Michelle Chamuel - Go Down Singing (lyrics)

This song and this artist makes me cry.  Her message, which she describes as a true reflection of herself, is so powerful; and so gripping.  How I wish all those that gave up the fight and surrendered to the pain of life could have heard the message in this song.

I think instead of saying "go down singing" however, I would have encouraged those struggling to stand up and never go down.

My heart is heavy tonight.  Thanksgiving has come and gone.  Christian's birthday is past.  And now Christmas is over and New Year's Eve is quickly approaching.  The holidays are always hard but for some reason this year has been especially so.

Christian's oldest son, Brandon (now 16) and his girl friend are coming for a couple of days on New Year's day.  My goodness Brandon is so much like his Dad -  the way he expresses himself, carries himself.   His heart is so big and he is so kind.  While it gives me great joy - no, tremendous joy -  to be with him, he is so much like his Father that it also saddens me.  It's a sadness so deep that it grips my very soul.

I must remind myself not to cling to him or hug him too much.  Holding him and hugging him is like holding Christian once again.  And that is a burden I must not impose on one so young.

Brandon is so proud to be Christian's son.  All of Christian's friends have told him that his Dad was "bigger than life".  And we, as his family, believed that as well.  He did live life large.  All that he was, all that he did, all that he accomplished in his short 32 years makes me so proud to be his Mom.  But truthfully he was, after all,  just human.  And in his humanness, he chose to leave us.  If only he could have held on just a little longer.  I wonder if time would have changed anything.  I wonder if ………….

I will always wonder "if".  And I wonder if I will have the answers when his son asks me the hard questions.  Sometimes I think I should rehearse those answers but I don't.  I can't because the answers seem to change each time I think about them.

There are so many reasons that Christian left us.  Not just one.  There were so many emotions tied to his decision.  Too many disappointments in that last year.  Too much stress.  Too much of everything. Too much for him to handle.  Too, too many struggles.  Too much depression.  Too much anxiety.  Just too much.

I do wish he could have heard Michelle's song.  Maybe he could have held on.

TODAY I ATE CAKE

Today is December 9th, 2013 and today I ate cake and wore clothes.  Today is my son Christian's 4th Heavenly birthday.  My Facebook page says he is 36 years old but really he is only 32 and will forever be 32.  Not one day older.

When Christian was in the third grade, his teacher ask the students to write a paper about their favorite holiday.  Christian's went something like this (I don't remember exactly because his paper was lost at his Memorial Service):

"I think December 9th should be a holiday.  It is my birthday and everyone would celebrate me. They would eat cake and wear clothes."

I think that is kind of funny because Christian didn't especially like cake.  The only one he ever requested was the chocolate one that you poke holes in and then pour chocolate pudding over - Jello Pudding Cake I think it was called.  What he really loved was banana cream pie.  One year the grandmother of one of his friends made it for him and he talked about how special that was for years.

Today is Christian's birthday and my heart was so heavy, my grief so great.  His absence so intensely felt.  How he loved his birthday.  My heart was broken and tears filled my eyes and flowed down my cheeks without warning and without regard to time or place.  Part of that sadness was because I, as his mother, was so afraid that as time passed he would be forgotten by his friends.  I was so afraid that he would become just a distant memory that would eventually fade away.

But that didn't happen.  I have received so many heartfelt messages about how remembered he still is and how loved he still is.  Of course, that didn't stop my tears but these new tears were tears of not just sadness but also of joy.

The mother of one of his friends reminded me that today should be a celebration of all the years we spent together.  She reminded me that Christian "REALLY LIVED LIFE".

As the years go by, the number of people that have gathered on his birthday has gotten smaller.  But I am here and tonight I will write my note, attach it to a balloon, and send it into the Heavens.  Other family members are celebrating his birthday at their own homes.

He was joyful; he was a free spirit; and he lived life large.  Depression took him from us but we will always remember the love and laugher he brought into our lives.

You are so missed my darling child.

Isn't this the perfect balloon?  How he loved his music.

I AM A JEWEL, MULTI-FACETED AND COMPLEX

I am a jewel. Formed by nature, cut by life. Once each facet that was touched by the sun glittered.  Such fire, such beauty. 

 I am a jewel.  Each facet filled with a part of me.  Not perfect.  Filled with inclusions and flaws.  Life's tragedies scratched them in with its cutting blade and chipped away what once was me.  I will never be perfect.  I am full of imperfections.  Struggling.

Death of a child. The first year, numbness.  The second year reality begins to settle in and hope that it's all been a bad dream fades away.  The third is the lonely year when others expect you to be well; but you aren't and depression takes over your lonely, empty life.  

With the fourth year comes the questions.  Why do I still feel so void of life?  Why don't I have any energy?  Why aren't I getting better? stronger?  With that comes the self incrimination. I have so much to be joyful about and still I'm not.  What is wrong with me? I hate myself. I hate who I've become.  

I am a mother without her child.  And all I want is him back.  All I want is to hear his voice, his laughter once again.  To feel his hug, the warmth of his body.  To feel his kiss upon my cheek.  I know I never will.  Not in this life anyway.  Why can't I wrap my head around the reality of the situation and just accept it? 

But as hard as it is, the first four years are surrounded by and filled with hope.

HOPE - what a big, big word.  Hope for what?  That the pain will go away? That I can begin to live a full, joyful life again? Hope that I can get out of bed in morning without  experiencing that gab of pain that tells me my child is gone - forever. Hope that I will survive the unsurvivable?   There are times when hope is all we, as survivors, have to hold on to.

As the end of the fourth year rapidly approaches, I have given up on hope.  Hope is like the wind in a storm.  It blows past me with lightening fast speed.  I can't grab it; and even if I could, I would not be able to hold on to it.  It is like an enemy that throws me off balance and knocks me around.  HOPE I give up on you.  

If some day you find your way into my life, I will embrace you and be thankful that you've found me. But for now you are useless to me.  I waited for you, based my strength and my future on you.  I filled multiple facets of my life with you.  But somewhere along the way, you leaked through fractures in the inclusions and escaped. Fine! go away.  Fill someone else's life with false hope, false dreams.  Promise someone else that their life will some day be filled with glitter, sunshine, laughter, and joy.

I am a complex, multi-faceted jewel.  I search for and learn new things.  I try to fill each facet with new skills, new exciting gifts.  I try to be brightly colored.  I look for joy in this new knowledge.  I try to be thankful that God has blessed me with the ability to learn new things.  

So why with all these things that I have been blessed with do I still feel so dull, lifeless, colorless, and devoid of any inner glow?  I lie in the darkness. Hidden from life's bright rays; void of light, clarity, and sparkle.

Are things really as bad as they feel?  Or am I just having a really, really bad day.  Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

THE PERSECUTED PARENT(S) AND FAMILY MEMBERS

I know this post will be controversial especially to those parents whose children have died by violent crimes. I do not mean to be insensitive and bring up hurtful thoughts and memories. However, I was moved to write this post. You may or may not believe in spiritual guidance but I do; so when the Spirit speaks, I must listen.

Watching the news lately I suddenly became aware of the fact that there is a section of our population whose grief and guilt is being almost completely ignored. I am not talking about the perpetrators of violent, heinous crimes. For them I have no sympathy and this post is not about them or the crime they committed.

I am speaking and thinking about .....I'm sitting here in my chair wondering if I dare approach this subject ....... I so don't want to hurt anyone or make anyone angry because I "don't understand", "you've never been in my shoes", "you don't know what its like" And it's true. I don't.   I can imagine but I do not understand or know what its been like or what the personal hell you've had to endure to like.

So on tip toes, I approach my subject:   the parents and family members of those that have committed these unthinkable crimes.

How many times have we witnessed on the television news, in the newspapers, in online news reports how the family members of these people are victimized themselves. Innocent people that happen to be related to the criminal. At times they have to be taken into protective custody so they are not harmed or their lives taken. Their property is often vandalized and their homes surrounded by news media hungry for a look or a comment.  These family members have their lives disrupted and totally and completely turned upside down.

Maybe they, like Ted Bundy's family and friends, had a loving relationship with the perpetrator;  had no idea of the thoughts in the criminal's head; no idea of the horrible crimes he/she had committed.; had never seen the dark, ugly side of this person they love.

They, like us, are in terrible pain.  Often their family member is still living but their emotions are not unlike our own. They go through the same shock and anxiety we did as they struggle to understand. They find themselves in the same deep, dark pit drowning in sorrow, depression,  despair, and seeking an answer to the question "why?".

But now add to that a GUILT that will never go away, embarrassment, and a society that doesn't offer kind words and warm embraces; but instead they find an angry public that turns on anyone associated with the criminal or their lives. Most often even before the facts are in and the criminal is found guilty, they have been tried in the press.

Already they are guilty in our minds and for some punishment must be doled out. Even if its against those innocent of any crime.

Think for a moment about the isolation they face. They are hurting and being hurt. Can you imagine being locked away in your house, with curtains drawn, afraid to leave, to go outside, and your house surrounded by angry people and insensitive news media knocking on your door.  The television bombarding them with every detail of the crime. Their hearts breaking with each word.  So much guilt.

Television news people anxious to report any dirt they've managed to dig up.   Even against those not associated with the actual crime itself.  Everyone is fair game, especially family members, and we're more than willing to listen and believe.  We are all eager to place blame in our attempts to "learn the truth".

And what about the children involved in this type of situation? I wonder sometimes how they ever survive this type of trauma - this arrow in the heart caused by one of their own family.  Especially if it's a parent.  To whom do they turn for understanding and support?

The children are harassed and bullied and found guilty by association. All things that we say are unacceptable and yet in this circumstance are somehow deemed okay. Even those that normally would speak up against such things, turn away. What a sad, sad statement about human nature.

And what of the parent whose child died at the hand of a police officer as a result of the crime they had committed?  I cannot imagine that they ever find peace in their lives again.

So today I ask you not to think about the criminal but about compassion and understanding for the innocent. For those who were not a part of the crime or destruction of lives. I know this is not going to change - not for society as a whole; but change can begin in our own minds and in own hearts. One person at a time.

MOTHER'S DAY NUMBER FOUR

At the urging of a dear friend I stopped writing this survivor's blog and closed my newly purchased journal so I could concentrate on my living family members.  Very good advise I thought.  Time to let go.  Time to regroup and move forward.  After all it had been three years without my son.  Perhaps I was ready to begin again and change my focus.

My sister-in-law once told me that I was stuck in grief.  Christian had only been gone five months when she wrote me that in a letter.  Stuck in grief?  Are you kidding?  I was not only stuck in grief, I was drowning in grief!  But time crawls by and slowly, very slowly, I began to think about other things, do other things.  Not every minute, every breathe was consumed with thoughts of how I would endure the day with such overwhelming and devastating thoughts and emotions.

This is what I've discovered.   Yes, things do change and time does heal to a degree; but for me this is how my life and my grief evolved.

Year number one I was numb.  That numbness took over the very second when I was told that my son was gone forever.  The pain was so great that my mind and body had to protect itself by numbing everything.  Of course, I didn't know that at the time and if someone had told me the worse was yet to come, I would not have believed it.  No pain could be worse than that first minute, the first hour, the first week, the first month, and each month after that until the first year drew to a conclusion.  No, no nothing could be worst than that inconsolable heart wrenching pain.

Then year number two arrived.  The numbness began to wear off and the reality of what had happened began to settle in.  Suddenly I could no longer pretend that things were going to be alright.  I had to accept that this was my life and I could do nothing to make it better.

My heart was being trampled on and torn and ripped.  I felt as though I was bleeding under my skin where no one could see it.  Now I was indeed drowning under the weight of my emotions.  I had to learn how to survive; but survival meant pulling that mask of deception on a lot tighter.  After all people expected me to be getting better, getting stronger.  How could I admit that I was not only not better, I was dying inside, raging inside.  No, better to pretend things are alright, I'm alright.

So in year number two I began the worst and most damaging game of my life.  Pretend and internalize.  Sometimes I even convinced myself that things were okay.  But this is a game your mind and body will rebel against and you will pay the price.

Year number three.  Oh my goodness, year number three.  The year when your mind and emotions turn  against you.  That great strength you thought you had, the resolve - gone, disappeared.  It is the year of DEPRESSION.  In capital letters.  If I had thought I was depressed before (and I did) that was only a baby's game.  This was the real thing.  Big and ugly and horrible in every way.

For days, weeks, months I struggled not to take my own life.  Every day.  When they say suicide is not about taking your life, its about ending pain, I am here to tell you that is more true than anyone can imagine unless they, too, have had that struggle.

Every morning I woke in a high, high, high state of anxiety.  There was no reason.  It was just there.  I couldn't bear being in my own body.  I needed to escape myself.  If only for just a few minutes of peace.

I'm not a drug user or a drinker so I never even thought about that.  My peace was going to be more long lasting, more permanent.  I made a plan and rehearsed it mentally.  It would have been so easy.

So when I say I struggled every day to stay alive,  I mean it in the most honest and sincere way.  It is as though the darkness wraps you in a thick, suffocating blanket that you can't escape from. It's dark, and hot, and there's no air.  No comfort, no peace.  Just depression and anxiety; and more anxiety and more depression.

I don't even know when the darkness loosened its hold on me.  It was gradual.  So gradual that I didn't even recognize that it was happening.  Slowly, slowly I began to wake up each morning with a little less anxiety than the day before until it was no longer a daily thing.  Today I can tell you that I don't dread going to sleep at night because I don't worry about what the morning will bring.

What I would like people to know from my experience is that if you are going through this type of crippling depression,  see a doctor; but most of all if you can hold on for a little longer, things will get better.  You can't will it away. You can't wish it away.  You can't force it away.  Its something that must happen in its own way and in its own time but it will happen eventually.  Just continue to hold on.  Tight.

Talk to whomever your Higher Power is; join either a local or an online grief support group.  It is better if you can find a group that is going through the came type of loss that you are.   Pour your heart out to them.  They will understand and be there to support you.  Don't try to do it on your own.  Medication, if prescribed, can also be helpful.  Don't be afraid to ask for help.  You might be surprised how much fellow survivors care and want to help and support you.

So going full circle and returning to the beginning, did my family relationships improve after I stopped writing my blog?  They didn't change or improve or get worst.  Things remained the same.

You see, this is the thing about families and grief.  Each person, every individual must make their own personal journey up and down those valleys and peaks of grief and depression.  It is a solitary journey and unfortunately it is the nature of the beast that each of us must work through the pain in their own way.

Does that weaken the family?  No, it doesn't weaken the family but the family dynamic does change.  That depth of pain and sense of loss has to change them just as it changes us as parents.  We love each other as much, if not more than before, but we become a little more isolated.  We are like little soldiers each marching to their own drum.  When we come together, the music of each drummer combines and we make beautiful music together.  We just come together less often than before. Is that bad?  I don't know yet.  Life continues to evolve.

This next Sunday, May 12, 2013, is Mother's Day once again.  My fourth since Christian died by suicide.  I must be getting better because I don't dread it.   I have a different attitude.  I'm thinking not about what I've lost but about what I have.

I am so blessed that my 89 year old mother is still with us and in good health.  She forgets more than she use to but her hugs are still as strong and as warm as always.

I am so, so blessed to be the mother of five incredible children and three equally incredible stepchildren.  And my four grandchildren, Brandon, Benton, Persephone, and Christian - there are no words that could begin to tell you how much I love them and how much joy they bring into my life.

I love my brothers and sister and their families; and my husband Patrick's parents and brothers and sister and their families add another dimension, another layer of love and happiness to my life.

And last, but certainly not least, is my husband, Patrick.  What an amazing man he is.  He is everything I dreamed of in a husband - kind, caring, supportive, honest (almost to a fault), and he can make me laugh like no one else.  Our marriage is a beautiful union of shared respect and appreciation of each other.

My cup runneth over.

To all you mothers out there, I wish each of you a peaceful Mother's Day.  I know its a hard day.  I've been there too.  I understand that sense of loss when others are celebrating.

I have a little sign upstairs hanging on the wall that never fails to make me feel a little better.  It reads "Dance in the Moonlight".  When things get you down, put that happy thought in your mind and mentally dance in the  moonlight with the wind in your twirling hair.  Spin and spin and spin and dance the wild fairy dance.

TRAVELING ON ALONE

When the page is blank and there are no more words to write, it is time to close the book.  For the past three years you have walked beside me on this journey.  You have taught me much and helped me to grow.

This long and difficult journey has lead me to wonderful people previously unknown;  to people whose silent cries, like my own, go unheard;  and to raw, heartfelt personal stories that we, as survivors, can feel and understand because we have been there too.  We have each faced a sudden and devastating loss in our lives, we have traveled through the same valleys, we have laughed at the happy, funny times we shared with our loved ones, we have cried together over their/our loss and our empty arms and our broken hearts.

We are a family; brothers and sisters born in pain and bound by grief.  We may not always be on the same page in our Journal of Grief and Survival but we are all in the same chapter.  In the same chapter and trying desperately to turn the page, to add a new chapter.  Perhaps even begin a new book of our lives.  We try but never quite succeed.

This journey has forced us to discover ourselves as we never would have previously.  We have been forced to come face to face with our own realities.  The knowledge of who we really are, beneath all the pretense, swirls about us like the wind, and falls on us like the rain.  We look inside ourselves and see who we are, where we've been, but we don't know always where we're going.  And that is part of journey - rediscovering who we are.

During these past three years I have learned some valuable lessons.  With your indulgence, I will share a few:

When we share our innermost thoughts and deepest emotions - be it sadness, anger, frustration, guilt, or the depth of our love, we are learning to trust.

As we listen to and are touched by the stories of others, we are learning about compassion and empathy.

When we extend our hands to another to help them up and give them a shoulder to lean on when we ourselves are also hurting and needy, we are learning what it means to be selfless in our service to others and from that we gain strength.

When others unintentionally offer hurtful platitudes and we fight down anger and seek instead to understand, we learn patience and forgiveness.

And in death, we learn the meaning of life.  This is perhaps the hardest lesson of all to learn.  Grief causes us to look inward and often times downward because our hearts are so heavy and our grief is so great.  The journey can be very long one indeed before the clouds separate and we can see our beautiful world again; and in seeing it, want to be a part of it once more.  I try to remember that in spite of the darkness of today, there is hope for a bright tomorrow.

Henry Miller wrote: "One's destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things."

I want to thank you for walking beside me these last three years.  I honestly don't know how I would have made it without the knowledge that you were there.  I have been greatly blessed and formed deep friendships and lifelong bonds with some of us.  You came into my life when I was weak and venerable and wandering.  You reached out, lifted me up, and continue to walk beside me every day.  You've shown me compassion and love and I return that love tenfold.

I want you to know that I have welcomed and appreciated your comments.  You have touched my heart with your sharing of your stories and thoughts with me.

I do not know where this journey will take me but for now I must travel on alone.  As I continue on, I know there will be many more lessons to be learned but at this moment I do not feel there is anything left in me to share.  Now I will become the reader and I will let your wisdom guide me.

Love and peace to each and every one of you.

Linda

"MEMORIES SURROUND ME BUT SADNESS HAS FOUND ME, I'D DO ANYTHING FOR MORE TIME"

From the song "Dancing with the Angels" by Ed Cash, Trent Monk, and Michael Neagle

When I planned my trip to Nevada to visit my Mom, I was only thinking of my need to be with her.  As soon as I had seen my doctor and had two of my four scheduled infusion treatments, I was getting on a plane come hell or high water.  I thought nothing of the date. I was worried about her deteriorating memory and I was concerned that she was not taking her medication properly.  She hadn't sounded like herself on the phone and she seemed to be getting worse.

It didn't dawn on me that my visit would fall on the third anniversary of my son Christian's death by suicide when I made the reservation.  Why is that of particular importance?  After all, the days leading up to and especially the day of January 18th are always difficult and painful.  The reason is because that is where I was on the day that my son died; on the day that the nightmare that consumes me day and night began and never ended.

HENDERSON, NV, JANUARY 18, 2010

Early morning the first phone call comes in.  Christian, anxious, emotionally distraught, and out of control, screams into the phone "Today is the day.  The day I end it all."  Five a.m. - the first phone call.  Ten thirty-one a.m. - the time the coroner documented as my precious son's time of death.  The time between:  a suffocating, soul crushing, heart shattering hell.  Did I even breathe during those five hours and thirty-one minutes?  I must have but it seems impossible.

EARLY MORNING, JANUARY 18, 2013

Everyone in the house is still sleeping and I am alone with my memories of that cold, windy January 18, 2010, morning.

My mind's eye, disembodied, looks down on the events of that morning as I travel trancelike through the sights, sounds, and movements of those five hours and thirty-one minutes three years ago.  Time moves slowly as each event unfolds anew.

My cell phone rings and wakes me from a sound sleep.  I see me answering that call and each proceeding phone call as I beg and plead with my son to no avail.  I hear again the sound of gun shots.  I see me sitting by the phone in the kitchen waiting and waiting and waiting for news.  Neither my husband, Patrick, nor Christian has answered any of my desperate phone calls home.

My brother and his girlfriend arrive at my Mother's house.  I feel the cold tiles beneath my bare feet.  I see each player exactly as they were on that morning.  Each in their appointed places.  I watch as they engage in unimportant conversation.  Words were spoken but unheard by my traumatized and distraught mind.  I wonder how they can be talking about nothing when I am dying in front of them.

The phone rings and it is Christian.  My last conversation with my cherished son.  His voice is soft and so full of peace and love.  He tells me that he loves me more than anyone but he is calling to say good bye.  He is at peace with his decision.  Don't cry Momma.  I will always be with you, watching over you.  If you need me, just call and I'm be there.  Good bye Momma.  I'll always love you."   I never hear his voice again.

After just a short time the phone rings again and I hear the dreaded words that pierce my brain and heart like a hot searing sword.  Christian's girlfriend tells me that Christian has shot himself.  She heard his final words and then a gunshot.  Patrick is with him but was unable to stop him from placing the gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

I wait for Patrick to call me but he doesn't.  Finally, being unable to wait any longer, I call him.  "Did Christian shoot himself?"  "Yes.  Yes he did. The medics are working on him but it doesn't look good.  The police want to talk to me.  I've got to go."  "Call me when you know something. Okay?"  "Okay."

My anxiety keeps the world turning.  Hope keeps me breathing.  After what seemed like a life shattering eternity, I spoke with Patrick again.  The only thing I remember of that conversation and the only thing that repeated itself over and over in my mind was me asking Patrick "Did he die?" and Patrick answering "Yes."  I wept uncontrollably at the memory of those words but on that morning I didn't.

I see their faces, Mom's, Steven's, and Kay's, when I announce "Christian died." My brother: "How do you know?"  Me:  "Patrick just told me."

Mom and Steven rush forward to embrace me.  I stop them with "Please don't touch me."  Why? because I thought I would explode into a million tiny pieces if they did.  A million tiny shards - like the most fragile glass dropped on that hard tile floor and I knew that no one would ever be able to put me back together again.

My world stopped turning.  There was no air.  I was lifeless - deflated, crushed.  I don't know how or who placed the chair beneath me but I found myself sitting in the kitchen and staring down the hall seeing nothing, feeling??????? in shock I guess.  The tiles were frigid, icy cold beneath my feet now.  My blood ran equally cold within my body.

I demand my mind, my body to "Stay in control.  You have things that must be done.  Telephone calls to my children that must be made."

********************************************************************************

Today, January 18, 2013, I do not have to remain in control.  Tears burn down my cheeks and sobs catch in my throat.  The tiles are still cold beneath my bare feet as I stand in my mother's kitchen looking down the same hall I looked down three years ago.

I am thankful to be alone so I don't have to pretend.  I've become an expert at pretense but I don't want to play that game now.  Later in the day, when I am with my Mom and daughter, Robyn, will be soon enough.  Now I just want to cry and to let all the hurt come to the surface unhindered.  I need the freedom to do that.

Most of the time I live in a gray world that pulsates between pitch black, blue, purple, and charcoal gray.  I am lost in the deep woods of stolen moments and lost hugs.  I can see my son's face in the distance but his voice is silenced.  In the darkness, I walk into trees of pain and stumble over exposed emotions.  I grope for the door which will free me but can't find it.  I try to find the light but it isn't there.  Most of the time, but not all the time, this is my world.

My sweet husband can pry the door open with his kindness and special way of making me laugh.  When my children come to visit the door automatically opens a crack and light fills the void.  When my grandchildren come the door is thrown wide open.  To hear their excited cries of "Nana!" is like the bright midday sun on a hot August day.  My heart lights up with joy and the sadness melts away.  My Mom can do that too with her smiling face.

Before Christian took his life, he told me he had left a song for me that would explain everything.  After searching for a long time without finding it, I eventually gave up and forgot about it.  About a week before leaving on my trip to visit my Mom, I accidentally found it.  I would like to share it with you now.  It is called "I Am Going" by Randy Travis.  It is followed by a song called "Nothing Hurts" by Catatonia.  This song has special meaning for me because I choose to think of it as how Christian's world is now.

Love and peace to all of you.

Lyrics to I Am Going

by Randy Travis

I am going where I've never been

I am going where there's no sin

There I will join my Lord and friends

Yes I am going where I've never been.

Don't be crying those bitter tears

Don't be crying cause I'm not here

I'll be happy for the first time in years

So don't be crying those bitter tears.

I have travelled life's weary highways

And my last journey is at hand

I can hear the Angels calling

And I am going where I've never been.

Lyrics to Nothing Hurts

by Catatonia

Everything is beautiful

And nothing hurts

You at all

You at all.

Everything is beautiful

And nothing hurts 

In your world

In your world.

Words plain with lullaby refrain

So sweet sleep

Enjoy the time you keep.

All around is wonderful

And nothing hurts 

Me at all

Me at all.

All around is wonderful

And nothing hurts

In my world

In my world

Words plain

With lullaby refrain

So sweet sleep

Enjoy the time you keep.

And if you come

I'll follow after all

So sweet calm

Will keep us safe from harm.

Everything is beautiful

Everything is beautiful

And nothing hurts.

A NEW YEAR WITH NEW OPPORTUNITIES FOR HEALING AND SELF-GROWTH

A new year is upon us - 2013.  This month, on January 18th, it will be three years since we lost Christian - beloved son, father, brother, and uncle.  How is that possible when my memories of him are so vivid?  It doesn't seem like three years have passed since he was here making us all laugh until we cried; or since he was helping me cook dinner in our small kitchen and joking around.

This is the time of year when we resolve to make changes in our lives.  I can resolve to try and be more patient and to not become irritated so quickly but as those of you on this journey know, I don't know where this train called "Grief" will take me from one moment to the next.  It's all so unpredictable.

For some reason this past six months have been the most difficult of all.  It seems very strange to me that coping with Christian's death by suicide would now be this hard.

Let me tell you my little story.  It's short because most of those six months I was mentally crippled.  This story begins primarily at the end.

I don't really know when it began.  It just creeped up on me from behind, grabbed me, and wouldn't let go.  This thing called "depression" is more debilitating than I ever imagined.  For days, weeks, months I woke up in a state of high anxiety.  Try as I would, I could not put my finger of the cause of such great distress.  I jumped at the slightest sound.  My nerves were on edge all the time.

It got so bad that I knew that I couldn't continue to live like that.  It is hard to explain how bad it was but it was unbearable.  I didn't want to be around anyone.  I just wanted to be left alone.  I gave it a lot of thought to how I would end this anxiety, this pain.   I made a plan.  I knew exactly what I would do.  All I had to do was wait for the right moment.  I mean there were so many things to take into consideration -  the legal consequences, the emotional impact, etc.

Fortunately with enough time, the anxiety began to lessen.  With more control over my emotions, I realized that I was in serious need of emotional and mental support.

As luck would have it, I had a doctor's appointment with my neurologist.  As I explained in a previous blog, I ask him for the name of a counselor.  He ask what was happening in my life and I told him.

This is the part I didn't tell you.  After our discussion, he ask me to commit to him that I would go over to the hospital and talk with one of their mental health professionals in their Crisis Clinic.   He said that he would call and let them know I was coming.

I didn't really want to but I finally agreed.  It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to someone it was the timing that was off.  Patrick and I had airline tickets for that night to fly to Louisiana to visit with Patrick's family.  Something we were both looking forward to.

But I made a commitment and I always try to keep any commitment that I make.  So off to the hospital I went, parked, and went in.

Providence St. Peter's Hospital, Olympia, WA

I thought that someone named "James" (the name the doctor gave me) would come out, I'd go back to his office, and we'd have a little chat.  NOT!

When the triage nurse put the name band on me, I began to wonder why she would do that when I was only there to "talk" with "James"; but who knows what hospital rules are so I stopped wondering about it.  I did tell her, however, that I wasn't staying and she said "I guess you don't have to if you don't want to."

So I sat down to wait for "James".  Shortly a man came out to get me.  We went down a long hall and through a couple of sets of locked doors.  Strange I thought.  Then we arrived at an area where I was given some hospital clothes and was ask to undress and put them on.  "Why?" I asked.  "I'm not staying. I'm just here to talk with someone."  "It's just hospital procedure." he says.  So I do as he requested.

Next he takes me to a room that has only a platform with a mattress on it.  Otherwise the room was totally bare.  That's when I realize what was happening.  I ask him "Is this your equivalent of a rubber room?"  He says "Kind of."

Next he asks me if I'm hungry and can he bring me a blanket and a pillow.  I say "yes, that would be nice and do you have anything to read?"

And so began my stay on the mental ward.  A doctor came in to talk with me.  That was a fairly short visit and was for the purpose of  determining my physical health.  He told me another doctor would be in before long to talk with me.  Okay, fine, I thought.

The ward I was on had only three patient rooms, all on the same side of the hall; and across from the rooms was a large one-way mirror where we could be observed.  Additionally there were cameras in the rooms.   In the room next to me was a woman but the door was kept shut and I never heard a sound from her room.  I just caught a glimpse of her when I got there.

At the end of the hall of a young man that definitely needed to be there.  He had a running dialog going on with his invisible friend.  Well not a friend I guess because he was arguing and saying over and over again, "Shut your mouth!  Be quiet! I'm not going to do that.  I'm not going to be bad."   He was a little scary at times.  He kept making eye contact with me in the one-way mirror and saying, "I can see you."  The nurses had to keep subduing him because he wanted to run up and down the hall screaming.  He also kept saying that he wasn't staying; and that he needed to go home because they were driving to the beach.  The nurses kept saying things to pacify him but it was obvious it was only intended to quiet him.

It was while listening to him and the nurses that I realized how helpless I felt.  If I said - again - that I wasn't staying because we had tickets to fly to Louisiana and I was only there to talk to someone, then I would be treated in the same way that this young man was.  After all  our stories were very much the same.  It was a terrible feeling.   I was powerless over my own situation.  I couldn't think of anything I could say that would sound believable.  I felt absolutely alone.  No allies, no friend on my side.

After sitting on my bed for six hours, reading every word in the few magazines they had, I began to become irritated.   There was no one to ask any questions of because they were all behind that blasted window.

Finally someone came out and I told them that I needed to call my husband because he would be home from work and not finding me home, would worry.   He said that they were terribly sorry that it was taking so long but they had a large number of patients that had been admitted and the doctors needed to address their needs before seeing me.  At long last the doctor came in and agreed to let me call home.

My first words to Patrick after telling him where I was were "You've got to come down here and bust me out of this place and bring the airline tickets with you!"  I knew they wouldn't let me leave just based on my word that we had plans to fly out that night.  I probably wasn't, at that moment, the most sane-sounding person.  Additionally, I knew that if they didn't let me go that they'd have a really, really mad husband to deal with. And I was ready to be rescued by my handsome prince who'd arrive at the tower door with sword drawn (so to speak).

After I hung up, the doctor came back in and we had a long talk about Christian, my ex-husband, and my daughter Heather's passing all in the last three years and how it all came crashing together at the same time.  I explained how I had never had time to grieve each death individually.  She gave me several pages of resource information and said she'd release me if I promised to follow up with a counselor.  I agreed and my clothes were returned to me.  I was lead through the locked doors and given my freedom just as Patrick and my son, Bobby, arrived at the hospital doors.  We drove home and I was finally able to pack for our trip.

This is what I would like to say about what happened.  First, I am thankful that I have a doctor that cares enough about me to take action on my behalf.  However, I am not the kind of person that likes being sabotaged.  I would have handled the whole situation better and been more receptive if I had known what to expect.  Secondly, if we had not had plans to travel out of town, I think I would have welcomed the opportunity to have some one-on-one time with a mental health professional.

I do not think that confinement is a bad thing.  I think it can be most beneficial especially when mental reasoning and emotions have become so out of control as mine had been.  I was ready for some down time; some time to regroup, and some time to begin to heal.  There are times when being away from home, family,  daily obligations and being able to concentrate on only what I am going through and what I need is the ticket to healing and moving forward.

If you ever find yourselves in that dark place that I found myself in, check yourself into a Mental Health Crisis Clinic.  Now that I know what to expect, it is not a scary thought.  I look at it as though someone would be throwing me a life preserver and saving me from going under.  If I find myself in that desperate situation again, I will not hesitate to deliver myself to the door of a mental health facility.  We all know the pain of losing someone we love.  Being the cause of that pain is not something I ever want to do.

So as the new year begins, if nothing else, let us resolve to take care of ourselves, to love ourselves, and to be protective of our mental well being.  By loving ourselves we grow in our ability to love others.

Happy New Year dear ones; and thank you for supporting me these past three years and encouraging me to write my blog.  Without your kind words I might have given up.