Tag: death

Shame and Truths: RIP Jennifer

It’s the morning after the election. I scrolled through Facebook, and between the flood of posts from both the gloaters and the weepers, I remember that I lost a friend a week ago…and all your political banter seems like silly fluff to me when I remember she’s gone, exited at her own hand.

I don’t know precisely why she did it, but I do know this: we often carry around our dark secrets, ashamed, sure no one will love us if we come clean. We are sure opening up our suitcase of skeletons will cause us to lose our friends. They’ll think us foolish or weak, or maybe both, so we drag our nasty baggage around with us, hiding it away. The weight of it gets heavier as time goes by, crushing.

I’ve cracked open my baggage a time or two, but mostly I keep it snapped shut. I’ve given close friends a glimpse at what’s inside, and you know what happened? They asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you let me help?”

Because: I was embarrassed. I felt like a failure. I didn’t want to speak it out loud. I didn’t want anyone to know what was really going on with me because I didn’t want to trouble anyone. I needed to handle it myself. I needed to either overcome it or hide it away, but I didn’t want to advertise it. I am strong and asking for help is weak. I don’t know why. All those reasons and none of those reasons, maybe, and perhaps my friend was struggling with the same.

Let me crack open my baggage a little, just a peek, and see if you turn away…

I’ve been verbally abused and hit by men who claimed to be my husband. I say “claimed to be” because a true partner wouldn’t go there and/or he’d recognize his own problems and get some help. I’ve manage to wed two who did that, and I really don’t think I had a clue either time before the wedding. What does that make me? Blind? Naive? And where does that leave me today in relationships? Running away as fast as I can, or trying to control what can’t be controlled…which ends up in me being alone, which is safer, right?

Still with me?

I suck at adulting. I live paycheck to paycheck, hustling side jobs for any extras. I carry a lot of what I call “survival” debt where credit cards were used for medical, dental, child care, and things like clothes for the kid in the months where no child support came or it came, but there was not enough to cover costs like shoes for growing feet or the summer day camp field trip to Dollywood. I’ve never bought so much as a new couch or a new kitchen table. I’ve watched people build new houses and cart in their new beautiful furnishings and I’ve felt lower than low. I’m happy for them, but I quietly wonder, worry, obsess over what I have done wrong? I don’t get it. I have a wheelbarrow full of college degrees and relevant certifications, and I struggle to buy groceries most months. Sometimes when I have a little extra pocket money, I choose experiences with the people I love over a couch. Do you judge me? Could you tell me how to do it better from your comfy leather sofa?

Anyway. That’s enough for now.

My thought here was to shed some light on the things I carry around, that we all carry around, to maybe give some insight on why someone would give up on this life without us having a clue. The things we drag around fester and get heavier and heavier.

Do you believe in love? Do you believe in shame? If love can conquer all then why do we only feel the pain. We’ll miss you forever and then some, Jennifer.

LYLAS

Do you remember “LYLAS” or “LYLAB?”  We used to write that in yearbooks back in the day.  Love you like a sister.  Love you like a brother.  For whatever reason, we couldn’t write “love you” or “love” outright–we had to qualify it, disclaim it, with “hey, I’m fond of you, but only like I’d be fond of a sibling” as though claiming someone as family was less provocative or edgy than just saying “I love you.”

LYLAS came to mind at our gathering Saturday night when we were talking about yearbooks and the “profound” messages we’d written to each other way back then.  This was a gathering of our old tribe, a tribe that came together in the late 1980’s. This is part of my chosen “family,” the LYLAS and LYLAB folks that will always be dear to my heart. Some of that tribe I still see often, and some of that tribe I only stay connected to via Facebook or text messages, but they are still “my people:” people who I can settle into a comfortable conversation and rapport with whether it’s been 10 days or 10 years since I’ve last seen them, and when and if they need me, I will rush to them no matter how long it’s been.  Some of that tribe I’ve known since I was 5 years old, and I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed everyone until we gathered all together, Jello shots in hand, trading stories and laughter.  There’s a good energy when you gather “your people” together, a collective happiness and comfort that can’t be faked.

We gathered this time in memory of our friend Jason.  Jason was a smiling, positive person who passed away this month, a shock to us all given how much effort he’d given this last year to improving his health.  We are in our early 40’s now, this tribe, and while I guess we are middle aged, it doesn’t seem right than any of us could die so soon.  We still have so many dreams, so much more to do, and it is a terrible loss that our people, our connections, could be gone in an instant.  Jason, I will miss you; we will miss you.  I “liked” things he posted on Facebook just hours before his death, but I hadn’t told him anything important or personal in ages, because, well, I guess I still thought we all had plenty of time.  I was wrong.

So, to my people, my tribe, wherever you are, whether you were able to raise a Jello shot on Saturday night or we raised it without you, please know that I LYLAS, LYLAB, just plain love you.  You are my people, the Deadbeat Club. “We would talk every day for hours; we belong to the deadbeat club.” Or if you prefer, we are the Breakfast Club, “demented and sad, but social.” No matter the name, you will always be my people.

Goodbyes And Hellos

I only met my biological grandmother a few months ago.  I liked her right away; her sass and humor were a warm welcome to this long lost grandchild.

My grandmother went into the hospital and didn’t get to go back home.  She was laid to rest in a lovely service yesterday on a beautiful sunny day filled with blue skies and fluffy clouds.

One of the good things about where I’m from is also one of the bad things: everyone knows who you are.  Everyone knows your business.  Everyone knows your kin.

Standing with my kiddo beside me waiting for the service begin, I heard one of the old folks behind me whispering.  Old folks don’t whisper very well.  “That’s his oldest child, she’s the doctor’s granddaughter.”  Yes, that’s me.  The oldest child, the oldest grandchild.  My mother’s father was the local doctor, so everyone knew him, knew her and knew me, too.  I turned around and looked at the old folks, trying to muster a grin, and they hushed their gossip.

I looked beside my kiddo at who had just approached and taken a spot near us on the grass, and it was one of my brothers.  I’d only met my sisters so far, but I could have picked my brothers out of a crowd of thousands easily.  This brother was another of the long lost and until recently unclaimed variety like me, but I knew him right away.  I whispered in the kiddo’s ear that it was one of my brothers next to her, and she whispered back to ask how I knew.  I just knew.

Saying goodbye to family you only just met is hard.  The service was sweet with a beautiful poetry reading, and the familiar refrain of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” was repeated often to remind us all that this is the normal circle of life, the normal way of things.  I was sad because I still have so many questions, and my grandmother was most likely the only one left to give me answers, and yet here we were, gathered to celebrate her life and say goodbye so soon after saying hello.

After the service, I found my sisters and spoke with them briefly.  They had throngs of well-wishers to greet and thank.  I didn’t have any throngs since I only just came out of hiding a few months ago, only just stepped out of the shadows where bastard offspring lurk.  I found my two brothers and stood in front of them and said something like, “Hello, sorry to meet you on such a sad day; I’m your oldest sister.”  They looked surprised but happy.  The kiddo says I look like my brothers, and I don’t disagree.

I had to hurry away after that, because it was just too overwhelming.  Too many important goodbyes and hellos sandwiched into too short of a time span.  I was feeling shaky with so many emotions rushing around at once.  They are my family.  I don’t know if there is a place for me among them after all this time, but they are my family.