Tuesday, December 20, 2005

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Here it is a few days before Christmas and I am experiencing some holiday sadness. As a psychologist I am familiar with the topsy-turvy feelings that can arise around the holidays. I have helped many grieving families cope with the loss of loved ones and navigate through the sadness and loneliness that can surface during significant holidays. As a coach, I have helped clients set their sights on what they want to overcome and achieve, whether that be moving closer toward balance in their lives following divorce or expanding their social life following the death of a spouse.

As a sister, today was my day to navigate through those rocky and ragged waves of grief and loss. As you have come to know me through my previous posts, I am usually a pretty upbeat and optimistic individual. But even positive folks get the blues once in a while. Not to bring you down, but I am writing about this in order to process what is going on for me as well as to let others who may be experiencing similar feelings during this holiday time know that you are not alone.

The thing about grief is it hits you when you are least expecting it--here I am, crusing along through life, getting on with things and moving forward, when BAM! a scene, a scent, or a resemblance to a loved one, knocks me off balance and I am skittering and sliding back into that lonely and dark place of sadness and old memories.

The holidays create the space for joy and excitement to blossom, but also allow melancholy to sidle on up to the bar as well. Over the past several years my husband and I have, along with our fellow baby boomers, become adult orphans--first my father in December 1997, my husband's father the following month, then my mother in the Spring of 1998.

Sixteen months ago, my oldest half-brother, Dwight, abruptly took his own life with a handgun at 61. He was not a person known for depression, but personal circumstances related to a bitter divorce and a profound sense of betrayal apparently exacerbated his own feelings of loss to the point that he no longer wanted to live to see the next day. My family was left shaken and stunned.

The last time I saw Dwight was Christmas 2003. We gathered at my other half-brother, Tom's, farm--my imediate family, along with my cousin, Lindsay, from NYC. My brothers and I were happy to be together as this was the first time we had been together for Christmas since I was a 6 year old child. We spent time telling stories and reminiscing about our parents. We posed for family snapshots. We caught up on the events in each others' lives and relished in just being together once again. We cried and laughed, hugged and shared. For me, it was the Christmas I had dreamed about as a young child--I was a little sister, even if I was 43 at the time, surrounded by my big brothers. I soaked up their attention and brotherly presence like a thirsty sponge. We promised that this would be the beginning of more holiday gatherings.

Following his divorce a year earlier, Dwight had moved to Florida to be near Tom and his family. He appeared to be moving forward on his own voyage toward discovery of a new life. We all were enjoying renewing our relationships with each other--he spent a great deal of time with his grown nieces and he became closer with his brother and sister-in-law. Dwight and I spoke on the phone more during that year than we had in all the previous years combined. He established friendships in his new environment. He met a kind woman and fell in love. When he took his life so suddenly later that summer, we were shocked to our core.

Over the course of the next 16 months, my surviving family has spent time talking, analyzing, second-guessing, reviewing and grieving over his suicide. We have experienced the roller coaster ride of emotions associated with suicide: loss, sorrow, anger, betrayal, guilt and bewilderment. We are now members of the, never-want-to-wish-it-on-anyone, group of survivor families of suicide victims.

A few days from now my family and I are heading back to Florida to spend Christmas with my brother and his family. This will be the first time we have been back since that Christmas two years ago. Over the past couple of weeks, my jittery emotions have been sending signals to my unwilling consciousness--a bit more anxiety, a bit more difficulty with sleep, a bit more unwillingness to just sit still and let the quiet overtake me.

Until today I had not allowed the feelings to break through to the surface. Today I allowed them to bubble and ooze into my day. Today I cried for my mom. Today I cried for my dad. Today I cried for my brother. I let the raw grief reopen my heart. Today I honored the memory of my family now gone.

Tonight as I write this, I feel better--I am no longer trying to distract my heart with busy-work. I allowed the aching, wrenching feelings to flow over and pass through me. That is the other thing about grief--it needs to be expressed and acknowledged for what it is in order for it to pass on it's way to wherever grief goes to await it's next, unexpected, curtain call.

In a few days I will likely cry again as my brother's family, my cousin, and my immediate family reunite on the farm. Christmas will be a bittersweet day with more stories, hugs, laughter and tears. Even so, I am thankful for the opportunity to be with my loved ones and I will cherish the memories that will come from the visit.

I hear a voice come on the wind saying you and I will meet again.
I don't know how, I don't know when but you and I will meet again. --Tom Petty

Friday, December 09, 2005

Stepping Out of the (Shoe)Box

I just returned from a great run with my dog, Zeebo, while wearing my brand-new and comfy running shoes. It was an unusually brisk morning for San Antonio. The temperature gauge told me 37 degrees as I stepped out the door this morning. It is a rare day in Texas to be able to wear leggings, gloves, a windbreaker and ear muffs; I look forward to such days as a wonderful gift. Most Texas running days are are defined as: humid, really humid and, the ever-lovely, hot and humid. At the end of a typical run there is sweat running off places I don't typically think of as having sweat glands. So this morning's experience was a great change of pace, both in terms of the temperature but also in terms of an opportunity to step out of my usual box.

Last week I purchased a new pair of running shoes. Every 4-6 months I realize I am feeling a bit more pavement than usual on my runs and it is time to shell out a small fortune for a new pair. I have been blessed with not too many running injuries, although I have had my share of shinsplints and stress fractures. A couple of years ago my left leg was encased in a bright blue cast for 10 weeks to immobilize my inflamed Achilles tendon. Because of these experiences I have become extremely loyal to one pair of running shoes--Nike Air Pegasus. I have bestowed upon these shoes magical powers of keeping me injury-free because, as true superstition warrants, since I switched to the Nikes I have not had any serious injuries.

So last week I went to my favorite local running store carrying my worn out and road weary Nikes in hand. Carrol, the owner, fitted me for a new pair of the same model.

Hold on--big change!

Not only were the new Nikes neon green, but the tongue of the shoe had been redesigned. It no longer protruded out of the top of the shoe, but was tucked inside where one typically ties a bow. We discussed the design changes and he suggested I try out a couple of other brands. However, being the loyal (ie, stuck) person I was, I chose to stay with the previously tried and true model. Truth be told, while in the store I could feel the shoes were a bit different on my feet but I dismissed this early-warning signal and purchased them anyway.

The next day I laced up and darted out the door with the dog for the morning routine. I made it about one mile when the top of my left foot began to register a sharp, digging pain. It felt as though the seam from the tongue was folded and putting pressure on the top of my foot. Twenty minutes later, I hobble-trotted back to the house and told myself I just needed to relace them and all would be fine. The next morning I relaced the shoes, and repeated the previous day's experience.

Typically my thoughts on a run range from sorting out my day to free-association to enjoying the scenery in the company of my dog. Running is a great way for me to get out of my head and let my thoughts float above me. However, wearing the new Nikes, my attention was totally focused on what was going on below my knees. I questioned my gait, considered the length of my toenails, the thickness of the socks, and the constriction of the laces. All was under scrutiny as possibly providing an explanation for the pain on the top of my left foot. I tried a thicker pair of socks on the next run--same problem--same foot. There was no pain once I took the shoes off, just some redness and tenderness on the bony part of the top of my left foot. Clearly the shoes were not a fit for me any longer.

I spent the next few days trying to convince myself that if I just ignored the pain, it would go away.

I told myself the shoes just needed breaking in (although I had never had this experience with the brand before).

Following my annoyingly painful run yesterday, I brought the shoes back.

Carrol was not in, but Gabriel was gracious and understanding. He offered to fit me for another pair of the same shoes and suggested I try another brand as another option. I was tempted by the offer to make a switch, but stayed true to my brand (some might suggest "stubborn") for another trial. I slipped on another pair of Air Pegasus and jogged hopefully up the store aisles. There was that pain again--Drat! This forced me to realize that the shoe was just not gonna fit--I needed to try something new!

Gabriel brought out a sampling of brands which I tried on and "test-drove" in the shop. I finally settled on a spiffy pair of Mizuno Wave Riders--white with blue, silver and yellow bands. The fit is perfect--no pain and lots of gain in terms of happy feet and stretching myself to step out of a routine that was no longer serving me well. I also enjoy the name of the new brand "Wave Rider"--it conjures up all kinds of outside-the-box adventures and challenges, doesn't it?

This Nike v. Mizuno experience is an example of the need for all of us to be aware of when it is time to let go of something that is no longer serving it's purpose or is no longer a "good fit" for the situation.

Because of my reluctance to register and acknowledge my physical discomfort with the new design of shoe, I tried to intellectualize my way around the throbbing pain in my foot! How crazy is that? Because the shoe had worked for me in the past, I was determined to make it work for me now, when it just wasn't gonna happen.

* How often do we stay with something that worked for us at one time but because we have grown or changed or may be ready to make a change, the old "shoe" is not appropriate for the new challenge?

* How many times have we "hobbled" ourselves because we were unwilling to step out of the box to try something new?

So now as I write this, my feet are happily resting after a pain-free, invigorating run. Tomorrow my dog, my Wave Riders and I will explore some new terrain and stretch the boundaries a bit more!

Thought for the Day: How many times have you stayed with something long after it has served it's usefulness? What do you continue to be loyal to even if it is causing you pain or discomfort? How can you step out of your box?

It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power.--Alan Cohen