message from those who've lost a loved one / mensaje de los que han perdido a un ser querido

Lo siguiente es bilingüe / the following is bilingual

Though this refers to bereaved parents, it holds true for all who’ve lost a loved one. Aunque esto se refiere al padre / la madre que ha perdido a un hijo, se aplica a toda persona que ha perdido a un ser querido. 

El mensaje de los padres que han perdido a un hijo está claro: por favor, no olviden a su hijo/ hija! Por favor, pregunta sobre él/ ella. Por favor, acepten que el padre / la madre sea la persona que actualmente ES, sin buscar a la persona de antes. 

The message from bereaved parents is loud and clear: please do not forget their child! Please ask about him/her!  Please accept the parent as s/he is now, without seeking the person who was before.  

Some varied words from bereaved parents:

"I never knew how lonely it would be. People have started to avoid me because they are disappointed that I haven't snapped back to the person I was before. I will never be that person again. People suggest ways to "get better." They want to take me out, and "turn me around." When I can not be the person they hope for, they are let down So many of them have given up because they are not comfortable with who I am now. It is an experience of deep abandonment and loneliness that I could never have expected."

"Nunca me imaginaba la gran soledad que me acosaría. La gente ha empezado a evadirme porque está desilusionada que no me he vuelto en mí; que no soy la misma persona de antes.  Nunca seré esa persona ya.  Sugieren maneras de “mejorarme.” Quieren sacarme de la casa y “voltearme." Cuando no logro ser la persona que esperan ver, se quedan decepcionadas. Tantos ya ni están en mi vida porque no están cómodos con la persona que actualmente soy. Es una experiencia de abandono profundo, y de soledad que nunca me lo pudiera haber esperado. 

---- ---- --- --- --- --- --- --- 

"Nobody talks about my daughter. It's as though she never existed. People think that they are being "respectful" by not "waking the wound." What they don't imagine is that the wound is as awake and alive as ever; forever it will be so. If you asked me about my daughter, you wouldn't be hurting me, you would be *validating* my experience by welcoming conversation about, and honoring the life of my child."

Nadie habla de mi hija. Es como si nunca hubiera existido. Piensan que son “respetuosas" al no “despertar la herida.”  No se dan cuenta de que esta herida está siempre despierta y viva, y siempre lo será. Si me preguntaras sobre mi hija no me estaría haciendo daño -- mas bien estaría validando mi experiencia por invitar conversación de ella, y así honrar su vida.

---- ---- --- --- --- --- — ----

"My son was murdered. I belong to a community of bereaved parents, and it helps, but it seems that those who have lost children to violence are even more isolated than the others. Nobody...nobody wants to enter into my world of horror, and the easiest thing is to keep away from me. I want to remember him and talk about him just as does any other parent. I am so, so alone. I never thought it would be like this."

“Mataron a mi hijo. Pertenezco a una comunidad de padres que han perdido a in hijo, y ayuda, pero parece que los que han perdido a un hijo a través de la violencia se quedan hasta más aislados que los otros. Nadie…nadie quiere entrar a mi mundo de horror, y lo más fácil es guardar distancia. Quiero recordar a mi hijo, y hablar de él, tanto como cualquier otro padre. Estoy tan solo. Nunca pensé que iba a ser así."

---- ---- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 "I had a miscarriage at seven months. I LOST A CHILD. I lost love and hopes and dreams and plans. I lost MY CHILD! So many people have been unexpectedly insensitive, dismissing my grief with words about "trying again," "there's time," and "it was for the best."  The almost screaming absence of validation of my pain, deep and vast, is confounding, and I feel a sense of being lost, not fitting... in my own  house and life and world. I LOST A CHILD."

"Perdí a mi hijo a los siete meses de embarazo. PERDÍ A UN HIJO.  Parece que muchas personas no lo ven así. Perdí amor, esperanza, sueños, y planes. ¡Perdí a MI HIJO! Tantas personas han sido inesperadamente insensibles, descartando mi angustia con palabras de “intentar de nuevo,” “que hay tiempo,” hasta con “es para lo mejor.” La profunda ausencia de una simple validación de mi dolor confunde; experimento una sensación de estar perdida, de no cuadrar, de no caber…siquiera en mi propia casa, en mi vida, en el mundo. PERDÍ A UN HIJO."

---- ---- --- --- --- --- --- ---

"I am a single Mom whose child died. I do not have other children. It is crucial that the person whom I date understand that I am a MOTHER. That I have a child, who, though not present, is vibrant, ever-present, and beloved. I know what it is like to have waited for, loved, taken care of, fed, dressed, nurtured, and fought for my child. He is a huge part of my life. I want those who get close to me to understand the forever place, dynamic and alive, that my son has in my heart *and in my daily life.* I want them to love my son. If s/he can not comprehend this and act in accordance , a relationship is not possible."

"Soy madre soltera cuyo hijo murió. No tengo otros hijos. Es primordial que la persona con quien salga comprenda que SOY MADRE. Que tengo un hijo, que aunque no esté presente, es vibrante, siempre-presente, y amado. Sé lo que es haber esperado, amado, alimentado, vestido, animado, y batallado por mi hijo. Él es --y siempre será-- una parte enorme de mi vida. Quiero que los que se me acerquen acepten el lugar permanente, dinámico y vivo que ocupa mi hijo en mi corazón y *en mi vida cotidiana.*  Quiero que quieran a mi hijo. Si no puede comprender y actuar de acuerdo con esto, pues una relación no es posible."

---- ---- --- --- --- --- --- --- 

“I lost my daughter over 20 years ago.  Through grueling work, I have learned to live a long life in the wake of her death, but my heart feels her absence with every day; it is a part of my makeup. Nobody ever asks about her any more. Most people assume that it’s a forgotten pain, and that to mention her at this point would be to hurt me further. Sometimes I prefer not to talk about her, because I feel that people don’t seem to understand that though years have passed, her loss cuts to the deepest part of my being.  They don’t seem to respect her life or the extent of my pain. They want to point to the fact that my life has gone well. I hate the fact that she is never mentioned. "

"Perdí a mi hija hace más de 20 años. A duras penas he aprendido a vivir una larga vida en la huella de su pérdida, sin embargo, mi corazón siente su ausencia con cada día; es parte de quien soy. Nadie pregunta por ella ya. La mayoría  piensa que es un dolor olvidado, y que mencionarlo a estas alturas me haría hasta más daño. A veces prefiero no hablar de ella, porque siento que la gente no comprende que aunque hayan pasado años, su pérdida siempre me cortará hasta la parte más hondo de mi ser. Parece que no respetan la vida que ella tenía, ni la extensión de mi dolor. Quieren señalarme el hecho de que a pesar de todo, he vivido una buena vida. Deploro el hecho de que nunca la mencionan."

Talking about My Physical Pain (good, also, for spouses and friends of people who have chronic pain/illness.

Talking about Our Physical Pain 

I co-administrate a FaceBook group in which many participants are chronically ill.  A discouraged member there mentioned that she felt bad because her pain psychologist told her not to talk about her pain.

A *pain psychologist* saying that!? Sheesh. That, in my book, is a prime example of the truth that "you can have the title, but it does not mean that you are decent at your profession." 

Voicing our pain; externalizing it is GOOD, for many reasons. There is a HUGE difference between dwelling; aimless whining, and simply stating the TRUTH. We HURT.

To internalize it, always, is to maintain some of the poison of that thought within...it is a bitter, vile poison that we all know well. 

I detest whiners and complainers and run the other way when confronted by them. 

However -- there are ways and there are ways. My husband Leif and I have developed a certain "pain communication" mode. He asks how I am doing. I tell him. He says, with sympathy, "Ohhh, that is a drag." or "I am sorry that it's that way today." or "Ohhhh, sweetie."   And I say yep, and sometimes *briefly* repeat my same old feelings of frustration. 

THERE. The words are out, they have been said, and I have had acknowledgement from the external world (husband). That is all I am looking for -- to state the hell, to make it true, to proclaim the beast's work. To get it OUT. These short communications are repetitious...I am saying the same things over and over again. Of course, this is because those of us in pain experience the constant fight / disappointment / frustration / sadness ...repetitiously.

Leif, a very black-and-white science guy, did not always understand this need and the dynamic of externalization. He thought, and understandably, that well, I have pain, he is sorry about it, and that is that. He said it once, and he meant it. Why repeat, a million times?  Don't I know that he cares and is sorry? Would it not be overkill to say the same things over and over again? 

(No it wouldn't.)

To someone who does not understand the socio-emotional fallout of becoming chronically ill/disabled, it is impossible to perceive the importance of our need to cry out about the life that has been taken from us. It is difficult for them to capture the constant, everyday "face-to-face" that we have with our limitations, and the constant sensation of frustration and imprisonment we deal with...the never-ending reminder of work we can not do...

Our friends, spouses, and others, hence, rarely understand that the repetition of sympathy and supportive comments to us can not ever be enough! These comments feel good. They makes us feel heard and loved and cared for and recognized. They somehow put a "period on the end of the sentence."

Previously, I was not too sure about this dynamic. I did not ever want to be a complainer or whiner. Yet facing constant pain, while watching my life shrink to a mere dot of what it was heretofore, left me with a great deal of angst. How to deal with it? How to share the injustice? With time, I came to this resolution. That to externalize it, and to garner a sympathetic comment, is all that it takes to feel encouraged, supported, and freed of the binding suffocation of carrying it silently.

When I was able to finally explain this to Leif, he got it completely. Now we have our little "pain dynamic communication." It has been a great thing for me. I will say what is happening, and Leif will reply with a sympathetic response. That is all I need, and that is all that can be done anyway. Then we drop it, and go on to the next topics at hand. Fast and easy. 

Without expression of our physical pain, we are simply holding it all inside. To a large extent, we have to do that ANYWAY, because life as a disabled, hurting person implies a lot of "shoving it down" while the rest of the healthy world leaves us in the dust. But to have to not even mention our pain? To have to act as though it is not banging against every cell of our consciousness? Nope...I believe that this "don't talk about it" suggestion for dealing with it foments feelings of isolation, loneliness, and failure. 

I do not remain in the company of people who complain, and whine, and want to make the entire day's conversation about their crappy health and rotten lives. UGH. However, I will gladly share the woes of someone who states it, as it is, and then PROCEEDS ahead with whatever it is that they do to make their lives as good as possible. 

IT NEEDS EXPRESSION. IT NEEDS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT. 

and then...FORWARD!

Sorry to give a big lecture here, but the people who suggest "don't think about it," or "don't talk about it" have their heads up their nether parts. And they very obviously have not dealt with long-standing illness, pain, weakness, and limitation due to disability. May they know it one day. 

My rules, if I were to talk to someone about their addressing their pain:

1. Talk about it. Say what is hurting you. Say how that makes you feel.

2. Expect /request / "teach" whoever is listening to offer a kind comment. Not go on for hours, not be a cheerleader, not be a parent, not be a lifesaver, but be a simple support, saying short and sweet sympathetic things. 

3. End comment time with something akin to "Oh well. It is what it is." 

4. MOVE ON. Do not spend a lot of time on the complaint (unless there is something new to discuss).

5. Express your pain whenever it is necessary. 

Rate of repetition: In my case, I am compelled to talk about my pain every time it worsens, or there is a shift in health. I probably mention my health somewhere between 5-10 times a day.  I also mention it when I am simply frustrated. All I want is for those words to be "out there...outside of me...and then to be acknowledged. Nothing more. I don't dwell. I do not want to get into it. I just want it to be "outside of me" and with a sympathetic "awwww," I feel supported and better. Then it is OVER. And I feel heard, and better for having externalized it.

"Moving on" (after expressing the pain) can take many forms. For me, when I am at my worst, it usually means finding something silly into which I can escape as not to concentrate on the physical hell. Other days, it means more, as I am able to do more. 

It is important, after saying the truth, that I always do something...something that reminds me that I still can do something, even if it is to merely sink into a Netflix marathon. This immediate application of me-to-action is a living symbol -- that I can complain, but I have a life. And I will continue to make a life.

Forward!

The Arduous Journey of Unanticipated Self-Redefinition

Resisting and Accepting...the Merry go 'Round

(note: formatting has screwed up. No time to fix...don't know what happened...arragh...I really wish it were pen and paper...bear with the funky reading.)

There is a lot of learning going on in my world...that of metering (I am *rotten*), of not blaming self, of developing ways to handle the disappointment in myself and in my circumstances...you know, all the questions that most of us who suffer from chronic illness (= chronic disappointment) are forced to deal with.

The learning has been daunting and wonderful. I realize that even though I have been exaggeratedly ill for well over a decade now, I am *still* adjusting to this person (me) whom for my entire life, I truly had very little to do with the current Joana.  Geez! How dull have I been!? My lifelong "Joana" is an unstoppable powerhouse, who can do *anything.* That Joana has no limits, and takes on huge projects. She is the Joana that I still imagine myself to be, and constantly dealing with the sorry contradiction, which slams me mercilessly, has been a war that I still have not won. 

Identity- redefinition is crucial in those who suffer a change in abilities and health. It is the hardest work ever, even for people who do it for wonderful reasons apart from illness. However, to be forced into identity re-creation at the hands of illness is a double-whammy. Most of us try not to think about it. Society abounds with platitudes (barf) and tells us to keep our chins up. 

And we bumble forward, watching the loss of the person we had always been -- and associated our identities with...watching the identity buckle and become warped...We can NOT be the same people we were, and *that* is where we get into trouble. On a good day, in a good afternoon, we so desperately want to immediately BE that person who we used to be. We clean, we run around, we do things that have gone unattended to. We don’t pace ourselves, we fall back into the old person, the one who existed before the health-hell. And it bites us every time, as we almost always pay for it, and dearly (and when we’re paying for it, we fall into even more self- frustration). 

Pour the dose of self-blame atop this painful truncation of effort and efficiency, and we are a population that truly suffers a certain type of heartbreak,  more deeply than others --and even we ourselves -- do not accept or understand. To be sure, we are not generally very compassionate with ourselves. We feel like losers, lemons, rejects.

In clinging to our old identities, we insist on attempting to be something that we are NOT anymore, and that is trying and tiring. Naturally, it is also almost always a recipe for disappointment, as on trying to be that old person usually knocks us flat. Then we feel even worse.

But how to create the new identity? Where does one start? And how to accept it with gratitude and grace? 

That shift into accepting what is *the truth* is a very hard one. I don't want to admit that I am not longer a powerhouse. I don't want to admit that I can not do the things that I have been able to address with force and energy, all my life. I don't want to admit that the old "Joana" no longer exists. The old Joana is dead.

At worst, somehow it means to me that I have had to accept trading her in for the gimp model.  

And interesting side note: I still have a very hard time referring to myself as disabled, and was shocked when Leif recently and casually told me that he'd commented to a colleague that “my wife Joana is disabled.” "Disabled.” That is such a final, and such an unpleasant title. It harkens images of impotence, of weakness, of sniveling, of inadequacy of inconvenience of party-poopdom. I do not want to identify myself with that. Yet it is true, I am disabled. <------ Even to write that costs me dearly. It feels definitive and repressive. I reject it. Yet it is the truth, it is who I am. An ill woman who is disabled. The powerhouse is gone, the high-producing workhorse is dead.

I plan to work on this self-redefinition thoughtfully. I plan to create and accept a new identity, and to make it a realistic one. It is something that I have not thought of in these terms, exactly. I mean, I have thought that adjustment to ill life would simply *come* with time and experience. However, as we all know, we can work to shape the things that happen to us. We have a huge hand in creating what we become, who we are. To leave this crucial and difficult identity-redefinition to fate and time is to allow unbridled influences to pull us here and there, to blow us around like a paper in a windstorm. I had not thought of this with respect to myself personally, even though I have seen and worked with it many times in others. 

Now if it is what it is, so be it. I detest whining and complaining and martyrs. Ugh.

Leaving my new identity building to fate and destiny has NOT served me well at all. I have evaded the task, or hoped it was not really necessary. 

I believe that I am going to start with some basic lists. I want to SEE, before me and in honesty, who I no longer am, and who I AM. It will start with observation and contemplation.

List #1: Who Joana no longer is. What Joana can no longer do.

List #2 Who Joana IS. What Joana can do.

List #3 That which Joana lost on becoming disabled.

List #4 That which Joana still has, or has gained after becoming disabled.

List #5 Everyday attitudes and actions about my life that don't serve me, get me into trouble, or hurt me.

List #6 Everyday attitudes and activities that serve me, and build me up.

List #7 Practical ways of dealing with metering, pacing, and evaluating what is truly do-able (without collapse).

List #8 How to set forth each day as not not suffer with disappointment in self, and as to feel —within my limitations — productive and useful.

The above lists will create a framework from which to draw a plan, a life plan, for moving forward with dignity, self-respect, and importantly, *clarity,* something that is elusive in our worlds of illness and self-blame. 

I would have been much more…infinitely more... productive and efficient if I had been able to deal with these questions from the start. I allowed life to take me in its current, and have suffered from the very common self defeat that we experience on not being able to be that person from before. 

I AM going to be who I want to be. It has taken a long, long time to muddle through all of the dynamics and influences that trip me up, that make me stumble and revert to feeling useless and ineffective. But I am DOING IT. I will NOT live my life in this confusion and auto-recrimination. It is a disrespect for the life that I have been given, and even though I didn’t get my way, and even though I am not the person who I had hoped to remain, I DO have a life, and I DO have use.

Now, may I vanquish the self-deception, self-recrimination, and  avoidance, and may the progress begin!

Love, Joana

Thoughts for Tonight

April 29th, 2015

"Love is that which enables choice.

 Love is always stronger than fear. 

Always choose on the basis of Love."  

                                                                                (F. Landry) 

...and it begins with honest love and respect of self. There is where the gentleness toward all else is born. We can not hate ourselves and pretend love, complete, for others...I don't think. Knowing our failures and foibles, the achievement of self-love teaches us love for all else, as we can then understand that nothing is perfect, and our love going out is not dependent on others' perfect behaviour. Love of the imperfect, especially that which lies within us (which we know so well, and impotently lament without avail) is a key to deep understanding of the universal condition of  l-i-f-e. 

I will struggle with it for the rest of the days I am granted, but I will NOT stop plodding...working...yearning, and practicing healthy actions. It is the only way to have a dignified life, one that demonstrates  respect for what is real and true. To die a whining, insecure jellyfish is the biggest disrespect for all the posibilities, chances, and opportunities that we -- every one of us -- are given. FORWARD. You can not hate youself into self love,  and, as my guru would say, very tenderly, "Stop it." 

Love to all today, Joana

Focus -- elusive quality in today's craziness.

FOCUS

So, after writing about "Type-A" personalities, a friend brought up the idea of focus, something that I believe becomes a challenge for many of us -- ill or not. Thanks, Donna, for reminding me of this.

Focus -- it's something that has been very compromised in my life by narcotics, depression, and plain old illness. I am trying to return to a more linear approach to life -- something that has never been quite "me." A long time ago, I was taught a method of focused mindfulness that works well, when you do it.

It consists of simply telling yourself, as you are doing things, "I am doing this now. I am washing my hands. I am sweeping the floor. I am writing this post." As you do it, you are "in" it because you are also dedicating your language to it. You can say anything you want about your "task," as long as you are talking (thinking) about it with these descriptive sentences. "The water is hot. This soap smells like lavender." And so on.

One of our "productive society's" tendencies tends to be to do one thing while thinking of another, or of several other things. In truth, it renders the task at hand one done without respectful attention. It lends itself to error, and jobs not attentively and well-done. We are constantly pressing ourselves to be "multi-taskers," and when this multi-tasking is not controlled by a perfectly together, healthy Type-A persona, it leads to fragmentation and scattering of the mind.

At least this is true for me. "Mindfulness" practice is wonderful, and I am getting to know it all over again. There are tomes and tomes out there about this, as it has now become quite a popular cultural topic in the States. (Currently, for example, I am reading a book on mindfulness and chronic pain.)

My husband is the most linear person whom I have *ever* met. I used to think that it was not as efficient or "quick" as I was. It somehow seemed plodding when I compared it to my flying around doing a million things. I now, after many, many years, see that he gets many more things done than I, and they are always done with care and attention. If he is driving, he is driving. If he is reading, he is reading. If he is cooking, he is cooking. He enjoys the well-deserved reputation of a man whose work is always quality and who *gets the job done right.*

Another things that his mindful, linear "way" gives him is a communication mode that is wonderful -- he is completely PRESENT. He doesn't go off on jags of thought, he doesn't fly off the subject, he solidly listens, with complete attention, He knows what I have said, and is respectfully thought of, and responded to. Now me? Ha. I am all over the place. One thing I say relates to another, and *that* to yet another...and conversation is like a big tree with a million branches...fun? Perhaps? Interesting? Perhaps...but attentive to the theme at hand? No. My conversation is frequently a flight through the gigantic tree of a million branches and turns. Some people are driven crazy by my "horses bursting forth."

I have been working on this, and it has been very interesting to discover the ways that society, and I, have formed this personality of inefficiency, in the name of multi-tasking. It has been very intriguing to catch myself and to effect changes in myself at almost 60 years old. Very intriguing to observe my ways. To *gently* observe them. "Gently" is an operative word. This is not a personal growth efficiency competition any more. It is a serious, calm look. A look at my ways, my unquestioned modes that no longer serve me well.

Granted, as young Mothers, and in other positions of life, multitasking is the name of the game. Nevertheless, I am not a Mother, and I have no need to be a multi-tasker. It is simply a product of a society that presses the trait (confusing it with efficiency), and my personality, which is hyper and naturally energetic and nervous. It has not been a gift, and as the years of illness and heart-struggles have endured, this "multi-tasking" has detracted from both my quality of life and from the task at hand, which is commonly left unfinished, along with several other unfinished tasks.

You have no idea the quantity of *started* projects I have looming around me, and the scarcity of finished projects present. And the result of that is the old self- punishment -- "You are a flake now, Joana, you can't do *anything!* You are a loser."

Yes, such a help. Again, "gentle" is an important word in this whirlwind of self-re-description. Becoming something else requires friendliness toward ourselves. As someone recently said — something that I love and will adopt — “You can’t hate yourself into self-love. “ Simple but spot-on. 

I am typing this post now. I am about to drink my tea. I am signing off now. I am sending my love. Tee hee.

Sending Love, Joana

Don't Say This to a Bereaved Parent ...Please!

Don't Say this to a Bereaved Parent:

Most of you know of my passion in my work with bereaved parents. Today, I had the opportunity to have a conversation with a bereaved Mother, and we were addressing the age-old phrase that is a really bad one to say to bereaved parents:

"I could *never* go through that! I would just die if I lost my child."

And

"You're so strong. I could never do it."

These two phrases, and their variations suggesting the same are a really unhelpful, and can commonly even hurt.

A bereaved parent can not help but feel this reaction: "Does this mean that you love your child more than I love mine? Does it mean that my grief doesn't match the loss? Does it mean that you are more sensitive than I? Does it mean that my grief should be more if my love is as strong as yours?"

I think that most bereaved parents clearly understand that people say things that hurt NOT out of *any* maliciousness or obnoxious bent, but because they are -- as is the majority of the nation -- completely unfamiliar with the territory of death and are at a clumsy loss for words. In my extensive work with bereaved parents, I have not met bereaved parents who did not understand this.

As this on-line conversation proceeded, someone suggested that people who are hurting sometimes have emotional reactions to others' comments and actions. And that it helps to remember that the people making the unhelpful comments are, for the most part, trying their best to be nice.

I understand this.

However, irrespective of whether or not the bereaved parent's "hurt reaction" is disproportionate to the utterance or not -- these comments *do* hurt, and that hurt is very real. It is not to be denied and altered for the comfort of those who are not able to step into her/his experience.

They do not have to be snappy, or mean (*nobody* does), but they should not have top feel obligated to accept everything that people say, without being able to answer with a kind yet pointed answer. To the comment, "Oh I would die if I lost *my* child!" I thought of the response: "You're right. I *can't* do this. It is living death. You are right. It *is* impossible. And you're right. I do want to die. Bu that would not be my son's wish. So in his honor, I choose the most difficult thing. Living."

I have no judgement toward the masses of people who say these clumsy, un-helpful things. It is nobody's fault that as a by-product of the cultural values that we have adopted, we can not stand the presence of death in our lives, in our friends, in our conversations. We have been *taught* to stay the hell away. We have been *taught* to try to make it all better, but not how to be *present* with it in any significant way.

It has done us all a great disservice, as ALL of us WILL suffer deep losses through death, and there are so many ways to approach it that we lose out on, due to a society that shoves it under the rug as soon as the service is over and the mess cleaned up.

Bereaved parents so frequently *get the shaft.* I do not completely blame those o' the clumsy comments, I don't judge. I do however, feel passionate about promoting education around death, *conversation* about it, and talk of the unusual, rare blessings that death offers the bereaved --*and* those who are not personally bereaved-- through life's guaranteed pain.

Bereaved parents, suffering the most supreme pain of all life (ask any parent, they would much prefer to be tortured, or go to war, over losing a child, and would do it in a heartbeat), is something that should be afforded the supreme response...interest, care, compassion, and the two most important elements: presence and listening. Most people don't want to hear it. And many will even say so..."Oh, let's not talk about such sad things..." or "What can I do to make you feel better!?" They want to fix it or escape.

Bereaved parents are shut down in so many ways. They are made to feel inadequate for not "bouncing back." They are even chided by others who advise them that they "need to get over it." They are avoided, they lose friends, and they are sometimes accused of "not even trying to be better."

Bereaved parents are my martyrs and heroes, and that is where my loyalties lie.

When we run, we always get caught.

Love to all tonight, Joana

"Type-A" -- something to be proud of?

Type-A -- something to be proud of?

I am in a pissy mood today. I have finally gone into POST acute withdrawals, after four+ months of acute. Yes, it does happen to people. I am on the exaggerated end of the "withdrawal-o-meter," because of my age (almost 60, my health stuff, and the types and taking-duration of medicines that I was on). I finally, *thank God!* turned a corner awhile back, but am still pretty ill. Just not torture now, which in all seriousness, it had been. I have not been as ill since I was in my second cancer treatment, and that says a lot. I am extremely weak. 

I am doing that thing that so many of us who deal with chronic illness do -- feeling exasperated and angry with myself for all of the things that I am not getting done. And there is SO much to do... Every day, I see it build up more. As somebody who was a very "type-A" go-getter personality, this is very, very trying for me.

I also muse over how many of us who have these enduring illnesses self-describe as "Type-A" people. I know that it may sound odd to many but I am inclined to say that the touted "Type-A" personality is one that does more harm to us than we would like to think. Type-A's are driven...almost to the point of obsession with being "productive." Type-A personalities rarely are contemplators and meditators. Type-A people tend not to allow themselves to rest, and take pride in that sacrificial drive. Type-A people tend to ring with that high tension that one can feel as soon as they are near.

Type-A people also seem to thrive on the idea that they are considered so important to the functioning of "x" thing (be that a work project, family running smoothly, etc.). "I am Type-A, and people seek me out for that organized, super-proficient capacity." Type-A people are almost always over scheduled, over worked and over depended on. They feel a sense of pride over this. And it slowly sucks the life from them. 

Yep, Type-A's get things done, but they also commonly become ill with stress-related conditions. They typically have digestive problems, blood pressure problems, stress itself that is high, and little capacity to calm down and *accept.* Many have depression issues. Lots are getting drinks after work. Many have troubles enjoying the simple things of everyday life, because they so often have "just this one more thing I have to get done." Many have limited communication and time for their families, and the things in life that nourish the soul. In fact, Type-A personalities rarely have time for the soul and spirit.

Type-A -- is this a position that we truly *want* to adopt? Certainly it has been one that employers enjoy and encourage (duh). Certainly, when the words "Type-A" are uttered, people imagine things getting efficiently *done* by efficient, organized, productive people. 

The Type-A personality has a very ugly sides. I am not sure that I am so proud at having been this type for my entire life. It led to self-recrimination when I was not "productive," and did not lend itself to the more subtle beauties of quiet reflection and non-judgmental *acceptance* of the fact that we are not always going to be as productive, or as "together" and efficient as we would like to think. There is so much to discover outside the boundaries of "efficiency."

The brain-addling activity of multi-tasking; being a "multi-tasker" is another self-description touted by many, and encouraged by employers...but I have come to seriously believe that multitasking has extensively fragmented our ability for concentration, memory, communication, and courtesy. How many times do we switch the page as soon as another little things strikes our fancy? How many times do we allow ourselves to do ONE THING, with dedication and true attention? How often do we live with that little buzz of distraction in our ears...where to click next...whose post to read...what little thing to react to...?I know that I am working on consolidation my concentration and dedication to the task-at-hand, as my concentration, DUE to multitasking, has greatly suffered.

I read less than I used to. Hell, if I am posting on FaceBook (or doing something else less observable) day and night, it is clear that I am not doing a lot of dedicated reading. I deeply lament this. 

Now that I have become disabled, my old "get-it-done" personality has done nothing but hurt me. I am learning, from the beginning step, to be a different person. Someone who does what is at hand, someone who is trying not to synonymize illness and rest with slovenly, unworthy being. 

Type-A has been a disservice to me. 

Has anybody else thought about this?

I need to rest and not be angry at myself for doing so.

Sad is good.

Morning rush of writing.

Hope you enjoy it.

SAD IS GOOD

I am extremely moved by Eastern thought, and love one of the principles of many approaches that sees suffering as a crucially important element in -- if not the definition of -- life.

In our society, we desperately try to deny it. "Move on!" "Screw you!" I'm out of here!" "I don't *need* this." "Be happy! Be happy! Be happy!” Rise above it! It rings from the hollows of our cells...every magazine shouts ways to be happy! Every TV show reminds us that a pill will take away our chemical imbalances, because God forbid one feel a sadness tat lasts more than 48 hours! Every friend wants us to “be happy!” We strive after the elusive state constantly, and we are perplexed when we simply do not reach that blissful state with some lasting stability. Problems throw us off track, and life’s guaranteed unfairness will topple the smiley-face. Many people say, “I have never felt 'happy' as others seem to.”  Or all too commonly,  they feel self-recrimination for not being smiling hap-hap-happy puppets. I hear many people, people who have good reasons for feeling very sad, say, in embarrassment, "I just can't sake it...what is *wrong* with me (nothing)!?" Society tries its best to pull us, as soon as possible, from our sadness and heartbreaks. “Let’s not talk about *that,” people suggest, meaning well, and promoting the illusion of attainable happiness that can *replace* sadness.

It can not. In our extraordinary spectrum of spiritual and emotional potential there is a reason and a truth to the dark side of it. To deny the days of sadness is to deny the reality of life, and the depth of our own vast emotional breadth. 

To run from heartbreak is to deny an entire side of your makeup. 

I am not referring to longstanding, profound depression, from which I have also suffered. I am talking about the dirt of everyday living. The messy, risky, emotional minefield of LIFE. 

Our society is so paranoically  bent on getting (back?) to "happy" that people praise us for our "resilience (I detest the use of this word to justify and tout people’s stuffing and hiding their pain, especially when used in describing children)" and “come-back," and encourage us to forget! Come out! Have a good time! Screw them! Get over it! Move on! Cheer up! Smile!

We are encouraged, constantly, to *not* be sad, to *not* be heartbroken, to *not* be discouraged, to not be grieving. We are even accuse of being self-sorry, or of *wanting* to be sad. How absurd! I do not want to be sad...I do not want to stay sad, it it is a guaranteed part of what life is. 

There is a place, and a honor due to our negative feelings. There is a life to our heartbreak, and it will bloom in myriad ways if we stubbornly deny its existence, or play to “get over it” sooner than it is truly “over.” It WILL be present in us, in uncontrolled, inefficient, un-beneficial ways, if we shove it down. 

We blame ourselves for feeling bad,we blame ourselves for not popping back and doing all of the superficial remedies that people rush to (going to the gym or the bar; doing “fun” rings with friends; etc. etc.). We chastise ourselves for not popping to the call and making that smiley-face and acting happy. We are so cruel to ourselves. 

Frankly, when I am heartbroken, it is very difficult for me to do these "happy" things with a true spirit. I am false and I am lying when I subscribe to others insistence of “happiness” and choke forth a jovial countenance. The door shuts, and I dive to darkness once more. I am ashamed of my heartbreak. I have been taught to be so, both by family and by society, which is bent, to a point of madness, on denying its existence. I mean, it’s OK to feel sad for a short time, but if your pain lingers, that is cause for the average Joe’s worry and distaste. 

I am NOT talking about being a mopey-joe.  I find nothing more repugnant than the self-sorry person whose martyrdom drips like a sticky, immobilizing syrup. I am talking about *honoring* our sad times, and allowing ourselves first, then others, to know —  that yes, we’re OK, but we are feeling sad. Period. No it is not the end of the world. We are not going to toss ourselves from the bridge nor slash our wrists, even though we feel that way. We are simply, and beautifully sorrowful. Nothing to “correct.” Nothing that we have to live up to. 

I know that while I have been down, I isolate, because I am ashamed of presenting a continuous presentation of sadness. People judge.  I keep it to myself. 

And I love the friends who simply accept that I have days that feel like hell. Like shit. Those who sympathize and also support. It does not take a lot to make me smile and laugh. I love so many things about life that even when heartbroken, I look out my window at the birds that I feed every day, I hug my little fat doggie, and I drink tea that tastes delicious. In the darkness there are smiles and pleasures. And it can live together. 

I was living in Spain, and had been offered a wonderful job in Barcelona, the city I really wanted to live in, when my Dad called me and told me that he’d been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. That was that. I moved home, and into his house, and helped care for him until he died. Shortly after Dad died, I returned to work, a teaching job that I had in Costa Mesa (Orange County, Southern CA).

I will never, ever forget something that happened that impressed me in a way I will always, always love. Among the many, almost creepily constant expressions (by very kind, well-meaning people) of “Oh, I am so sorry,” and “He is no longer in pain,” I was bowled over, completely, and so unexpectedly comforted when Linda, a robust, beautiful colleague, said, “It is *shit,* isn’t it. My parents died over twenty years ago and I still hurt for them every day.” 

Her lovely, lovely understanding, her blunt proclamation of THE TRUTH…was so welcome to me that it somehow effected a shift in my heart that very night. I will never, ever forget that moment of sadness-acknowlegement. 

People are highly uncomfortable with anything but “happy.” As a grief counselor, I see the consequences of this societal madness…and if you have lost someone, about whom your heart is shattered, you know well of what I speak — there is NO PLACE for it in everyday life…people don’t want to know, they don’t want to “handle it,” they don’t know what to say or do, and they shut it down. There is no isolation as deep as that of profound grief in a world that does not acknowledge it, after the sympathy cards are sent and the services are over and cleaned up. You are on your own. And this is a heartbreak and alone-ness with acutely painful aspect. 

Pain, heartbreak, love lost, disillusion, meted unfairness, and disappointment *are staples of this human life.* There is no constant “happy,” even though so many would like to imagine it to be so. And, though “happy” is a good thing, the honorable PLACE that the negative emotions deserve and *function* in is also profoundly healing and above all, spirit deepening and compassion-building. A shattered heart can learn to be exquisitely sensitive and loving. A painful disillusion can be searched through and felt…toward a growing of an accepting attitude and grace toward life and importantly, toward ourselves. 

As someone whose heart hurts all too often, I am intrigued by what I believe to be true, though still practice hard, to do -- and that is acting on the concept of *approaching* pain, diving into the heartbreak, sleeping with the fear and hurt, and allowing it all to BE, without prescribed remedy, and PARTICULARLY WITHOUT self-judgment. In fact, the way through it is to give yourself credit for allowing the simple presence of pain to lie next to you, without judging yourself, without having to find that answer o-u-t.

At our most dark, we tend to see ourselves in negative terms also. You who know me know that it would be very easy for me to go on about this, but I must get going. The bottom line: self-negativity while we are down robs the experience of teaching and learning potential. It robs us of our natural possibility for deepening our spirits and hearts, and it robs us of our dignity. We need to stop that, me first. 

Love, and happy Sunday to all, Joana