Today, I learned about a couple who, upon the death of their only son, quite their lucrative jobs, sold everything they could not just carry and struck out to travel the world. They are spending several months on each continent and maintain a blog and podcast about their experiences. They admit that they are running away from their past life, that it was too painful to just stay put and try to "move on."

In some ways, we are all running from the pain and memories that haunt us after the loss of a child, even an adult child. Some run toward and some run away. It all depends on your perspective. We run away from facing old memories, from having to deal with long-faced, albeit well-meaning friends, from old expectations and new. We run toward new self-awareness, toward adventures that can at least momentarily take up the band width of the ache, toward a transformation that can occur. Just be careful of the alligators such as spending sprees and addictions. In the end, you are left with meaningless stuff and a debilitated body and mind.

All of this is a delicate balance, with each person determining his/her own course along the path. We are running marathons here. Let's consider that analogy. Whereas the athlete spends weeks preparing for the competition, it was suddenly thrust into our laps but we have been preparing our entire lives through events and people who have shaped us. While we run, we join a community of people who also have the same purpose. Sometimes running in tandem, we connect for a while, then leave the temporary comfort to continue at our own pace. Along the way, we pass many venues and sights but our purpose keeps us focused. Still, in the periphery, they are there, silent witnesses to our passage. We grasp water and refreshment at stations, offered by those who give our bodies nutrition and our wills a boost. The street is lined with well-wishers, festooned with signs that we adopt as our own. The "wall," the cramps, the hill, the momentary challenges that sometimes make us question our goal are subdued and we press on. Finally, the finish line beckons and we collapse just beyond.

This race has no real end, just as the athlete always has to run another race and the artist must create a new painting or sculpture. It is an organic process.

Running to or away. Where are you running today?

For Your Tool Box

Here is a great article that explains the reactions and needs of survivors of suicide: From Psychology Today

May 18, 2015
When I had lunch with friends today, we discussed the topic of parenting and molding a child's personalities. Thinking back, my son was innately shy and reticent in social situations. My husband and I are very social and we gave David many opportunities to join, participate, and deal with change. We did everything we could to encourage his growth in this way and watched him blossom by his senior year into a student who had been around the world, comfortable on the ski slope or on a stage. However, once he was on his own, he slowly retreated back into his cocoon, which became more obvious as time went on. In his final years, he suffered from depression and separated himself from the rest of the world. Still, he kept a facade up which covered over the cracks in that armor only when one very looked hard.

The point here is that nurture can only take a child to a certain point. Nature and body chemistry take over from there. Today's, more than ever, demands flexiblility, making commitments to change, willingness to make opportunities where none seem to exist. There is no "no." We have to find a way to turn a "no" into "yes." In the end, we have to be able to say that we lived every day, doing the best we could to guide and mold.

May 15, 2015
Grieving process-Turning Triggers for Sorrow into Action for Tomorrow.
Yesterday, my mother turned 93, a ripe age for someone with Stage 4 Alzheimer's.  She still recognizes me and people who visit regularly but cannot recall that she already ate a meal or the names of newer family members who live far away. We also celebrated Mother's Day on Sunday. All week, the questions nagging at me were: who will be there for me when I am that old and how does a childless mother do better than just survive the day? The answer came as the week progressed but to a head in today's yoga class.

During the week, I focused on making these two days the best they could be for my mom. In other words, service. I made her food with love and care, preparing specific items she wanted. Armed with cards and goodies, I was model of good will and humor. It was an act made doubly important because she does not know my son died. The reason is because of her disease and that fact that it happened just three weeks after my father, her husband of 67 years, passed away. Two years ago, when my husband died suddenly, she was unable to provide me any solace and her mind could not let go of the dread she felt for her own plight should my father die. So, I made an executive decision that she was not to know and all relatives have respected that decision. In fact, her hospice grief counselor agreed with my decision in this case. So, in her presence, I maintain an upbeat attitude for her sake.

It helps to keep busy but during my solitary times (Just because I am alone does not mean I am lonely), I do reflect on issues such as my personal future. To that end, I make every day count by taking care of myself as well as those with whom I come in contact in a delicate balancing act, keeping proper perspective on each.

Which brings me to today's yoga class. We had a teacher who was new to me and whose style was v-e-r-y slow, holding positions past the comfort level. She repeated that we could and should listen to our bodies and step out of a position if the strain disrupted the opportunity to gain. Easy for her to say. She bounced around the room, giving encouragement and compliments, She was our cheerleader. Nice for her.

What I found was that I am stronger than I gave my self credit and could hold positions with focus and form to the point where, as she described, you go beyond the physical body into the spiritual. That is where the real work is done. You see, you turn inward so that you can release outward. By focusing on a movement or muscle or position, held in stasis, different types of connections form. With each new challenge, you find that you can dig deeper, which builds confidence as it builds muscle and muscle memory. This foundation is the basis for your service to others.

Walk With Me by J. Ann Olson

My friend, let me tell you

What I really need now.

Focus

            on me as survivor so that

            the spotlight can warm me enough to heal.

Space

            to elbow my way through this morass

            in my own way, pace, and style

            for space encourages growth.

Freedom

            from recrimination and projection

            of your values and prescriptions

for freedom removes the shackles of doubt, guilt, and shame.

Sensitivity

            to my limited attention or

            ability to empathize with the rest of the universe

            for sensitivity restores self-confidence.

Time

            to re-value my lost love without

demonizing, victimizing,  or idealizing

            until I can see him again in a new light.

Just

Sit beside me and listen

            fully present

            without agenda or judgment.

Eat with me, for communal chewing is nourishing.

Become my physical trainer and help me move to the beat of life.

Drive me to a concert so I can sense beauty once more.

Invite me into the warmth of your home and heart.

Come to my house for dinner to fill the empty corners.

Laugh to let me feel joy again.

Walk with me, friend, on holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries

Until my butterfly wings dry

and I can fly again.

May 13, 2015
Yesterday, a student at Corona High School committed suicide on campus. The paper reports that he had not seemed distressed leading up to his death. However, he still took his life. As I deal with the death of my own son, eight months ago now, and participate in sessions for survivors, this pattern seems endemic. No one picked up on the depth of pain and distress of the individual prior to that moment. We replay the hours, days, weeks, and months looking for clues, breadcrumbs, that were missed as if we could have changed ourselves, our behavior, or, most hopefully, that of the victim. With time, we figure out that as much as we hope that we have influence over others, in the end, we do not. We try to put ourselves into their shoes to see the world from the perspective of the desperate and hopeless, attempting to come up with a story that makes sense. Yes, fragments emerge but the portrait is missing key parts. Those missing elements nag at us so that we must figure out where we go from here.

First, we turn ourselves inside out but ultimately, we must turn ourselves outside in. That is, find the capacity to release our shame and guilt so that we can become instruments of hope and service to others. This takes time, especially initially. You find yourself ricocheting between emotions. Go with it. Share it with others to help them as well as yourself. None of us is alone. If there is any message for prevention or survivor recovery from death by suicide it is: you are not alone. It takes time. Be patient.

May 12, 2015
Do you sometimes wish for a re-do? Not renovating a kitchen but turning back time to a clean slate. An opportunity to say what you now wish you had said, to make a different decision, to give that extra hug. When a family member commits suicide, this is the space within which you live. Not every minute of every day but some moment each day when you remember your loss and wish it could have been avoided. But which moment? Which decision? Which extra hug? The replay is on continuous loop as we attempt to make sense out of the senseless.