Lace: remembrance.

Since medieval times, human society has treated the annual recurrence of dates of events of personal importance with a celebratory nature. It has become ingrained in our mentality to commemorate historical events, birth dates, weddings, and deaths.  Wedding anniversaries began during the Roman Empire when husbands would crown their wives with a wreath of silver on their 25th year of marriage.

I remember the date of my parents' wedding, September 10, 1977. I remember this date because I was 4 years old and a flower girl in the ceremony. You see I was getting a "new Dad" on that day. It was a beautiful sunny day and the small, intimate wedding was held near a flower garden in my new grandparents yard.  My mother wore a white sundress and the most elaborate silver lace-up platform sandals. I met my new aunt and cousins that day for the first time. I remember every small detail of that day, especially how in love my mother was with my new dad. We had already suffered through some very hard times, the two of us, and it was time for a new life. Things couldn't have been more perfect, and nothing could have ruined that day.  And today, still nothing can ever mar the pristine memory of my parents' wedding day.  I do not remember the day they split up, or what happened to get things there.

Over the course of many hours, days, and weeks, the dynamics of close relationships can change.  It does not mean there is less love than there was before, for this is impossible. In some cases it can mean that things never were meant to be in the first place, and in others it may mean that one person has decided to take responsibility for changing a negative pattern of some kind. In any instance, the end of a marriage carries long term painful ramifications for everyone involved. In most cases, the negative energy, anger and resentments grow to the point of completely overshadowing anything positive. However, the memory of the anniversary date can still be a pleasant one that carries the warmth and significance of the love, respect and admiration that was felt that day. Because no matter what happens, that memory still possesses the same meaning. In a sense, by allowing remembrance, healing can begin, and that day each year can continue to serve as a grateful and happy reminder of love and joy, rather than a painful one of loss and regret. Time and patience can heal all wounds, if we allow it.

Stages of Grief

It was 1989, my sophomore year in high school. I had enrolled in a very unusual course offering to fulfill an elective requirement.  The course was called Thanatology, the study of death.  At the time, I was in the process of grieving my parents' divorce which had occurred during the prior school year. My response to this major shift in my family had been to act out against myself socially, rejecting old friends and activities and isolating myself. 

Taking this Thanatology class seemed like the perfect way to propel my depression, so I jumped in with both feet, expecting to spend the semester wallowing in a black hole of gothic self deprecation and fantasies of sad ghost-like dreams.  It was not so. My imagined vision of Lily Munster teaching the class, watching Amityville Horror, and theorizing about the life hereafter was dashed immediately upon the entrance of a bright-eyed, intelligent young blonde teacher with a sensible appearance and librarian glasses.  She was very down to business and got us on task with her expectations for the class right away. This was not going to be one of those "filler" classes. She impressed and surprised me, so I perked up and began to feel interested and curious about what this teacher had to tell me, that this class had a purpose I hadn't realized.

As I progressed through the coursework, I found myself learning about how human grief works, and coping with all aspects of grief. At first I was taken aback that the class was not going to allow me to sink deeper into a pit of despair, but I began looking forward to this class every day and not for the reasons I originally thought. The most important and fundamental piece I have carried with me has been the Elisabeth Kubler Ross model of stages of grief. It completely shocked me to find out that grieving is gradual with distinct phases that can be finite, not an endless realm of hell.  Somehow, the simple awareness of a cognitive component to grieving, the culmination being some level of recovery, gave my scientific mind the solace of relief. Even though the class was centered around grieving a death of a loved one, learning about the Kubler Ross model was obviously a tool that was applicable to other forms of grief. At the time I didn't see a connection between what I was learning in Thanatology class, and what I was experiencing in my personal life, but it really was like a death. It was the death of a marriage, and the death of the previous home life that I had known.

Looking back now, my lack of awareness was ironic, of the fact that I was significantly less despondent by the end of that semester. I had subconsciously learned how to respond to my own grief in the course of learning about the grieving process. Within a few years, by the time I was taking college psych courses the model had shifted to allow some variation and recurrence in the progression of the stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance), which made even more sense to me later. It gave me permission to have my feelings, deal with them, let them go, allow them to resurface, and deal with them again if needed. I'm not sure why intellectualizing it in this way makes it seem so much more bearable, but I have found myself returning to this basic grounded theory many times over the years.

Acknowledging that the feelings I have are normal and human reminds me that no mental state ever has to be permanent or insurmountable. It also empowers me to take responsibility of my own recovery from grief, gaining my strength from within and from my spirituality, and stop expecting others to resolve my grief for me. This may be one of the single most important concepts I learned in high school, that has helped me through a number of dark moments in my life.  What held the appearance of a frivolous and fun elective course turned out to have more impact on me and my future well-being than any other course in all of high school, even 24 years later.

Only a power greater than..

Red River Gorge September 2011

Once upon a time when I was a full time working mother of two-under-two, I had a beautiful 50 mile commute to work each day in the Buffalo Trace region of Kentucky.  One evening after I had worked late, I picked up my 5 month old and 19 month old from the sitter, loaded them safely into their carseats, and began driving. Shortly across the county line, I glanced to my left and saw a spider crawling near my window. If you don't know me well...I had debilitating arachnophobia. I don't know why I didn't just pull over, perhaps it was the traffic behind me or the speed limit I was in. I began rolling the window down in the hopes of evacuating the offending creature, however in my lack of attention to the road I failed to notice a curve. As I turned my attention back to the dash, I realized my car was no longer in contact with the ground! I had driven off-road and was completely airborne.

As my car took a nosedive, for a moment I could see nothing but sky. I had no idea where my car was headed or how far down...this particular area was known for its steep, ravine like inclines of the side of the road. Everything went completely silent. I was certain it was the end. In that moment, I suddenly felt as though everything stopped, and the distinct impression that a question was being asked of me. My first thought was, "I'm not done." Rather than my life flashing before my eyes, as the old saying goes, it was instead that all the things I still wanted to do with my life flashed before my eyes. I felt a sense of desperate insistence.

The next thing I knew, we had turned a double somersault down the hill and landed right side up against a tree growing out of the hill, stopping us about halfway down. There was a rushing creek at the bottom. Sitting in the driver's seat totally disoriented, it took a moment to realize I was still alive and relatively unscathed. There was shattered glass in my hair, in my mouth. I felt a sort of heavy presence to my left, and my window was still down. I looked over and saw leaves, heard the sounds of nature outside the car. The heavy presence dissipated. At this point I became terrified because there were no sounds coming from the backseat. I turned slowly and saw my shocked 19 month old beginning to cry, but I was not yet relieved because my 5 month old was in a rear-facing seat. I climbed up in my seat and leaned over expecting the worst...but she was wide-eyed looking around with nothing more than a bump on her head. I was incredulous that everyone was fine and that we had been given this miraculous second chance.

This event has become a pivotal moment in my life's history, of realizing that not everything is under my control. I made a vow that I would be true to myself and my children, and make every single possible effort to be of service in making a contribution to mankind. I made a vow that I would relish and appreciate each small joy that life has to offer.  And I made a vow to never sacrifice, compromise, ignore, or neglect my spirituality.

After growing up in a family that had the problem of alcoholism, I had spent the majority of my young adult life being "spiritually impaired."  Although I had a tremendous appreciation for the concept, my self confidence was so low that I actually felt unworthy of experiencing such a thing. Like it was something that didn't apply to me or excluded me somehow. I didn't feel capable of tapping into any kind of higher consciousness and had very little understanding of the numerous ways to practice spirituality.  For years I snidely turned my nose up at ideas of a higher power, even pretentiously calling myself an atheist at one point. I was looking at life through dark shades and was surrounded by constant chaos. Becoming a mother initiated a spiritual process in me that, ironically enough, was then largely facilitated and propelled by my scenic drive to and from work, which I looked forward to daily.

After my accident, I realized I wanted conscious contact and a relationship with a higher power, whatever it may be.  Exploring this idea I began to feel more of a connection to life and to the universe, realizing my life had purpose, and this gave me direction and motivation to make a difference. Whether it is helping someone hear better so they may enjoy a higher quality of life and interaction with their loved ones, if it is inspiring students of higher learning to do the same, and to achieve their dreams by becoming more self actualized, if it is being a good comrade and offering friendship and emotional support to others, or if it is simply being a good mother and raising children who will also in turn, grow up to make a difference in the world and experience a rich, fulfilling future. I now have the ability to leave chaos behind, and stop focusing on what alcoholism has stolen from my life. I came to realize that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.

I would love to hear about experiences of others that have brought them into conscious contact with a higher power.