Standing Rock Solidarity

Today, E and I had a chance to go and show solidarity for Standing Rock by being involved in an experience near the Army Corps of Engineers in Seattle. This was a neat spot for me to be in because my grandpa worked in Washington State for the Army Corps of Engineers. Now, my longtime friend T and his friend R work there. Plus, it’s a location very near where I work and live, too, so it was convenient. And, it was up the Duwamish River, a river I’ve been wanting to explore more. And, in the past few weeks, we've become aware and supportive of the movement at Standing Rock to protect water and respect indigenous people's treaty rights and human rights.

When we got to the event, there was a solar paneled truck and they were serving a free meal. There was so much food that we didn’t even bring the chili for the group that we’d made.

There were about 30-60 people hanging out in a circle and a Native American woman was talking. She mentioned that she had been at Standing Rock and some white Allies (Allies meaning supporters, but not Native Americans themselves) were saying some sort of a joke that really hurt the feelings of a Native American person unintentionally. She said she loves allies, but that we need to be very careful in how we joke around because it can be hurtful even when we are trying to be funny or helpful. (This makes sense to me as I joke around a lot and use sarcasm.) She felt that water has a spirit, and that if it is contaminated with oil then people will die and get cancer (which I know firsthand from my Dad is agonizing.)

She talked about how genocide, and violence against women, and boarding schools which tried to wipe out your culture and language and history, have caused a great deal of problems. She said many people have turned to drugs and alcohol (she is a drug and alcohol counselor), and others have committed suicide, because this is a heavy burden to bear and experience. She said she knows many Native Americans who have died on a regular basis of unnatural causes.

Another white woman spoke about how she has been trying to figure out what to do and she wants to create love and unity in her life more, and she is committed to this.

Another Native American woman shared about going to Standing Rock and how it helped her connect to her language and her spirit more. And another man said the same thing.

Some people said they were afraid for our planet, and how we have given a lot of value to money, but in the end it is at the expense of life giving things like water and the earth. I have felt this way, too. With all of the development in the cities I go to, I feel sad seeing trees cut down and earth flattened out. After the Oso mudslides, I wonder if we are susceptible to that. I see the polluted Duwamish river, and smell the pollution in the air nearby on the regular. It is sad, and makes me feel we have gotten our values wrong.

This was a special event, and there was no police presence when I went there. I was glad, because I was semi-scared of either being arrested or getting pepper sprayed – not in my plan for a Monday evening. We were able to see our friends L and A. It was about 45 degrees, and it got extremely cold! What a wild thing to either be out in North Dakota in 0 degree temperatures in the mornings…or even to be sleeping outdoors locally in this 45 degree weather. I haven’t stood still outside for a few hours this time of year in a while!

The most profound thing I heard from three Native American people was that they had considered that if they went to Standing Rock, that they might die. And, they all felt like this was worth it and would make a willing sacrifice. Or, maybe the most profound thing was that this could be a motivator for other indigenous / Native communities who have been quiet but who could mobilize – nationally and globally! WHOA! This is so powerful. I’m sure Native communities have been mobilizing, but it’s not gotten the same attention as Standing Rock.

Many of these thoughts were shared when we were standing around in the mostly darkness (one person had a solar powered light) passing around a microphone and a big, battery powered amp.

I am glad that this event took place, and it was a very good chance to hear and learn from people. When the microphone came to me, I shared that I probably wouldn’t be there if a certain candidate had won for president. But, I have realized lately that justice and a healthy planet and looking to make sure people aren’t’  being treated poorly is something that will take my lifetime…just like health and wellbeing is an ongoing journey, not a single “I made it!” destination. I really appreciated one woman saying we need to fight, but we need to also play and have fun…walk our dog, sing a song, make a baby! J That helped me think that I can try to share my voice and my time and my body and my resources in a way that I don’t flame out the way I did when I was in my 20s. I had no idea November would be such a transformative month!

WHAT CAN BE DONE?

On a more tactical level, wool is good and cotton kills (oops, I sent a cotton sweatshirt in a caravan that left over Thanksgiving! And a decorative but not highly functional hat…live and learn). One person said that Dick’s Sporting Goods on the Eastside has $45 sub-zero boots. It’s recommended to buy mostly wool supplies or thermal underwear. (One woman had been working in the supply area and said she pulled a halter top out of a donation bag and was like “Ummmm…?”!) Purchasing money to buy a yurt or to buy a teepee and help insulate it is very good. There is a local person named Paul working to build here little shelters and then they are assembled in North Dakota like track housing.

This website was recommended to donate via Go Fund Me for Winter Shelter for Standing Rock: https://www.gofundme.com/winter-shelter-for-standing-rock-2u7rg6c. Paul’s work was endorsed by a woman in attendance and there was also a fundraiser a few weeks ago at the Duwamish Longhouse. So, legit.

One of the things I would like to do on one of my lunch breaks is to make a phone call to the White House and to some of the government and police officials who have people on the front lines there to ask them to stand down. I really hope the Army Corps of Engineers will look at whether it’s right to allow for the pipeline to go beneath the river – the only drinking water for the Tribe.

Thank you for reading this!

 

Memoir That

     After my dad died, my life and my thinking changed in a few major ways - more ways than I could write about now. During that period after his death, I decided that I wanted to write about my life and my family and my experience with Dad having cancer. I had a few reasons motivating me. The first is that I'm a writer by nature. I've kept a journal for as long as I can remember. The second is that it seemed like it would help me contain some of the unruly feelings (read: anxiety/panic/mentally hitting the ceiling like a helium balloon with air rushing out of it) that I encountered in my pre-grief, during the 15 months between when Dad was diagnosed and when he died, as well as the grief over the past two-and-a-half years. By writing things down I would be forced to organize my thoughts, make some sense of things, and perhaps have a cathartic experience that moved me closer to accepting the course of events. Maybe ratchet down the anxiety that I've had since that time, too. And, finally, I wanted to capture and pay tribute to some of the special relationships I've had including the one with my dad.

     "I feel like I have a book in me," I said to my mom when I was filling her in on the class I'd be taking.

     "You probably do. D., our family friend, is always saying you write better than some of the authors she reads," she said.

     "Shes's sweet," I said, making a mental note of how much I liked our friend D. 

     I've recently had quite the opportunity to write for a memoir class I'm taking at a nearby University. This term is focused on generating material, next is organizing material, and finally is polishing material. It runs Fall through Spring. It's definitely a commitment and nothing like I expected.

     On the first day of class, I was super jazzed. Our professor seemed kind, fun and a tiny bit neurotic, which, hello, I can totally handle. She told us that there would be a snack sign-up sheet going around so we had something to munch on during our break time during the three hour class. And, she clarified that although she knew five or six people from various place, there was NO in crowd among the few dozen people in our class. She said that if she was in a group and some of the people already knew each other that she'd automatically consider herself to be out of that group. Maybe she said she'd be jealous. Anyway, it was endearing. All that and the chairs and desks were super comfortable and we learned that multiple people who had taken the class before went on to become published. This is wonderful and I'm totally supposed to be here! I remember thinking.

     The first few classes were nice but now, six weeks later, my memoir honeymoon period has ended. I trudged my way along a thousand mile hike in one of our memoir class books, Wild, with an author whose voice that I didn't grow to like until she hit about mile 800. (Spoiler alert: her mom died of cancer in the first part of the book, she has a meltdown, she hikes the Pacific Crest Trail.) I've had plenty of meltdowns, I've done marathon hikes (okay, only for a week, but still), and ditto on the parent thing only it was my dad instead of my mom. I won't ruin the rest of the book for you. 

     Our second book, Drinking: A Love Story, was totally brutal and incredibly well-written. The writer, Caroline Knapp, talks about her twenty years as a highly-functioning alcoholic and a successful writer/editor. Her life is absolute tortured chaos and her mom and dad both die. I think they both died of cancer but I had to skip from the chapter on having a double life dating two men and hitting rock bottom to help and healing.

     "This book is going to kill me," I said to my boss on one of our twelve hour days involving ferry travel time. "I just got to the part where she traded her anorexia for alcoholism."

     "Yeah, I read a few pages when you were over there writing. I couldn't take it," she said.

     The writer herself died at age 42 of lung cancer.

     Class itself has been equally brutal. Each week we give each other feedback on the pieces we've written. This past week my classmates wrote about becoming widowed at an extremely young age, another person nearly dying in Alaska, and another being sexually assaulted as a five year-old by a group of teens. I had to leave the room and it took me a day to recover from the rawness of hearing people's stories. I don't even like to watch the local news and that's people I've never met or shared memoir class break time snacks with. It's amazing what people go through and that they find a way to come out the other side with the wherewithal to sit down at a computer and create something artful. Oh, and one of our guest speakers was a widow whose husband died in the World Trade Center on 9/11. (Her book is The Alchemy of Loss, which I bought, and cried my way through the first few chapters until I tabled it and went and bought some more spirituality and self help books.)

     I was most unprepared for how difficult it would be to revisit the topics I've wanted to write about. This seems straightforward enough, but it's proven to be tough. Am I ready to relive some of those moments when my Dad was diagnosed with cancer, when his treatment was so hard, when my anxiety was going through the roof, when I had to say goodbye? Do I have the ability now to do that when I'm already freaking out about another round of holidays that don't resemble the ones that I grew up with? Do I want to remember the little details and document them? Can I revisit the conversation I eavesdropped on from the other room when the end was nearing and the hospice pastor talked to Dad about his own death? Today on a walk I was wondering about at which point did my dad's sister B. call to say her final goodbyes to him. She had to call because she was back in Pennsylvania taking care of my grandma who died ten days after my dad. Opening all of that back up right now seems like bad timing. I didn't budget for that much therapy and herbal happy pills my naturopath gives me really only do so much.

     A few weeks ago I was making cookies and my girlfriend was upstairs reading my piece for the week. I was getting ready to submit it to have all of my classmates give me feedback for my first class review. I had been feeling really out of sorts and panicky about what type of feedback I'd get, how vulnerable it was to share my story, how difficult it is to figure out what to write about, and how challenging it is to make it fit in seven pages. And, most of all, how not ready I was to be revisiting some of the harder times. She pointed out that I don't have to be writing about all of this. I took the cookies out of the oven and submitted my first paper. I haven't been able to read most of the feedback write-ups that my classmates gave me. They're tucked away in my closet deep in my file area.

   Now I'm torn about what to do. Do I bail on the memoir class and spend more time doing yoga or hanging out with my cat? Write on sunnier topics like how amazing and positive my best friend M. is and how he's brightened my life since the minute we met? (Heart you, M.) Focus on learning the writing techniques and use them later when it's not during the holidays? I haven't decided yet but it feels good to write. And though I haven't figured it out, I have a hunch that this term will be me writing about gardening as a kid with my grandma and going on adventures. And if the next book we read in class is a downer I'm going to read my first Shopaholic and Sister book and call it good.

     

The World According to LJ: Relationship Myth Busting Time

I'm not sure how many different ways we're told we should be in a romantic relationship, even when they're kinda-crappy-or-even-really-crappy relationships, but it's a lot. So I wanted to counterbalance all of the billboards, romantic comedies, comments from Grandmas, and tax cuts, and tell you that two isn't necessarily better than one. Here are some myths that encourage us to stay in bad relationships that I am officially myth busting:

Myth: Relationships take work.

Truth: I mean, okay, I admit that you have to work at relationships. But it's not supposed to be that kind of hard work. Or hard work most days of the week. It's the kind of work that it takes to try and be a good person kind of work. Maybe work in relationships is kind of like running for people who totally like to run (I hear this exists). Yeah, it's hard, and sometimes you have to power through a stretch that's difficult, but the benefits are supposed to outweigh the costs. It's not supposed to be that hard, really. You're supposed to be having fun and enjoying each other. And if you're not having fun and enjoying each other, maybe it's okay to call it quits.

Myth: You should stay in a relationship because you don't want to make your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/partner sad. (See also: but they need me and/or wounded bird syndrome.)

Truth: They'll be better off being with someone who actually wants to be with them but not out of obligation. If you think you should stay together because they'll be sad, then odds are good that they will be sad. It'll probably be rocky to end things, but that's kind of life. It's rocky. And then it becomes less rocky. Humans invented antidepressants, therapy, and alcohol to get your significant other through the breakup. And if it's not really working now then they'll be worse off in a few months or years when you get around to ending things. Idea: Get out of this relationship and get a dog from the pound. The dog will need you. And you will need the dog so you can walk around and meet new people who are awesome to date.

Myth: Trying to meet people is worse than being in the wrong relationship.

Truth: Being in a bad or even just a not good relationship is way worse than dating. Dating can be really fun. It's exciting to meet new people. It's probably not as bad as you remember. I will give you that it can be awkward and not fun to put yourself out there 100% of the time and particularly when you would prefer to be home alone watching a few episodes of Weeds wearing snowman pajamas on a Saturday night (not speaking from personal experience here at all). But just think how great it will be to meet someone and be in a good or great relationship instead of a bad or not good relationship. I will give you a pep talk if you need it or you could just watch this clip from Cool Runnings a few times. Actually once is enough.

Myth: I need someone to take me to the airport so I cannot end this relationship.

Truth: Public transit will get you there. Or you could do that pay and park thing in the lots where a shuttle takes you to the airport. I hear that they're thinking of eliminating that requirement that we have to take our shoes off at security. Or was it the 4-ounce bottles thing going away? I think it was the shoes thing. Either way, short term pain, long term gain. Your new boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/partner/whatever will take you to the airport someday and you won't have to take your shoes off at said airport and you'll like that person a whole lot and you'll be thanking me. End it.

Myth: We should stay together because we have kids/pets/expensive dishware together.

Truth: This one is a tough one. I think when you bring expensive dishware in to the equation you need to be really careful when and how you choose to end things. I was just at Bed, Bath, and Beyond today, and I spent probably $30 on a scrubby thing for dishes and a spatula (heat safe up to 400 degrees Fahrenheit, by the way) and a couple strainer things. So I really get this.

But the kids thing. In a best case scenario, you would call it quits before you bring kids into the picture, but I recognize that can't always happen. If you've tried really hard on the relationship for a long time and it's still not working, it's okay to end things. Kiddos are better off seeing their parent(s) in a happy and healthy relationship or as happy and healthy single people. Maybe you don't want to show them that dysfunctional or unhappy relationships are normal.

Personally, if my parents were unhappy with their relationship, I would have preferred for them to have divorced even though it probably would have been a difficult and not very fun thing to go through. (See: life is rocky, then it gets less rocky, then you move on.) And I would have been pissed if either of them had rushed into another relationship. Don't wind up dating or marrying the wrong person a bunch of times in a row if you have kids because that isn't nice to do. (See: being single is a totally legit. option, too.)

Myth: Money-wise we just can't split up.

Truth: This one kind of sucks a) because it's a really crappy economy, and b) we could do a way better job of teaching people how to be financially independent but we don't. I don't know anything about your finances, but I'd say give it some thought, start saving money where you can, then rip the Band-aid off and end things. And if you are raising kids right now, or if you just need to hop up on a soapbox on the blogosphere periodically like some people I know, mention to the kids (in your case) or to the world wide web (in my case) that it's really important to be able to take care of your financial needs whether or not you're in a relationship. This woman, I think, intravenously injects espresso shots before she goes on air, but if you want to be more money savvy, maybe give Suze Orman a chance. Or try the book Your Money or Your Life or something of that sort. I'd guess there are a lot of resources out there to get you on the right track so you don't have be in a relationship because of finances.

Myth: If we move in together/get married/have a baby/buy more expensive kitchenware things will get better.

Truth: Yeah, no. (See: Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, WMDs, etc.)

Myth: Things aren't working right now but it's just a phase s/he is going through. (See also: they'll change.)

Truth: This might be true or it might not be true. But it might be a good idea to figure out a reasonable time frame, maybe weeks/months and maybe not years, where you can take a look at whether or not it's not a phase and the person just isn't right for you. I don't think people change that much once they're grown ass adults. Maybe, and I'm being generous here, people change a bit as they're young and figuring out who they are. But do you really want to take that bet?

If their age is over 25, I retract my generous statement that people might change, and I stick to my original thought that people don't really change that much. Abort. Your time is better spent doing something else. Particularly strong encouragement to women on this. It's okay to cut your losses.

Myth: Things didn't work out the first time and we broke up but we're going to try and date again. (See also: backsliding)

Truth: If you're really meant to be together, postpone getting back together for a while. I'd say six months would be good. It would be cool to determine if you're just lonely and miss the (wrong) person, or if you really should give it another go and you both made a big mistake. Lots of the time, you're just lonely and sad and not thinking objectively. But, I know a couple that are happily married and fairly adorable and they split and then got back together in their younger dating years. Maybe getting back together and having it work is the exception and not the rule? Backsliding = overrated. Being single until you're in the right relationship is better.

Myth: But I love him/her.

Truth: If you're in the wrong relationship, if you're not bringing out the best in each other, making each other happy, treating each other with respect, and fist pumping the air every so often just because you get to spend time with each other, then it's okay to end it even if you love the person. I love Grey's Anatomy. You can love a lot of things but you don't have to date them or stay married to them. I like good relationships a lot and am happy for all the people who are in them.

Me and Joan Didion

I got a card from one of my fab. aunts (they're all fab., actually) and she offered in the card to talk with me anytime and she had heard that I was still having a hard time with my dad having passed. My two thoughts after reading that were 1) that is a very sweet and nice offer, and 2) aren't I supposed to be having a hard time? I mean, isn't the point of loving people so much that if they die it feels like you just kicked something underneath a parked car and upon closer examination it looks like it might be your heart or at minimum some entrails? And, I suppose you'll want to pick up and dust off whatever it is and put it back inside your body for the time being? That's been my experience, anyway.
Nice thing is that I think I am feeling a bit better. Granted, I wrote this last week before my Saturday From Hell last weekend, the day before Mother's Day, where I was exhausted and grumpy all day and took two naps, which I never do, and felt like if I was a turtle I would just keep my head in my shell until nighttime. That said, I don't know when or how it happened, but things aren't as extreme as they were a few months ago. Not that this is easy or fun every day. But, I like that things are better, and I think if I died my Dad would want to gradually move forward with his life, and I know he wanted me to move forward with mine given the current circumstances, as I've said before.
Two people asked me one day how my mom is doing. I suppose it's courteous that they asked, but neither one of them knows her, both are work people I don't know all that well. What am I really supposed to say? A roommate of a friend mine who was struggling really big time with a drinking problem turned temporarily to baking instead of drinking and tried like hell to get sober for a couple of weeks and stay that way but turned out it lasted only for those couple of weeks. Though I've lost track of both of them so maybe there's a happy ending. Anyway, one time when I was at my friend's house before the baking turned back to drinking, I asked her roommate how she was doing. In the midst of mixing up some banana bread, and without missing a beat, she said dryly, "Just killing time until all my dreams come true." While I can't speak for my mom and sister, I speculate our family can relate, though I won't start using that as my answer to how my family is faring. And, my mom is a major trooper/survivor with the most generous way of existing in the world whose face should be printed on the backs of 100 dollar bills.
So, in case you hadn't heard, Osama Bin Laden was killed. I wish I could talk to my dad and ask what he thought about that - how it happened, what the impact will be, that kind of thing. Usually we thought different things about different things. Actually, that's putting it mildly. We cancelled each other out in pretty much every election that we voted in and my mom forbade him from talking about health care reform with me and my extremely conservative and beloved Grandma prior to Grandma's visit last year. I liked talking to my dad about the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell recently, though. He thought that it was time for that to happen, and he also thought that there would be gay bashings as an unfortunate result of the repeal. (Have there been? Did they even enact the repeal yet? I've lost track of that stuff even though I should know.) I would love to talk to my dad about this kind of thing - he was always up on what was in the news. I am mad that I have to go the rest of my life not asking him what he thinks about current events (and everything else since I'm on the topic). Sad, sort of confusing, too, like, where did he go, and when is coming back? Should I go lay out in the driveway with the dog and look towards the road and wait for him to return? Did the dog used to do that even before all this? I think she did, but can't remember. And, no, I don't want anyone to suggest that I can still ask him what my dad thinks about current events. I had anticipated being able to bicker or talk with him for decades to come about all those kinds of things we never saw eye to eye on. And, being able to enjoy common ground where we found it, which got to be more often as we both got older.
A friend of mine, J., sent me a book called The Year of Magical Thinking by the author Joan Didion. I liked reading this book even though it is chock full of tragedy, and medical tragedy at that, which always winds up stirring the pot for me and convincing me that I have cancer or someone else I know is going to die some tragic death. So once I got used to the medically scary parts of the book, I got into the story about a woman whose husband dies simultaneous to the time when their adult daughter is in the ICU in a coma because of an infection that becomes septic shock. And I know from watching Grey's Anatomy that septic shock is a full body infection. Didion starts the book saying:

Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.

She's right about life changing quickly. I have relived the phone call I got in December of a year ago when my mom said that the next day my dad was going to get the results back from a biopsy of a tumor in his esophagus (esophagus? what?). And it was just so totally out of the blue. Like if something happens just like that when you're standing in left field and then something arrives out of the blue all at the same time kind of "changing in the instant." And then a year and five months later here I am and here my dad isn't.
As far as Didion and self-pity and me - well, I suppose there is some degree of self indulgence in talking about this and writing about it but it's sad and difficult stuff so I don't think I've crossed over into self pity. And if I have, at least I have a good sense of humor? Maybe I visit self pity from time to time but not really officially and not often enough to get my passport stamped. It's like going to Cuba. ;)
At one point, Didion mentioned how she absolutely wouldn't get rid of her husband's clothes because she thought that in order for him to return, he would need his clothes and shoes. She was there (at dinner, remember, sitting?) when he had a massive heart attack that resulted in his immediate death, but she still had these irrational thoughts. And so hence the name of her book ... Magical Thinking.... This makes me feel like I'm in good company when I my brain goes and lives in some dark version of La La Land for a while.
I feel like I might reread that book. It was very good.

No, use this Bible.

I was driving back home after being away for the weekend and I wound up listening to a radio show on Public Radio International called Smiley & West hosted by Tavis Smiley and Dr. Cornell West. They were talking about a lot of things, but the most interesting thing to me was an interview with an author who wrote a book about the Great Migration. (The Great Migration being the moves of millions of Black people in the 1900s from the south to the north.) The radio show really caught my attention when I heard that when testifying in courtrooms in the Jim Crow south, there were different Bibles used for Black people than for white people. Are you kidding me? White people really think of everything.
On the radio show, the hosts Smiley and West, and the guest, author Isabel Wilkerson, talked about whether Wilkerson thought it a fair analysis to describe the discrimination and prejudice Black people experienced as terrorism. That really made my ears perk up, because I'd never heard the term terrorism used that way, but I have to agree that that's a good way to describe it. There was also a lot of talk about the caste system where Black people were relied upon for cheap labor but were discriminated against every time they turned around. (It's a whole 'nother ball of wax to talk about cheap labor and who's relied upon to provide it nowadays, so we can save that topic.) Wilkerson also mentioned that it wasn't okay for a Black motorist to pass a white motorist regardless of how slow the white motorist was going. Ick.
The book is called The Warmth of Other Suns and Wilkerson won a Pulitzer Prize for writing it. She conducted 1,200 interviews as a part of her research, and she mentioned the positive impact moving had on all of the descendants of Black people who migrated north and the impact those people have had on American culture. (Toni Morrison being one.) Go Isabel Wilkerson. I can't wait to read the book.

Milestones, I guess.

Two friends and I were on a walk the other day and my friend decided walking backwards up a very steep hill instead of walking forwards would make him feel less winded. He runs marathons, so I'm not sure how this could have made him winded, but he said he also liked being able to see how far we had come. And, being that I like to notice that I've passed a milestone, take a look at how far I've come, and feel encouraged by that progress enough that I can keep putting one foot in front of the other through the shitstorms that life brings, I'll focus on that right now.
Today, I talked with a guy at work about our coworker and his good friend, M. Before I learned that M's mom has terminal cancer, I remember seeing her at work crying. She wasn't making any attempt to wipe away the tears, she was just sitting in this corner cube, tucked back between nondescript grey cube walls having a cry. Back at that point, my dad was alive and didn't have cancer and I felt this omigoshthat'ssad feeling about M's situation, but didn't think about it a ton like I would now. Now, I feel like we have a connection in that I can relate to what she and her family might be going through. And, I just kind of get it. I found out last week that her mom's health is declining really rapidly and she's away from the office spending time with her and helping take care of her. I found out today that hospice thinks her mom has about a week or two to live. And, I found out that her dad had a cataract surgery today. As if your spouse dying of cancer wasn't enough, why don't you have a cataract surgery? I feel really bad for their family. I also noticed that while I can't say I'm jumping for joy each day because I get to be at whatever phase of grieving I am in as a grieving daughter in month two following a parent's death, I am convinced that my day-to-day this week is a lot easier than it was in mid-February when I packed up a week's worth of clothes and went home to spend time with my dad before he died. Things aren't particularly easy now - some days (many days?) they're pretty damn excruciating, but still it is an improvement from where I was. And, that means that my world is less challening than M's, which means that with time things might actually sort of get easier or go back to something normal. And hopefully that happens for M., too.
Knowing that someone is going to die, seeing them in a lot of pain, and having to adapt to the changes they're experiencing really sucks. Dying from cancer is, from what I've seen, painful and gruesome. Things get boiled down to the thoughts I would have or hear family saying like It's good that this person gets to die at home surrounded by loved ones and Isn't it nice that it's sunny outside for them in these last few days and When people have heart attacks and die suddenly they don't get to say their goodbyes so maybe this is better than that in some ways? And, well, this person who is dying is out of their mind on pain killers but at least they're not in pain? Or not as bad of pain as they would be otherwise? And that is better than this same type illness killing someone, say, before we invented Methadone? And when you add up all of those ways of looking at things, it still doesn't add up to a whole lot. I came this close to taking a bottle of my dad's Lorazapam and heading for the hills but I restrained myself. And, had my friend mail me my own little stash of Lorazapam. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I was also talking with another friend today, another M, about when her dad died three years ago. Her dog died the month prior, then her dad died, then she had to write her dissertation for college and sell his house that was 3,000 miles away in the months just after all that. She wrote the dissertation, knocked 20 or so things off her to do list each day, and sold the house (but without making a penny). Raise your hand if you want to have power of attorney over your dad's estate in your very early twenties because your older brother probably isn't responsible enough to take care of that type of business - that on top of trying to graduate from college and process your emotions about your dad being gone. Oh, and six months later she shattered her heel in about a bazillion different places while cliff jumping. I suppose the plus side is that the cliff jumping was in Italy which makes her look like adventurous (for cliff jumping) and cultured (for doing her second study abroad in Italy), at least. (She's had three surgeries to fix her heel and it's been a big hassle. Don't cliff jump.) She said it took a long time before she could talk about her dad dying without dissolving into tears, and said after maybe six months she felt a bit more normal. That means I'm four months away from normal but I have to break my heel into a bazillion pieces. Some days that feels like a fair trade. She called it The Year from Hell and she saved her planner because every day was so jam packed full of stuff, busyness, life.
Our family friend A, my sister, and I were talking about me being overdue for a blog entry. I said I didn't have anything funny to write about, and A suggested we dress up our family cat and have a cat fashion show. I said that reminded me of when Hugh Hefner's girlfriends on the show Girls Next Door would throw birthday parties for their dogs because otherwise the show wouldn't have much narrative arc. But I plan to keep writing about the kind of stuff that hurts to read. Like the time when I got a new cell phone, had the people at Sprint transfer all my numbers over from the old phone to the new one, and then called what I thought was my Mom's home phone number. But it wasn't. It was my dad's work cell phone number. And there was no outgoing message on the voicemail. And I just wanted to fall between the cracks in the sidewalk. Or, as my lovely and amazing sister described the feeling to me today: cry, then go punch people in the face.

It's just a phase.

I decided to write about the five stages of grief. I was really hoping I could kind of check some of them off my list. Like a to do list that you've already finished part of the way. Anger, denial, file taxes, vacuum, send birthday present thank you notes, go to the dentist, bargaining, check, check, check, that kind of thing. Since I wasn't sure what all the phases were, I looked them up. They are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, according to Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, who wrote a book about it called On Death and Dying.
Not everyone goes through all the phases, and the phases were actually described by Kubler-Ross as the experiences of the terminal cancer patient, or in my case, my dad's experiences, but there is some crossover for the person experiencing the death of a loved one. The five phases are kind of points of reference for me. Like when you're driving across the country and you can say you just passed through Iowa and you're making progress. One hundred miles until Acceptance - score! There are other phases that I would add such as "having lots of glass in your recycle bin" and "watching so much Grey's Anatomy and Dexter that you feel kind dirty" but Kubler-Ross didn't mention those, so maybe that's just me.
The first phase in the five phases is denial. I'm trying to remember if I was ever in denial that my dad had cancer or that it was terminal. Probably. Actually, I think that I was most likely in denial when my dad was staying in bed all day and couldn't talk much because his health was declining and he was on painkillers. I would hear a man's voice in another room and I'd think Dad! He's in there! And then I'd remember that dad was in a different room with a different set of circumstances and I was terrified and very sad and he was dying and that absolutely wasn't his voice. And it was easy to forget what was going on because it hadn't been that long since he was sitting in his usual chair in the living room watching Flying Wild Alaska with my mom and sister and drinking water with lemon because lemon was supposed to help his stomach not hurt as much since the cancer was making it hurt. So, it's hard to be in denial for very long at that point. Reality hits you when there is an oxygen machine bubbling away in the bathroom, cords leading to wherever your dad is sitting. Not a lot of room for denial when methadone and morphine enter the scene.
Maybe it was easier to pretend everything was fine on a sunny day at our family reunion last August when dad was wearing a fake Hawaiian lei for our Hawaii-themed-day and hanging out down by the little lake on my aunt and uncle's property. But denial isn't really my thing. I'm more of a dad-has-cancer-so-now-let's-imagine-other-worst-case-scenarios-and-do-I-have-liver-cancer-and-is-this-mole-okay?-type of person. And that's less fun than denial, believe me.
Our family dog Maggie was a bit confused about what was going on with my dad, too, so that was maybe a little bit of denial for her. After my dad died, our good friend J. was driving my dad's truck and taking some stuff to a dumpster at the place where he and my dad worked. He needed to drop it off there since we missed our trash day due to the surprise snow storm. When he drove down the driveway, our dog perked way up and ran over to the truck, and she was excited because she thought she got to see my dad. This dog is emotive, chatty as dogs go, which I've heard is because she's got some German Sheperd in her. She loves our family friend, J., but J. said she was crestfallen to see that it was him in the truck, not my dad.
About three or so days before my dad died, our cat Leo kind of lost it. Usually he lays around the house sleeping and waiting for someone to come near enough to jump into their lap. Leo ran around the house meowing and wound up throwing up and doing other things you don't want a cat doing indoors. And since he weighs twenty three pounds, he's kind of a liability. So, he got put outside. After that he came to the big sliding glass doors in the room where my dad was in bed, and he would meow and put his paws on the door in this way that oozed of searching and frenzy and panic. Or maybe that's just me projecting on the cat. Either way, that, among many things that week, made me really sad. I think the cat could sense what was going on.
Anger is another phase in the five stages of grieving. This one took me a while to get to. I don't tend to get angry very often. Usually I reserve anger for my reflection on the Bush era or getting a parking ticket. I thought I might skip over anger, but that didn't happen. I spent a lot of December and January being more angry than usual. Which brings me to New Year's Resolution Number 2: Be nice to people. This resolution was modified fairly early into the new year. It is really hard to be nice when you're away from your home and you're living in a house with your immediate family (Hi sis and Mom!) taking care of your dad, who is dying. It is also hard to be nice when you get the news that dad has only six months to live. And, it's hard to be nice when you find out that six months is actually only one month plus change. I suppose I was snippy or critical or short-fused a time or two, but it has gotten easier now that I'm back at home in Seattle and the dust is beginning to settle.
Before my dad died, I did feel angry at the obvious - that my dad was going to die, that he was in pain, that he had cancer, that he was in his 50s, that some people get to be 90 and walk around with a little walker, that other people's biggest problem was getting the flu, that he wouldn't get to have golden years, that my mom would have to sign her name only on cards. But, sometimes I would get angry at other things - bad drivers, little things at work, sometimes stuff that didn't make sense. About a month ago, I flipped off a driver who honked at me for going too slow - that felt good - I tried it out again today when someone decided to merge into my lane at ramming speed because the car in front of them was stopped, but it wasn't as fun, maybe because I'm not really that angry any more. And, I don't want someone to get road rage and shoot me, so I mighr retire the bird for a while. When I was feeling really angry it felt like it was hard to separate out what's really making me angry and what's being impacted or aggravated by everything else that is going on.
Bargaining. I did some bargaining last spring. My dad had gone through chemotherapy and radiation, and we knew that the cancer wasn't active anywhere, the tumor in his esophagus shrank, and we might be able to move on to the next step, which was a gruesome surgery called an esophajectomy. In that procedure, most of the esophagus is removed, and the stomach is pulled upwards and sewn to the remaining part of the esophagus. It's like cutting a straw into a tiny piece and sewing it to a balloon. The straw is the esophagus and the balloon is the stomach. They were going to make an incision in his neck and in his abdomen and remove the bad portion of the esophagus and then sew it to the stomach - hopefully all the while not killing him in the process. My dad had the option to select a surgeon who was also a cardiologist, which he thought would have come in handy if his heart had stopped on the table. Not an easy surgery to survive or recover from in my opinion.
In the spring, we learned that even though he did chemo and radiation like a champ, the cancer moved to his liver. And, for those of you who had limited knowledge about such matters like I did at the time last year, the liver processes all the blood in the body. So, the cancer had ample chance to spread to other places since it was in the liver, and the blood going through the liver was going everywhere else in his body. I remember my dad doing a lot of research, and kind of seeing the writing on the wall. He was saying that the scans can only detect something cancerous that is larger than half a grain of rice, which meant that there could have been other mini-tumors, a term I just invented, that the scans couldn't detect, but that were spread by the blood to other areas. So, we knew this was bad and we thought at the time it meant that there were not treatment options, that the cancer was inoperable, that it couldn't be cured. But we didn't know that with certainty since we hadn't heard from the doctor.
My dad and mom went to a doctor's appointment to find out more about what it meant to have cancer in the liver - it hadn't been much time since we learned about the liver tumors. In the mean time, before that, my sister and brother-in-law and I had come home. It is so heart wrenching to drive home and hug your parent after getting news like that. I have had my fill of that type of sadness for a lifetime. Really, I've paid my dues in that area. While my parents were gone from the house at the oncologist's office, I remember feeling like I. Can't. Do. This. I don't know what I can't do this means, other than whatever is happening right now, I can't do it. I can't hear this news. I can't see my parents drive into the driveway. I can't see them get out of the car. I can't hear them talk to me and tell my sister and brother-in-law and me what esophogreal cancer moving to the liver means. I sure as hell can't hear that this is the end of the line, that the treatments didn't work, that we're into the no man's land of cancer taking over. So, I made a deal with God that if my dad would have more than six months to live, I would be able to handle the idea that he was going to die. And so I sat in my usual chair at the dining room table facing out towards the pond in our yard and heard the news from my dad and mom that Dad would have a surgery to remove the tumors in his liver, which felt at the time like it was a lot better than doing no treatment. And, I was glad that he did have more than those six months beyond when the liver metastases showed up. The esophajectomy we were anticipating didn't happen because the hospital, U.W. Medical Center, didn't feel like my dad was a good candidate at that time. and they were right. And I did my bargaining. We had a bit less than a year from that point, I think, but I might be forgetting the sequence.
My aunt A. and I were chatting as we drove to Costco to buy plateware and other stuff for food after dad's memorial service, and she said that the aspect of not knowing what comes next wtih cancer is a certain kind of torture. With my dad's cancer, it was like, here's the prognosis, here's a horrible treatment, here's a little bit of hope, nope we're taking that hope back, here's some bad news, here's the worst news yet, here's a little bit more hope, we're not sure what's going to happen, nope, don't be too hopeful because here's some news that will make you feel like you just got tackled by someone in the NFL. And then you get up from being tackled, and you take a hit from the opposite direction. And then you run for a ways and some asshole coach from the other team standing out of bounds trips you. And in the mean time you're expected to get up, brush your teeth, go to work and be a responsible adult, spend time with friends, be healthy, pay your bills, get your oil changed, be in a relationship, wash, rinse, repeat. And, simultaneously, you're supposed to strike a balance between whatever you're doing right now and spending time with your dad who has cancer. That is a lot.
Depression. Being depressed - mmm, no thanks. I've felt the blues at different points in my life, mostly realizing after the fact that I'm feeling blue, and I was really concerned that this whole cancer thing was going to send me off some proverbial cliff. I felt a bit depressed in December but I didn't really know why until after I was feeling better in January - it wasn't that bad, I guess, and feeling icky about my dad's situation was coupled with feeling icky because I broke up with somebody I was dating for a few months. And, it was dark and rainy and I was working full time and trekking home to visit my parents as often as I could. The holidays and leading up to the holidays were really hard. I spent the past two Christmases wondering if they would be the last ones we would spend with Dad. I thought my mom was going to explode on Thanksgiving because I think she felt a similar pressure - like, this has to be perfect, because who knows how many more of these he's got left and if we don't have a green bean casserole heaven only knows what will happen. My mom is amazing, by the way. I'm not depressed right now, which I'm very grateful for, because everything that has happened could easily be depressing.
Acceptance. Acceptance is a tough. I didn't really think I'd be able to accept that my dad had cancer and that ultimately it would be fatal. My sister said "Dad dying is not an option" back when he was first diagnosed, and we were hoping for a cure, and that's exactly how I felt, too. I don't know when you're supposed to realize that even though you haven't seen this crucially important person in your life for a few weeks that it means that you don't see them anymore again. I'm giving myself time to let that idea settle in.