward my future with a small sense of hope. The hope comes from the stirring within me that has motivated this possible move to San Diego. I have chosen to trust it, as it is the only voice within me that offers a glimmer of this hope. At the same time I know that life can never be what it used to be. I just hope that I can recognize a new opportunity to grow, or be happy, and continue to trust where ever it takes me. I suppose this is my challenge. To believe that there are better things ahead for me.

Scattered Thoughts

(4) Stories for lonely shots - No Matter Where
Originally uploaded by Gavin Liam Levitz Russell

I'm sinking again. I had a fine day, but since leaving the office I could feel myself going under. It's that familiar feeling of not having the strength to keep myself afloat.

I came down to my room so that I can feel free to cry out. The boys have sensed this as usual, as they have asked a few times tonight if I'm okay. I don't want to worry them. We need to have a good weekend. Tomorrow is my youngest son's 12th birthday. His birthday request is to not have to go to his religion class. He's so funny. I suppose God will understand. He just wants a day to do what makes him happy. Part of that happiness will be when we head out to the Guitar Center with his best friend to buy a new electric guitar. He has been playing for over a year now, and is getting very good. I'm excited about this outing as well, as I love music, and am so happy he has found his passion with the guitar.

I'm feeling better now. It helps to look ahead, even if it's just looking toward tomorrow. I didn't sleep well last night. I kept having these uneasy dreams that just didn't make any sense. I woke up several times, feeling physically sore from all the tossing and turning. In my sleep I kept reaching out for Michael, but finding only pillows. They had to do, as there was nothing else there. That's the feeling I'm having tonight. I feel like I am going through withdrawal symptoms. I physically ache for not having Michael here with me. I can find no comfort. I haven't felt this bad for quite some time. It feels like I am back where I started.

Unfortunately I have some secondary parenting issues going on with my daughter at the moment, which makes all of this doubly hard. As we all know too well, the rest of our life doesn't suddenly get easier just because we are going through the trauma of loss. No, it all seems to hit you at once. Right now it's a heavy load, and I am feeling less capable of managing the weight of it all.

This whole post feels so scattered. I have no clear direction, and I'm feeling less than inspired by my own words tonight. This tells me to put the laptop aside, and put my energy somewhere else. I probably just need a good night's sleep.

8 Months, Still Climbing

The Steep Climb
Originally uploaded by itchypaws

The things we do for our kids.

My youngest son had a science project last month on Mt. Pelee. The culmination of the project was supposed to be a brief video, hopefully uploaded to YouTube, so the whole class could view. Fine. We didn't own a video camera, and my son was really stoked about this, so I caved and bought him a small video camera. Okay, the next day we set out to make this video, only he realizes he doesn't really have much material to cover. Never mind that Dad kept asking him to do a bit more research on the topic. Anyway, back to the video taping. We chose to do this at our neighborhood park, so he could do a roving reporter type story. Well, half way through the taping he had a big fit, and quit. What?! The star can't quit. We have a budget, and the studio, I'm mean school, has given us a deadline. The money has been spent, and we need to produce a video. So the director, um, Dad, secretly splices together a short video out of the limited taping that was done pre-tantrum. The problem is, Dad had no idea how to save the video to a video file. Teacher has been asking about the tape. Well, Dad has his pride...it's in the mail? Finally, tonight, when Dad was supposed to be writing today's post, he was busy trying to upload the damn thing to YouTube. No such luck. Dad tried to email it to the teacher. No such luck. Apparently the file is too big, and the processing of the upload is too slow. What the hell am I supposed to do? Try and try again? Okay, I did, I mean third person Dad did. Again, no good. Perhaps Dad will have to send his laptop with son to school for viewing. Eek! Wait a minute. Dad hasn't tried posting it on his blog...

Well, that didn't work either. Time to move on.

As I might have mentioned last night, today is the 8th month anniversary of Michael's death. It always sounds so harsh when I say "his death." I suppose that's because death is a harsh reality. It's been weighing heavy on my mind throughout the day, but I had to put my emotions to the side, as there was much to get done. I had a lot of work to get done at the office, as I will be taking a day off next week to fly down for my job interview in San Diego. I also contacted a realtor, who is coming by on Saturday morning to take a look-see at my house, so I was trying to tidy up the house as I shouted directions to the boys, and tried to keep the dog from attacking the cat. In all, it was quite a hectic day. There was one blessing though, and one that I didn't really expect.

In the course of my duties I visit various families throughout the week. Today I was visiting the home of someone who I knew by my file had lost her husband recently. In fact we lost our husbands within four days of each other. After conducting my business during the visit, I decided that I would disclose my similar experience of being widowed recently. I must say, it has been quite some time since I have been able to sit next to someone, and listen to, and share my story of loss. It's not very often that I meet another widowed person in my day to day life. As most of my readers would expect, it was a wonderfully fulfilling opportunity. I won't go into any details of our conversation other than to say that I left that home feeling blessed. It is moments such as this that we are able to give and receive grace and humility.

Tonight I have felt the increasing sorrow coming up from somewhere deep within me. By chance a friend and her daughters called me tonight to thank me for some belated birthday gifts I sent. It was perfect timing. I was able to discuss with her my concerns for my daughter, and to share the significance of today. This is the same friend who usually provides me with my morning hug and kiss when we start out our day at the office. Unfortunately, we have missed each other at work all week, and I definitely was feeling the need for our connection. Again, it felt like some kind of divine intervention, or a friend's knowing, that led her to call me. Because of our conversation I am feeling less alone tonight. She asked how my evening would go. I told her that I could sense that I would be falling back into my despair, but from my experience, I know that I will be okay.

I think we all need to trust ourselves, and trust in our own experience and short history with grief. I know the depths of pain, and I know how easily I can forget why it is worth getting through this. I don't want to run and hide from the pain. I want to face it. I want to embrace it. I then want to let it go. I know that it will always be a part of my reality, but to changing degrees. For the most part I am okay with this. I recognize that I wouldn't be going through this if I hadn't been blessed with the love of a wonderful man.

I will accept this blessing. Oh how it pains me to say this. The tears are falling as I write. I have to accept this. I have no other choice.

...one hour later, I was able to burn the video onto a DVD. Father's Day is coming up next month, and the kid better come through for me!

Another Step Forward

moving forward...
Originally uploaded by aaronwtong

Chaos, utter chaos. I just spent the last hour rounding up my boys, and lighting a fire under them. I'm hopelessly trying to get them to see what needs to be done, and get it done before Dad comes to inspect. Their rooms are always such a disaster. We go through this every night. It's kind of funny in a way, because I couldn't be more different than each of my kids. I am your typical Type A personality. Every room is spotless when I leave it. When Michael first moved in with me he thought he was a neat and tidy person. Boy was he in for a surprise. I'm kidding. He was very neat as well, just not as crazed about it as I am.

I'm finding that the day to day effort of getting every body's needs met is just exhausting me. It's like I'm coming out of a fog, and just realizing what needs to get done, and how little time we have to get it done. Now that I am back to being a single parent, it's amazing how much more work it all is. Even during the more difficult period of Michael's illness he at least was able to remind the kids what needed to get done. "Michael, I miss you so much!"

Today I got a call from the San Diego Superior Family Court. I am scheduled for an interview next Tuesday morning. So I quickly went online and booked a flight. I'm planning on finishing my interview in the late morning, then heading off to the area of San Diego where I'm planning on living. I'm wanting to take another look before I get my mind set on where we will live. I also want to have lunch and walk around the neighborhood to get a feel for the place. I'm not exactly sure what I will do if they in fact offer me a job.

I have not made any major move like this in many years. I've had my present home for the past 17 years, and my job for the past 21. This is really going to be about teaching an old dog new tricks. I'm starting to get pangs of sadness about making this move without Michael. It was supposed to be our big move together into "our" house. I know that he would be so happy for me if this all pans out. I'm also not quite sure how you suddenly moved a whole house full of furniture and possessions, three kids, two cars, a dog and a $2000. cat. Okay, I need to calm the hell down, and not get too far ahead of myself.

I'm sorry that today's post is not very inspiring. I need to do some research for the upcoming interview before heading to bed.

On a different note, tomorrow will be 8 months for me. Eight months without his touch. I wonder if I will get an eight month chip at the Untouchables Anonymous meeting? Suddenly it feels like time is flying by me.

Desperately Seeking Serenity

Framed Serenity
Originally uploaded by michaeljosh

Therapy Tuesday.

Today's topic: Life's disappointments.

Apropos to yesterday's framework of discussion, 12 step meetings, I found myself dealing with the ongoing challenges, and disappointments, of parenthood today. It all brought me face to face with the fact that I have very little control over those things that are most important to me.

"God grant me the serenity..."

Without going into each of their histories, it is known that my children have many significant challenges in their lives. With each of these there are ongoing disappointments that seem to come my way. In dealing with my latest challenge, or relapsed kid, I realize how out of control I can become now that Michael is not hear to be my anchor. Throughout my years with Michael, we were faced with the ongoing turbulence that is my children's lives. I'm not talking about a sudden change of altitude turbulence, I'm talking about luggage flying out of overhead compartments type of turbulence. While I usually took the lead, as they were my children, Michael always stood by my side, either to give me strength, or to point out when I was trying to control those things which I couldn't.

"To accept the things I cannot change;"

When Michael was first diagnosed with his brain tumor, I quickly learned what the role of the spouse was when one is given a fatal prognosis. I was supposed to learn everything about brain tumors, and learn it fast. I was supposed to versed in the latest clinical trials, options in chemotherapy, and familiar with all non-traditional remedies. My main focus became keeping my husband alive, and as I soon found, the cards were stacked against me. As much as I wanted to believe that we were chasing down the right course of treatment that would put Michael in the 5% that lived beyond two years, I was also quite harshly reminded that I had no control over this. In time I realized what I did have control over, which was how he would die.

"The courage to change the things that I can;"

In all, I must say that today was a day of taking a good look at what life has thrown against me. This, of course, included lots of self pity, and plenty of tears. As my therapist pointed out, while it has certainly been a rough go for me, he has a hard time believing that the universe just has it out for me. Even in my pain and sorrow, I have to agree. The life I once imagined as a father, or as a husband, has been something I've had to let go of. The fact of the matter is, this is who my children are. They have these challenges for a reason. There is nothing I can do to change their history, and there is nothing I can do to control the outcome of their choices or dilemmas, just as there was nothing I could do about my husband dying. Things are what they are. I cannot will Michael back to life, and I cannot will my children's lives to be something that isn't so. All I can do is learn to accept what life has brought me, and find a way to keep moving forward. What I can control is how I respond to all of this. I can seek out the best way to take care of myself, so that I am available should my children need me.

"And the wisdom to know the difference."

Of course none of this is new, and none of this is easy. I suppose that's where the need for that higher power come in.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.