Friday, January 31, 2014

hey mama, how'd he die?

we talk about death and dying in our house:
the process, the feelings, the smell, the fears, and the theology.
so when my sister flew home early from her most recent international adventure to attend the memorial of a close friend, there was significant conversation about his death and the accompanying "stuff" that comes with something so unexpected 
{suicide}
he was young - too young. 

our oldest {almost 10} sat close as i whats-apped my sister across the ocean about the details, the feelings, the stigma, the questions, and the memories.
as i was furiously typing into my phone, he asked me, "hey mama, how'd he die?"
our oldest already knew the friend had killed himself so what he was really asking about was the mechanism of death.
my husband wasn't home and i was not ready for this conversation.
i said, "hang on, babe" and kept typing furiously - willing him to lose interest.
he eventually started reading his book and didn't ask again.
{phew}



later that night, my husband and i discussed the inevitability of our son asking the question again.
we discussed our feelings about disclosure and discussed the strong encouragement i'd received to withhold disclosure.
i think i dreamed about it that night.
i still was not ready when i woke up.

but that was okay because he didn't ask
until he got in the car on the way home from school.
{ready or not...}

"So, um I really want to ask you something, he starts, but I am not sure you'll answer me."

"I mean, I guess I want to know how he died.  I know he killed himself but, like, how did he do it?"

{shit shit shit shit}

"You are right, I said, I feel a little mixed about telling you. On one hand, Daddy and I have always said when you ask us life questions, we will be open with you and tell you the truth about things - with age appropriate details.  I guess in this case, the whole subject of suicide feels like a more mature topic and I don't feel as resolved about talking about the details"

"But I just keep thinking about it and wondering about it."

Do you talk about suicide with others?  Friends or teachers or...? 
{trying to buy myself time}

"No but I have read about it...in some of my books and heard about it in movies or shows."

"What kinds of ways have you heard about people killing themselves?"

As he shared his knowledge with me, I was struck by its depth - how much he had already picked up from the world around him and how much more comfortable he was at talking about it / putting it into his own words than I was.  
                         In that moment, I decided to tell him, using his words: "he choked himself."

"Oh," he said, "that is really sad.  [pause]  Why do you think he choked himself?"

{I remembered two summers ago when our oldest had an hour+ meltdown in the car - a surge of emotions and feeling helpless - and how in the darkest moments of that meltdown he confessed that he wanted to hurt himself...to kill himself.  We still don't know how those words even made their way to his lips but as we sat parked in the driveway after school...}

I decided to go there.  
To talk about those dark feelings humans have: hopelessness and disconnection and fear and loneliness and anger. 
To talk about my own {irrational?} worries about having this frank conversation, giving him ideas...about this conversation romanticizing suicide.
To talk about the reality of his knowing the depth of those feelings and my hope for him to maintain connections and to reach out when he feels himself in those depths of despair.
To talk about the indelible grief and sadness and guilt that remains for family and friends when someone takes their own life.
We went there. 
In the driveway. 
With the heat blasting and the music turned way down.  



He reached out for the door handle and I said, 
"hey bubs, one more thing...
Sometimes you are going to push me, push your dad away - because that is part of growing up and being your own person - but please remember that we are here for you (as are lots of other family/friends).
You might feel all alone but you are never alone."

"Yeah, I know that," he said and climbed out of the car.










Sunday, January 19, 2014

five minutes on the riverwalk

The San Antonio Riverwalk is jam-packed this weekend.
{probably status-quo for the locals but shocking after my sedate introduction mid-week}
I tend to walk fast and often lose patience with the stop and go nature of tourist herds.



So, in an attempt to curb my cranky as I walked to our conference site, I decided to set a 5-minute timer and write down the first sentence of any discrete conversation I heard as I walked:

"I don't think she should be able to say she's the boss of anything..."

"Yes. You totally guilted me into it..."
"...And it just jumped off the page!"
"Hey hon, just calling to say hello..."
"This is all so overwhelming."
"I love that one. I must have it."
"...split her face wide open!"
"Let's make tonight one we won't forget."
"You know those Germans..."
"Are you still disease free?"
"Shake it. Shake it" 
{yes, there we accompanying moves}
"Who's going to support your students...?"
"I don't know how much your mom knows or how much she approves..."




And Voila! I arrived to my destination with a smile on my face.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

see you next year

All day I have been reflecting on this past year.
2013 has been robust:

{highs}
marked with wonder & excitement; beauty & adventure; laughter & togetherness; health & optimism; and


{lows}
burdened with grief & disappointment; uncertainty & loss; tears & separation; illness & depression.


Today I feel:
thankful to have made my way across life's terrain to this: the eve of a new year and
a sense of peace, knowing I am not alone in this journey.



I have no doubt the new year will be at least as treacherous and disquieting as the last but I maintain confidence 2014 will also bring with it a beauty and hope I cannot know until we get there. 

I look forward to the terrain ahead.

-------

HAPPY NEW YEAR 
to you and yours!



Saturday, November 30, 2013

getting cozy with the funk

I have arrived
 {again. still. always}
At the space between what is and what is to come.
I've thrown myself into clinical work and motherhood and teaching and research and wifery and writing and relationships - both near and far.
I have set my goals and met them.  My life is full and largely marked by success.
I sometimes feel intimated by my self but in the next moment, I feel underwhelmed.
I have such confidence and security and yet, here I sit - in an existential funk.


It is both familiar and uncomfortable; my impulse to fill the funk with distraction: with people & tasks. 
I have been giving in to the impulse for weeks but this afternoon I awoke from sleeping off an overnight shift to stare the funk in the face {of course, when my defenses are down} and it feels a bit relentless at the moment. 
Distraction is no longer helping so I am giving myself permission to make myself comfortable in the discomfort. I am intentionally opening myself up to feel aimless and questioning and selfish and challenged and unknowing. 

Tonight I felt guilty for my funk though {for how it distances me} and apologized to my spouse.

He said, without skipping a beat:
"Daph, satisfaction for you is a process, not a destination...the funk is part of your process and it will pass."

Fingers crossed.

Friday, November 22, 2013

parce que

And is he worthy?
asks the father to his child.

A heart for the one and
A head for the other

Though we are not comprised
of the same
Do we share enough so that
love for the other
might be our pleasured game?

And do you love him?
the father probes.
Her lips do not hesitate:
Yes
Why? is the father's reply.

His hair and how
it flops to each side.
His mouth and how
it dances with words.
His mind and how
it transforms everyday thoughts.
His hands and how
they never seem to fail.
His patience and how
it wades through her excitement.
His love and how
it shows in all things.

And see, she says:
A heart for one and a head for the other
A fitting complement for each.

I love him for who I am not.
I love him for who we are together -
far richer than being alone.

With that, her smile curls
into her eyes
and the matter is settled.