Auf wiedersehen

As tough as it was to go to another memorial service today, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Not just to be there in support of my family, but because it was honestly one of the nicest, most “remembery” memorials that I recall from recently. (Although after a while, things just become a blur, don’t they? I know I don’t remember much of my Dad’s. I’m okay with that.)

In addition to three family members speaking (beautiful, brave ladies, all three of them), the pastor went on at length about Erich’s life. Although I knew some of these things, many were new to me, and it made me love and admire Erich even more. He had an unusual and remarkable life, and his strength of will was amazing. He was born in 1933 in Germany, so he grew up under the Nazi regime. He was forced to join the Hitler Youth, as were all German children, but apparently his mother cried when he brought home the uniform. There is no judgment to be made...it was a matter of survival and doing what you could to get through it. To not join would have meant imprisonment, probably of the entire family.

His sister had married a GI and settled in Michigan, close to our city in Indiana. After the war, Erich emigrated to the U.S., not knowing any English. Although he wasn’t a citizen yet, he was drafted into the U.S. Army. I can only imagine what it must have been like for him...knowing very little English, right out of a world war against Germany. Germans were not well-liked at that time, and It must have been a terrible atmosphere for him.

But he persevered. Got a job, got married to my cousin Emma Jean, started a family, who in turn started families of their own, coached his grandkids in soccer (excuse me...fußball!), and eventually retired to enjoy his gardening and other pursuits. In short, this man who began life during one of history’s most horrible chapters and under one of the most despotic regimes ended up living the American Dream. He paid attention to politics, too...I still remember him getting riled up and almost apoplectic as he talked about politics! It’s too bad more of our populace doesn’t pay more attention.

Erich could be stern (all us Germans can be, whether we were born there or our ancestors were!), but he was always quick with a smile. Every time I’d see him, he’d say something like “Look at you, still so cute!”—and he still had the German accent, so it was even more charming—and give me a big hug. I will miss him. 

I’ve always preferred the German farewell to our simple “goodbye.” Auf wiedersehen. Till I see you again.

Perspective

Most people who read here regularly, and certainly those who know me, know that it’s been a tough couple of years when it comes to losing loved ones. Each loss was sad for me, and none more so than the loss of my Dad. At times it has been very tough to deal with, but I’ve done my best to keep on keepin’ on. I’m still hanging in there, and I haven’t lost my joy. (It was a little lost sheep for a while, but it found its way back...slowly, but surely.)

I mentioned yesterday that my family lost a dear relative this week. This was my cousin Erich, who was married to my blood cousin, Emma Jean. (Emma Jean and I recently realized that she is the oldest grandchild on our grandfather’s side, and I’m the youngest. It’s odd that I never knew that before.) Well, for all the loss that I’ve experienced in the past few years, here are the losses that my dear cousin has had to deal with: her oldest daughter, who was my age, to a brain tumor; her father to cancer and a stroke; her only sibling, her brother, to chronic kidney disease; her mother, to Alzheimer’s; my Dad, who was very close to both Emma Jean and Erich; and just two days ago, she returned from doing volunteer work at a school to find her husband, collapsed. He was already gone.

My heart breaks for my cousin, and of course for her entire immediate family. Emma Jean is truly one of the kindest, sweetest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. She has handled each loss with incredible grace and amazing strength, and although I know this might be her toughest mountain to climb, I don’t doubt that she will handle this one, as well. I’ve always admired her, both for her kindness and for her strength in the face of adversity. I’m glad we have some genes in common, because I’d like to think that I have that same strength...if not her sweetness and gentleness!

We all have our moments when we get discouraged, even sometimes feel outright despair. I’ve had those times myself, but I do my best to ride it out and get back to my usual cheery self, the person able to feel great happiness from even the little things in life. After Dad died, I remembered our talks about such things...not only that he didn’t want any of us to grieve overly long when he moved on, but how we both found so much pleasure in what many people would find mundane. An interesting bug, a cool-looking stick, a good book, a beautiful day. These are the things that ground me and get me back to where I need and want to be, and I hope that Emma Jean will once again rely on whatever it is that gets her to where she needs to be. In the future, if I am feeling down about a loss or a bad situation, I will think of her and hope that I can be as strong as she has been and continues to be. My petty problems seem small in comparison to what she has been through.

Amazingly enough, as I was writing this, I looked up to see a hummingbird on the front feeder—I hung both feeders yesterday, knowing that they’d be back soon. Sure enough, exactly one year to the day after they showed up last year, they are back. It’s little things like this that bring me such joy and let me know that the world keeps on keepin’ on...just like we all strive to do.

World, Shut Your Mouth

Okay, I’m pissed.

My Uncle Burt died today. It wasn’t unexpected; he’d been in poor health for some time now, and we all knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I think he was 92, or thereabouts. He was my Dad’s last surviving brother. Only Aunt Gertrude is left now, and she is in a nursing home in Fort Wayne. I wonder who will be calling Aunt Gert? Maybe my Mom, maybe they’ll let her sons know and they will tell her in person. I don’t know. I know it will make her cry. She’s the only one left.

Uncle Burt was in the Navy during WWII, and served on a ship in the Pacific. He came back and opened a body shop, which his son (Cousin Doug) runs now. They still do a great business, and are well known in the community. Uncle Burt and Aunt Margaret had a cabin in Minnesota (north of Bemidji), and I spent many happy weeks up there in the summer with my family when I was a kid. That’s where I learned to fish, and I got to see bears in the wild, a guy who made birch bark canoes and farmed wild rice, and I got to watch Uncle Burt and my Dad clean fish. Uncle Burt often made pancakes on an electric griddle, and I remember a mounted deer head in the attic that I just loved. There is a picture of a little me somewhere in my nightgown, with my arm wrapped around the deer like it was my best buddy.

Our summer vacations in Minnesota were like a week at camp. I learned to bait my own hook, I caught fish, and I got leeches on my feet, which I removed myself. I would catch leeches at the dock and pour salt on them and watch the bastards die. (I probably wouldn’t do that now, but it seemed like it was okay after I was dangling my feet in the water off of the pier and a leech glommed onto me.) When I caught a fish, everyone cheered, and when I said excitedly, “I’ve got a bite! I’ve got a bite!” and it turned out to be a weed, everyone thought it was cute and funny. They had a sign up at the entrance to their cabin and it said “Burton and Margaret’s Cabin,” or something like that. I was little and couldn’t read very well, so I called them Button and Maggie for a long time. They thought that was cute, too.

One time, my sister Sue and I rode up with Uncle Burt and Aunt Margaret while our Mom and Dad took their own trip by way of Niagara Falls to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I sat in the front seat between them, and when we drove through Duluth by Lake Superior, Uncle Burt would say, “Look at the ships!” and when I turned to look, he’d kiss me on the cheek. Aunt Margaret would do the same thing. I pretended to be all upset and would brush their kisses off of my cheeks, but I loved it. And I loved them.

They were a big part of my childhood, and I cherish all of those memories. I’m having my cry at the moment, and I’m okay with that. I’ll be proud to attend Uncle Burt’s funeral this week and be with my family.

But I am also giving life a rather steely-eyed glare at the moment. Many things have been thrown at me in the past year and a half. I’m not going to rail against some unseen entity or ask “Why me??” As Christopher Hitchens said, “Why NOT me?” No one is causing this, no one is to blame. Death is a part of life, and I am of the age when my elderly relatives are going to die. That is reality, and I understand and accept that.

I spent some time this afternoon sitting outside on what was a beautiful day. About 80°, sunshine, everything is getting green and lush, birds were visiting the feeders. I planted some tomatoes. I’m feeling a bit of “Fuck you, life” right now, but I don’t really mean that. There is a big thunderstorm passing over right now, but I know that the sun will come out again. Literally and figuratively. I look at times like this and I’m all like “Bring it on, bitch.” I get frustrated at those with a defeatist attitude, because this sort of thing only brings out the fighter in me. And those of you who have been reading me for a while know that I’m nothing if not a fighter. I may be small, but I’m scrappy. [wink]

Sometimes things can seem overwhelming, but as I told myself today, “Nutwood abides.” Not just here, but everywhere. I’m sure that someone is fishing on Dora Lake near Bemidji...the lake where I fished with my Dad and Uncle Burt and my cousins. If not now, perhaps they will be tomorrow. I hope they catch a fish for my Uncle Burt.


Julian Cope - World Shut Your Mouth by UniversalMusicGroup

Isolation

No, not the blood and body fluid kind you used to see in the hospital. [Sidebar: Back in “the day” at my first job, there were different types of isolation that we had to deal with when going up to the floors and doing phlebotomy. Heck if I can remember them all now. I recall a blood and body fluids precaution for when a patient had hepatitis or AIDS; there was a strict isolation for a patient with Creutzfeld-Jakob; I honestly can’t remember any of the others. That’s because a few years after I started working, we went to universal precautions, in which every patient and every specimen was treated as potentially infectious of any ol’ thing. So you had to wear gloves with everyone. When I started, you only had to wear gloves for phlebotomy if the patient was in isolation. I find that so hard to believe now. End sidebar.]

What was I saying? Oh yes. Isolation. When I find myself in times of trouble, isolation comes to me. I can function well on the surface, be around people, and do what needs to get done, but I get very withdrawn. I try not to be mean, but I can be at times, and I regret that. However, after 48 years, I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I’ve come to realize that it’s my coping mechanism. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but if anyone were to tell me that I should open up more and be more vocal about my feelings, I’d probably tell them to mind their own damn business and get out of mine. I’ll deal with things in my own time and my own way; it’s different for everyone, as I wrote about recently. I really don’t see anything wrong with that, as long as it’s not permanent. My self-imposed isolation is never permanent.

I’m very much an introvert, and can live quite happily in my own head. I realized some time ago that it’s not entirely healthy to do that, and I’ve learned to adjust. But in times of duress, I tend to return to shut-down mode in order to get my brain around something and let myself heal. I’m very much the same way when I’m physically ill; I appreciate well-wishes and concern, but I just want to be left alone and not fussed over. If I have to barf, I’ll hold my own hair back, thank you very much.

I’m at a bit of a low ebb right now due to the illness of a family member. I think I’m kind of having flashbacks after visiting them in the hospital today (thinking about my Dad). I’ll rebound pretty quickly, because I know what is going on in my head and why. In the meantime, I’m just riding the storm out. My family is a pretty stoic bunch. We’re effusive when it comes to laughter, but when it comes to strong negative emotions, we tend to keep a lot of that in until we can deal with it on our own terms and in privacy. Is it the right thing to do? I don’t know. But like Tommy Roe says, I jam up and jelly tight, baby.

Good grief!

I’ve been catching up on some magazine reading this weekend (along with continuing on my book), and last night I read an article in Time about a new way of looking at the accepted grief model. (“Good News About Grief,” Ruth Davis Konigsberg, Time, January 24, 2011)

In the traditional model made famous by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, the stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. What most of us don’t realize—or haven’t been taught—is that she was writing about facing one’s own death, not the death of others. Other practitioners glommed onto her stages of grief as applicable to all causes of grief, and Kübler-Ross didn’t discourage this. This is unfortunate, because after my Dad’s death, I was kind of starting to wonder if something was wrong with me because I didn’t react as predicted!

First of all, denial. If you could have been a fly on the wall during the whole time, you never would have heard me saying something like “No, no...this can’t be happening.” Maybe it’s the rational scientist in me, but it would be silly to deny what was unfolding right in front of me. Also, Dad was 86 when he had his stroke. He was in good health, but he was not a young man, and had had surgery several years ago to unblock one of his carotids. Of course, I wish he would have had many more quality years with us, but how foolish to deny something that has undeniably happened. What is the point?

Anger? Again, why be angry about something you can’t change? I suppose if he’d been hit by a drunk driver or something like that, I’d be plenty angry. On the verge of blind rage angry. (He was once, and yes, I was furious with that other driver. Dad was okay…lucky break for the driver, both from a prosecution standpoint and that of having to deal with me and my sisters. Believe me.) But that wasn’t the case. Who would I be angry at? Dad? For something that was beyond his control? Myself, for not being able to prevent something that was beyond MY control? God? Not even a factor. There was nothing to be angry about.

Bargaining. I suppose this is where people say things like “God, if you just give him five more years, I’ll do this or that, quit this or start that, blah blah blah.” I don’t make such bargains with anyone, let alone someone who, again, is not even a factor. Any entity who would harm an innocent person in order to get another one to believe or behave in a certain way is no one I want to be associated with. I don’t negotiate with terrorists.

Depression. That one did get me for a while, at least it seemed like it. However, when speaking to my doctor during a regular checkup, she said that she didn’t think I was experiencing actual depression, and that there is a big difference between depression and simply grieving the loss of a loved one. I was keeping a close eye on myself, believe me. My sleep patterns were wonky for a while, but I didn’t lose a bunch of weight or put a bunch on, I was perfectly capable of functioning, and I didn’t take to my bed like a sad flower and not get out for days at a time. I went through a very sad time, definitely, but I don’t believe I went through a clinical depression. Not even close.

Acceptance. See #1 above, Denial. Although acceptance is supposed to be the final stage in the Kübler-Ross model, I accepted it from the very beginning. What was not to accept? Talking with the doctors, finding out the damage, hearing that there would be no recovery. I accepted it as soon as I heard from Cousin Ron what the doctors were saying. At first, things were chaotic, and I didn’t know how bad it was. People recover from strokes all the time. But not this time. That was reality, and we had to accept it. There was no other choice.

Well, talking about all that kind of bummed me out! haha That was my personal experience with the loss of someone very near and dear to me. I’ll write a little more about what the article said. It addressed several myths about grieving.

We grieve in stages. As was my experience, subsequent studies showed that the majority of participants accepted reality almost immediately. Rather than anger and depression, most feel a yearning for their loved one. That’s me, too. I’m not angry that Dad is gone, and I’m not depressed about it...but sometimes I sure miss him. Just being able to pick up the phone to talk about a game. Or just to shoot the breeze.

Repression prolongs the process; we need to talk about it with others. Further studies have shown that expressing negative emotions can actually prolong your sadness. In fact, avoiding those feelings is termed “repressive coping,” and can actually protect us psychologically. Of course, you do have to deal with it, but perhaps repressing some of the most painful feelings is what allows us to go on until we’re a little stronger and a little more capable of coming to terms with our loss.

Grief is harder on women. The studies that showed this seem to be flawed based on gender biases. Many of these studies dealt mainly with widows who were dependent upon their husbands; a female psychologist conducting a study from 1967 to 1973 wrote that “a woman’s identity is largely framed by relationships...In losing an essential relationship, she loses an essential part of herself.” For those of us who have lived on our own and supported ourselves, that seems horribly antiquated. Although relationships are important, if you define yourself only by that, you’ve got a problem. Women also have higher rates of depression in general, and when they accounted for that and previous depression levels, they found that men suffer more from and have a harder time dealing with bereavement.

Grief never ends. Researchers have found that the worst of grief is over in about six months. Most people deal with loss with resilience, which some interpret incorrectly as delayed grief or coldness. Researcher George Bonanno writes, “If you’re resilient after a horrible car accident or a traumatic event, then you’re a hero, but if you’re resilient after a death, then you’re considered cold.” We all cope in different ways. I have been perceived as cold by some, and probably rightly so; however, that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel things acutely. It just means that I’m not demonstrative in my grief, or any other strong emotion. The more that people around me are losing it, the more likely I am to shut down and keep my cool. Is that a good approach? I don’t know. It’s just the way I am. (I guarantee that if we’re in some sort of a situation where people all around us are losing their shit, you’ll be happy I’m with you.) The researchers can’t predict resilience in people; it has to do with personality, financial security, social support, little stress in other areas, and other undefinable factors. The article states “What we do know is that while loss is forever, acute grief is not.”

You haven’t seen me write a lot about my feelings on the loss of my Dad for a reason. I have appreciated all the support you’ve all given me throughout these months, and I have plenty of people that I know are there for me if and when I need them, but I know that ultimately it is up to me and my own psyche to find that healing place.

Get thee to a counselor. Although grief counseling is widely accepted as appropriate and, some say, even necessary after a loss, no evidence supports that counseling helps people any more than the simple passage of time. Almost everyone eventually gets better: time heals all wounds. Counseling doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t lessen the period of grief. For those who have an obvious problem in dealing with their loss and a grief period extended beyond the norm, counseling is beneficial. For those who are experiencing the normal time frame of the grief response to a loss, it makes little difference.

The article concludes that these recent studies allow for a different, more liberating response. I heartily concur! I can’t begin to tell you what a feeling of relief I felt after reading this article. We all deal with loss in our own way. If my response is different from others, that doesn’t mean it is wrong. The accepted response has meant an inflexibility in how we believe others should behave; rather than showing understanding and realizing that people are strong enough to make their way on their own path (with a little help from their friends and family), we try to pigeonhole and categorize them and say “You should be better by now,” or “You shouldn’t be acting this happy this soon,” or “Why aren’t you following the prescribed formula of recovery?” Grief is a very personal response, one that each individual must navigate on their own, with the one universal truth that the majority of us will feel our loss less acutely after some time has passed. Social support is a necessity, but time and our own strength and resilience will get us to a brighter place.

We will survive.

Clawing back to equilibrium

I've made no secret of the fact that the past several months have been rough for me. Although I don't talk about it much (it's not our way, after all, in my family), those closest to me know just how rough.

With my Dad's death, it was like something fundamental changed for me and in me. I've always been one to find the joy in little things, and I was dismayed to find that I had lost that. I honestly didn't know if it was gone for good, or if it was just taking a hiatus. I'd lost my joy. This was especially hard for me to process, because one of the very best things I got from Dad was the ability to find the joy in little things. In losing Dad, did I lose that, too? That would be almost unbearable.

It's taken me a while, but I'm happy to report that I am slowly but surely making my way back to that point. I find myself looking around with an eye and an attitude more like the one I used to have. Maybe it's knowing that summer is over, so I'm more inclined to enjoy the last of the warm weather. That's part of it, anyway. I find that I'm more connected to my surroundings.

The hummingbirds are still here, but only the females. The males leave first, so it's just us girls right now. The females are very active at the feeders, and I'm certain that I see their tiny bodies plumping up a bit for their long flight south. I made the nectar extra sweet this time of year so that they can bulk up.

The deer are starting to spend a lot of time in the back yard; the three fawns that I saw this summer have lost their spots. One fawn had a bum leg the other day, and I could see a bloody wound on its shoulder. I don't know if it made it. I hope so.

The raccoons are still coming up on the deck, but not nearly as much. They like to leave me "presents," but a spray is helping to deter them from that. However, when I walked out the door to get the mail this morning, one had left a lovely deposit for me on the steps. As I scraped it off with a stick, I believe I said, "Oh, you little bastard." But I laughed a bit, too...at this point, I think they're just messing with me.

The little guy I call Piney Squirrel has been coming up on the deck a lot. He makes me laugh. He's like a miniature squirrel on speed.

The chipmunks I call Chip and Dale have also been coming up on the deck, and I've seen them come right up to the screen and put their little hands (paws?) on it, looking in. They live under the steps where the raccoon took a shit, and when I walk out to the mailbox, I look for acorns to leave for them on the steps. It's fun to see the acorns vanish. :)

I was getting ready to hop in the shower yesterday, and the power went out. After several cell calls to the power company, I found out that there had been a car accident that took out a utility pole. Several components needed to be replaced, including the pole itself, and the result was that I spent over seven hours without power. That was seven hours to read, and I enjoyed getting caught up. I finished my book club book, Kim by Rudyard Kipling. Thank goodness, because it was a struggle to get through that one. I was not engaged at all. Then I went through a couple of issues of Time, although I didn't read every article. Then I read a bit in a mini-encyclopedia about American history, specifically the early explorers. Next I started on True Compass, Ted Kennedy's autobiography. I'm really enjoying it so far (I'm about 90 pages into it). I was really struck by something he wrote in the prologue, when he was talking about finding out that he had a brain tumor. He wrote, "I respect the seriousness of death—I’ve had many occasions to meditate on its intrusions." You certainly did, Senator. That kind of choked me up.

Anyway, it was nice to sit quietly for several hours (although I would definitely have preferred to have power) and just enjoy my reading. In general, I'm in a more peaceful place. I still have moments of unreasoning and unreasonable anger. For example, apparently the pastor at Mom and Dad's church mentioned in a service what the church did with some of the money contributed in Dad's name. My initial, furious thought was, "Gee, that's great about your new communion service, but all in all, I'd prefer to still have my Dad here." Illogical and unfair? Probably. I don't care. I have a shorter temper than I used to, with little to no patience for fools. I don't let it out very often, though. I'm starting to do better with being around people. I'm pretty insular, anyway, but I had a hard time being around most people, laughing and having fun. I knew I'd get that back—I like to laugh too much to have it be gone forever!

Mostly I'm just trying to find my Happy Place™, and I think I'm starting to get back there. One of the things that I got from Dad—and I even spoke about this at his funeral service—was a love of nature. We talked about it often, and I know he was pleased to share that with me. I suppose it's only fitting that that is one of the main things that is bringing me back.