Being new to this whole blogging thing, I’ve thought a lot about what I should share and what I should keep to myself. Since my coach, Johnny B. Truant, is of no help regarding what content I release and which topics I hold back, I’m just going to throw my biggest truths at you and see what happens.
Truth #1: The holidays have been a struggle for me for the last nine years. My mother killed herself in January of 2000 and I’ll never forget looking around the house after the police were done questioning us, taking mental pictures of the holiday insanity she brought forth every year. We’re talking a few trees (in a Jewish home, mind you), each decorated in theme, an entire winter village set up on tables, about 15 nutcrackers, and a host of other Yuletide odds and ends. At one time, she had TWO storage units for all her holiday decor. Today, that’s been pared down to four boxes I keep in my attic storage.
Now don’t go getting all, “I’m so sorry for your loss” on me. I’ve spent almost 10 years hearing that. Never has anyone said that they were happy for my loss, so let’s just assume that I know whomever reads this will be sorry for my loss. I am, too. And we move forward…
When your parent (assuming you don’t hate them — I loved my mom very much) dies, you really don’t know how to live without them. I was fortunate to have had 21 years with motherly support and know that there are a number of people out there (my brothers included) who didn’t even get to have it for quite as long as I did. However, it’s hard to ignore the countless others who get to continue on living with their parents, many times taking them for granted or just not taking them for anything at all.
Holiday season or not, that really pisses me off.
Please don’t misunderstand… I know that we all have our story and we all have our personal histories that dictate how our current relationships operate. That said, it seems for me that, when faced with my own tragic loss, it’s always a struggle not to take on a victim’s point of view, wondering why poor Jess has to live with such horrible circumstances while everyone else gets to ignore such wonderful gifts.
That train of thought pisses me off more than the first issue stated.
There are no victims in life. There are those who pick themselves up and those who stay down. And there are also those who stay down until someone else comes along and picks them up. All too often, when pushed down again, people often become the latter or stay the same. It has always made more sense to me to be the one who picks herself up and moves on.
When discussing my mom, though, all that is easier said than done. It’s hard to pick myself up day after day. I do it. And I’d like to think it’s made me a better person, but then I over-analyze the situation and worry that I’m not sufficiently mourning my mom, feeling good about the person I’ve become since her death. Almost as though a sick little part of me WANTS to roll over and writhe in misery, sadistically insisting that finding a good side to her suicide would only admit she was right to do so.
Not true. But this brings me to the main reason I needed to pour this blog out…
I’ve finally realized after nine years (yes, I know… I’m sometimes a little behind the ball) that tragedy breeds opportunity. Everyone knows that the first law of thermodynamics (perhaps not by name) states that energy does not die, but rather only changes form. Extrapolation of this law tells us that, if emotions are also less calculable forms of energy, there is no sadness diminished that can not potentially produce happiness. Or perhaps it tells us that sadness never dies, but neither does happiness. In either case, there are a number of examples I’ve found, in both science and personal experience, that tell me it’s okay to find reasons to find relief in horrible, miserable memories. Life isn’t black and white… and neither are our hearts.
It’s funny that my mom was around for 45 years, but the one memory that comes back like an axe isn’t a warm and fuzzy one. It makes me wonder if we sometimes are prone to dwell on sadder times because it makes us feel justified in missing them without the guilt of time well spent since their departure. I think, regardless of the case, that we never do know how to live in a world without our missing parent. However, it only makes sense that we allow ourselves to do so without emotional baggage dictating our continued denial that we are, in fact, living while they, in fact, are not.
And this brings us back to the absence of victims in this world. Since I choose to be one of those people who picks herself back up, I believe it only makes sense that I do move on once standing. I will never be able to see my mom pick up my son and watch her face light up as he smiles. She will never meet my husband and tell me how fantastic he is. However, I can light up, knowing she would, too, and be okay with missing her but knowing that, without her death, my son may not have ever been. My husband and I may have never been.
Everything I am today is indirectly a result of that loss. And in being grateful for all I have, I am indirectly grateful for the history that has inevitably dictated where I am today. This doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do just about anything to be able to hang out with my mom in person just a little more (nine years is a long time), but it does mean that there’s more going on in times of tragedy than just terrible, unhappy things…
Tragedy breeds opportunity. And it really is just as simple as that.
So… for the 2009 holiday season, I’m not going to fight my urge to deck the halls because they remind my Mom is dead. Instead, I’m making sure our home is filled with the spirit of the season, inviting all the love and peace in the world to join us as we close out another successful year. I’m going to make sure I tell everyone I care about just how important they are to me, and I’m not going to dwell on the past when the present slips away every second of the day. I’m going to live the life I’m supposed to lead and not take even a minute for granted.
In every moment, we have the opportunity to be happy or sad. The result depends on which emotion we cultivate. I choose happy.
“Sing we joyous, all together, Fa la la, fa la la, la la la.
Heedless of the wind and weather, Fa la la la la, la la la la.”
I think you're right. Each tragedy has the opportunity to develop good, and the shitty thing about it is that it's usually a “character enhancement” or lesson that you'd rather not learn… but that is nonetheless a positive improvement. It's a convoluted thing — kind of a “damned if you do, damned if you don't” situation.
But of course the truth is that whether you try to find meaning or positivity or not, it won't change the fact of what happened.
So you're left with a choice. You're where you are regardless. So do you choose to crumble? Or do you choose to learn and go on? It's still a choice. In the end, once most of the turbulence has passed, it's always a choice.
Thanks for commenting, Johnny. It really is easy to forget there are always choices. Your insight reminds me of a great folktale…
An old Cherokee Indian was speaking to his grandson:
“A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil–he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good — he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too.”
The grandson thought about it for a long minute, and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”
Belle, great honest post. Your advice in the last two paragraphs is good stuff and I know a few who might need to read it. I'll send them your way.
Gordon
Belle, great honest post. Your advice in the last two paragraphs is good stuff and I know a few who might need to read it. I'll send them your way.
Gordon