I’m currently agonizing over what to wear to J’s funeral service. Everything seems either too businessy or too sexy. I feel so ill-equipped for this sort of thing. I’m wishing my hair wasn’t so wild—it’s too red, too pink, and too blonde. Entirely too many colors. Somehow it seems … inappropriate for the occasion.
I called K yesterday.
K called me back in the early evening. He sounded … well, broken, but also like he’s keeping it together as best he can. He was grateful I called. He patiently listened to my very inadequate words as I tried to express how sorry I was that J did this, how sad and how helpless I felt. I expressed my sympathy the best I could. He answered my questions about things very plainly; he was very honest about his feelings and what is happening to him right now. He is very grateful that friends are coming forward. He said that the old negative stuff is water under the bridge and that he was really grateful to hear from me.
K is very lonely. I’m happy that he has his parents nearby. He’s been able to go to their place to get away from his suddenly empty house. He hasn’t seen his children in over a week and he doesn’t know when he will be allowed to see them. His older daughter’s birthday is about a week away. He is understandably concerned that he might not get his daughters back.
I’m looking forward to J’s funeral tomorrow. I know that sounds weird. I’m looking forward to seeing him. K got some good advice from someone at the funeral home: Thursday will not be the hardest day. Friday will be harder because all the friends will go home and people will begin to resume their normal lives. K will not be able to resume his normal life on Friday, or Saturday, or any day soon. Perhaps normal life will never resume.
As far as his relationship to J goes, there is a rather large and recent complication—one that may have seriously exacerbated her mental/emotional problems, perhaps inspiring her fatal action. That part is his to tell, but he was very forthcoming about it to me. It appeared that he had nothing to hide.
K said, “I want to be friends.”
I said, “I think I would like that. But I am nervous about it.”
He said, “Take your time. I don’t have anyone telling me who I can and cannot be friends with anymore.” I thought that was interesting.
When K heard Lucas speaking and singing in the background, he broke down. He said he didn’t want to keep me away from my family. He sent his love to Ian, and he was crying while we said goodbye.
So, the thing I’m pondering is how close do I want to get to this level of pain? How bad for me or my family would it be for us to be involved with this man, this old friend, who may or may not have just recently lost everything that mattered to him. I’m not so good at shutting stuff like that out. But I also feel so much sympathy … perhaps too much. Someday I’m gonna build up those walls.
Well folks, this is it. Poor J succumbed to what we’ve always called The Greater Madness. We do crazy little things during the winter months to keep it at bay; we indulge our vices, our darkness. We invite our demons to come out of the closet for a litte while to dance and whoop it up. We take risks with real consequences in the hopes that danger stays at a remove. I always feel mad during the winter. February is a particularly difficult month for me. I suspect it is for many people.
I have so many feelings about J and what happened.
J wasn’t even 30 yet. I don’t know how old she was, but I know she’s at least 4 or 5 years younger than me. She didn’t know that it all gets better after 30.
I have many pictures in my mind of her as a girl, cowering thinly, trying to vanish or at least not be seen. I remember how she spoke to me: with deference and some fawning. It made me mad. I remember how her voice cracked and shook when she did use it, and I remember it was often too loud for the circumstances, for the space we were in. I can see her with friends. She always seemed ill at ease. Her unfathomable Self didn’t fit in her skin, it sort of hovered nearby. She shook. She flounced. She smoked.
I remember wondering where she came from and why she was around. I was too self-absorbed to care much, though. I was in college. She was dating somebody. Maybe several somebodies. I hardly remember now. The truth is, I never invested much of myself into her. She was around and we did some of the same things together in a larger group. Did we once tell her she wasn’t ready for initiation yet?
I only had one conversation with one of her parents. In a crisis when people were hurt, he said, “How is my car?” Not, “Is my daughter all right?” It was a scary time and I remember that was the first moment my heart really went out to J. What kind of parent asks about the condition of his car before the well-being his daughter?
When K and A split up, I had a lot of feelings about it. I remember being angry and trying hard to understand. Eventually I came to understand. I remember J immediately moved into the empty place beside K. It wasn’t long before she and K were an item. I shook my head and wondered what good could come of that. But who am I to know who should be together and who should not? I am only an expert in my relationship, not in anyone else’s.
I went to K and J’s wedding with some happiness and some worry in my heart. I questioned whether she was strong enough for him and whether he was gentle enough for her. I fervently hoped and prayed that they would adapt to each other and buoy each other up out of their individual pains. That spring day, in a beautiful mansion near the river, I saw a different J. She was triumphant! I saw a young woman who had conquered her rivals, had won her prince, had become a queen. She wore a crown and everything. She looked powerful to me for the first time. It was encouraging and I felt happy for them both. Those of us at the wedding were asked, as is customary, to support their union. I said, “We do,” along with the rest of the wedding guests. This was and always is a commitment I take very seriously.
At some point there was a falling out. Angry words were spoken. I felt shut out and deliberately alienated. I was told to choose between supporting one marriage and another. I was insulted and degraded, my character and judgment were attacked. It hurt and I cried a lot. I chose to support the couple who didn’t ask me to choose.
I didn’t see K and J much after that. I avoided them. It seemed that they were isolating themselves from their friends, systematically carving away painful associations. It suited me just fine. When I did see them, I felt awkward and uncomfortable. When I did occasionally see J, she didn’t seem triumphant, but acted a little bit more sure of herself. K seemed calmer, less angry, safer, but I didn’t trust it.
At some time, perhaps shortly after I had Lucas, I heard that J was pregnant. I was extremely lonely in my new motherhood, yet I couldn’t invite her into my thoughts and experiences. I just couldn’t invite her kind of crazy in. I wondered what she would be like as a mother. I hoped that she would be tough enough. I hoped that K would be an interested and gentle dad. J had a baby girl when Lucas was still a baby. For the first time in my life, I was a little jealous of her. (I thought I would have a girl baby—someone I would easily understand. I was struggling to wrap my mind around what it would mean to raise a boy. At the time, having a girl child seemed easier.) Even though we finally had something major in common—motherhood—I still didn’t want to let her in.
So, until a couple days after she died, I didn’t even think about J. She was basically out of my life. I had heard she had given birth to another baby. Nobody knew whether that baby was a boy or a girl (the baby is another girl). I didn’t ask or call her. I assumed she had other people taking care of her.
I’ve cried for J. I’ve imagined how K must feel, how impossibly hard this is. I can easily imagine their children. I know what Lucas was like at 2.5- and 3-years-old. I know what questions he used to ask: “Where are you going?” “When will you come back?” “Where’s my mommy?” “Will you always come for me?” I used to tell him every day that I left him with another caregiver, “Mommy always comes back.”
How on earth do you tell a child that mommy is never, ever coming back? How does a small child feel about that?
J’s children won’t even remember her before long. The older girl will likely remember feeling sad, lost, alone, scared, and perhaps even abandoned. The baby won’t consciously remember a thing (perhaps her body or spirit will). But they won’t cognitively remember J. When they’re older, they will try to picture their mother and they will only see in their minds what J looked like in photographs.
Mostly, I’ve cried for those girls that I don’t even know. That’s what breaks my heart.
J, I am so sorry for your pain. I am so sorry you were fragile and weak, and I’m angry if your meds made you even more so throughout your short life. I am so sorry you opted out of your life, and even angry that you did so. But others are and always will be even more sorry.
I could try to look at this in a spiritual way. Perhaps I will someday. For now, the best I can do is say “welcome” to the Lesser Madness to keep the Greater far away.
Ian is the best daddy in the whole wide world.
Ian and Lucas rode the lightrail downtown. The phrase “Next stop, Swanston” is apparently extremely hilarious to both of them now. Then they tromped in the rain through the mall and under the freeway into Old Sacramento. Ian carried Lucas at least part of the way. They discussed what “brisk” meant. They went to the Railroad Museum and looked at big trains. Then they played for a long time with the Thomas the Tank Engine trains on the table. (The Railroad Museum has the best track layout for free train play anywhere in Sacramento!) At the gift shop, they bought a new train picture book, The Train They Call the City of New Orleans, by Steve Goodman, and they bought a new toy train named Harvey. Harvey has a cool arm with a magnet on it for lifting and loading freight! Then they ate lunch at Fanny Ann’s and came back home on the lightrail. They took a good nap together and were up and playing with Harvey when I arrived home at 5:45 pm.
While we prepared dinner, Ian and Lucas made lemonade from scratch with lemons we picked from Papa’s yard. Daddy provided Lucas with latex gloves to wear to make sure no lemon juice got into Lucas’s cut. They combined ingredients, tasted, and then altered the formula until they had perfect lemonade to drink with dinner.
Daddy’s the best!
This morning Lucas lied on his back on my kitchen floor in his rocketship feety pajamas. He proceeded to open and close his legs and flap his arms.
“I’m making a floor angel,” he proudly announced with a big grin.
“Honey, you are a floor angel.”
http://www.consultsos.com/pandora/intr0903.htm
I hope that when you click on this it will link to the site properly. PandoraWordBox.com is a newsletter/site I subscribe to that is dedicated to linking the language of medicine and biology to the humanities—fine arts, poetry, and mythology). I’m not sure if you need a login to see this page. The text is copied here, but the links to other words and etimology, and the art on the actual page is worth exploring/viewing, if you’re geeky like me.
‘Tis the season, after all.
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Baccalaureate BS BA Bachelor
Bacchus Bacchanalia Debauched Bacchants
Laurels Libate Liberate Libertine
Oligophrenic Frantic Frenzy Schizophrenia
Bacchae or celebrants of Dionysus
This overview explores BACCALAUREATE. Those who earn this degree, owe their LAURELS (or BACCA) to the memory of BACCHUS ( DIONYSUS).
To earn a BACHELOR degree is a cause for LAUD and LAUDATORY celebration because BACCHUS or DIONYSUS was also called LAUDATOR. His other name was LIBER, perhaps because knowledge provides LIBERTY while also it is a source for some to take excessive liberties, a characteristic of LIBERTINES and of those excessively fond of LIBIDO.
The wreath of bachelors is made of BAY LEAF or BACCA LAURI, or LAUREL in Spanish. Bachelors should remember that as LAUREATES they are presumed to have the capacity for “self-illumination” through the ability to take DELIGHT in the LIGHT shed by knowledge “of self”. The knowledge “of else” is represented by Apollo and Athena.
Many people would agree that mankind, since recorded history, has been fond of wine and other social lubricants like dance and music. “Wine, song and women” underscore such ideas. The saying “IN VINO VERITAS”, implying that “wine facilitates veracity” reverberates for centuries. It is unfortunate that, for the most part, it has been forgotten that MAENADS, the devotees of BACCHUS, stood for MEASURED MODERATION and a COMMENSURATE MIND or MENTALITY rather than, as now, unrestrained “craze” or FRENZY. Such shifts in meaning, particularly if derogatory to the ancients, often reflect the successful efforts of Christian monks to distort ancient documents. Perhaps, those who study behavior and psychiatry ( PHRENOLOGY) should explore why, those who claim to love God, often have a penchant to mislead posterity. It is noteworthy that among the Olympian Gods, who were rather promiscuous, BACCHUS or Dionysus is singled out as a faithful husband.
Bacchic or Dionysian mysteries underscore the paradoxes and vulnerabilities of human nature. Intelligent people, such as Cicero, when exposed to these mysteries, were positively impressed. Such mysteries continue to perplex us. Note the behavior of some recent United States Presidents that defy reason.
Human nature remains a recalcitrant mystery and DIONYSUS or BACCHUS remind mortals of this enduring enigma. Mythology stresses that when DIONYSUS came to this world, he was ignored by mankind. In the “Bacchae”, Euripides illustrates the punishment of mortals by Dionysus. The BACCHANALIA, which meant DEVOTIONS and the BACCHANTS who were the devotees, can be seen as related to the mysteries of the mind. Several current events in the United States illustrate how the mix of money, greed, and religious zeal with politics and power can become toxic. Prominent DEBAUCHED behaviors by corporate and political rulers are not to be blamed on BACCHUS but should be seen as a disdain toward DIONYSUS and the rest of us.
Bacchus, “the twice born”, so called because his mother was consumed by
love and his gestation was completed in the thigh of his father Zeus.
– Compiled by W. Wertelecki, M.D.
Yellows are motivated by fun. They are inviting and
embrace life as a party which they’re
hosting. They love playful interaction and
can be extremely sociable and persuasive.
They seek instant gratification. YELLOWS need
to be adored and praised. While YELLOWS are
carefree, they are quite sensitive and highly
alert to others motives to control them.
YELLOWS carry within themselves the gift of a
good heart.
YELLOWS need to look good socially, and friendships
command a high priority in their lives.
YELLOWS are happy, highly verbal, easily
bored, and crave adventure. They can never
sit still for long. They choose friends who,
like themselves, refuse to allow lifes boring
details stifle their curiosity. They embrace
each day in the present tense. YELLOWS are
charismatic, spontaneous, positive, and can
be irresponsible, obnoxious, and forgetful.
When you deal with a YELLOW praise and adore
them, take a positive, upbeat approach, and
promote creative and fun activities for and
with them.
What Color Are You?
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Today we mostly stayed inside, although we tromped through the snow near the cabin, took some more photos, and built a rockin’, tall snowman with a green Mohawk in the front yard (Jonathan and Boo are coming up to the cabin after we leave, so we thought the snowman would provide a suitable welcome for them).
Anyway, Ian and I had a lot of work to catch up on. This is supposed to be a working vacation, after all. Unfortunately, the laptop I brought with me to work on this week died about 20 minutes after I loaded the necessary software on it. (It’s mom’s old laptop and I hadn’t really used it before, but it seemed to be working perfectly before we left town.) Before all you techs start thinking it must have been the wicked software I loaded, let me just say it was only a Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 11th Edition and Stedman’s Concise Medical Dictionary for the Health Professions, 4th Edition—two very smart, very reliable little programs that are basically essential tools for me. Anyway, the screen just went black and the thing wouldn’t boot up again.
Luckily for me Ian had a lot of reading to do, so occasionally I got to jump onto his laptop from work. I think I’ll have to buy one of my own sometime this year.
I’m thrilled because I’ve actually been able to do some writing lately—for kids. I have long dreamed of being a published picture book author and maybe some chapter books someday. It’s such a totally tough industry to get started in, and therefore a long, long shot. Up until this year, I’ve never given myself permission even to try it. But now I’m trying, and ideas are flowing in and out of me all the time now! It’s weird because before I use to wonder what I would ever write about—everything has already been written, right?
We are such good kids! We have actually accomplished the bulk of our taxes stuff this week. There’s a few odds and ends that have to be looked up, figured, or tracked down, but I don’t think we’ve ever been this far along, this early!
He’s had a cold all week. Stuffy nose and a cough.
When we woke up this morning, Lucas was crying and complaining his ear hurt. After several hours of this and repeated attempts to comfort and console him (food, water, tea, cuddles, hot packs, decongestant medicine), we concluded that we had better pack up quickly to make it back home before the end of the business day. The poor child was really hurting and didn’t want me to stop holding him. That meant that my darling Ian did all the work of getting the cabin back to ship shape. (Thank you, my love!!) Ian changed beds, did laundry and dishes, mopped floors, cleaned toilets, bathtubs, and sinks, took out trash, packed our belongings, loaded the car, fixed the siding on the house, cleaned our food out the fridge and cupboards, scrubbed the stove, and did everything else while I sat on the couch holding a miserable and sleeping baby. I tried to put Lucas down several times but he just woke up immediately and cried more.
At one point I got Lucas to swallow an Advil pill! He had never done that before and I doubted that it would work, but he gulped it down without any problems. (Fortunately, Advil is rounded and smooth. I don’t know why all pills aren’t rounded and smooth and coated with candy.) Soon, the Advil (and the nap) did its job, and Lucas was feeling better.
Thanks to all of Ian’s quick work, we actually made it home by 2:35 pm, even with a stop in Placerville for lunch. The drive was easy because the weather had been nice all week—no more snowstorms like we had on the way up the hill. We made it to the doctor appointment by 3:30 and we gave Lucas his first dose of 10 days’ worth of antibiotics by 5 pm. The doctor said that Lucas had every right to be crying; he has a bad ear infection in his left ear. Poor baby! (The doctor also said that one Advil was OK, but that I shouldn’t continue to dose my son with it because it has more milligrams that a kid Lucas’s size should have.)
This leads me to wonder what is it about kids getting sick while on vacation? I used to do this to my parents all the time when I was a child—especially when they were going somewhere without me. (Of course, I was sick all the time as a kid.) I learned my lesson this time—never leave home without the children’s liquid Motrin, or at least one Advil.
So, it was a busy day. We ended up at home only a few hours earlier than we planned. It was a great week in Tahoe. I hope we can do it again!
What Color Are You?
BLUES are motivated by INTIMACY, seek opportunities
to genuinely connect with others, and need to
be appreciated. They do everything with
quality and are devoted and loyal friends and
employers/employees. Whatever or whomever
they commit to are their sole (and soul)
focus. They love to serve and will give
freely of themselves in order to nurture
others lives.
BLUES, however, do need to be understood. They have
distinct preferences and occasionally the
somewhat controlling (but always fair)
personality of a confident leader. Their code
of ethics is remarkably strong and they
expect others to live honest, committed lives
as well. They enjoy sharing meaningful
moments in conversation as well as
remembering special life events (i.e.,
birthdays and anniversaries). BLUES are
dependable, thoughtful, nurturing, and can
also be self-righteous, a bit worry-prone,
and emotionally intense. They are like
sainted pit-bulls who never let go of
something once they are committed. When you
deal with a BLUE, be sincere, make an effort
to truly understand them, and truly
appreciate them.
What Color Are You?
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