pan aspects, grief and youtube

tonight i was watching some youtube clips with the kids - an uber cute little girl and her dad singing together - totally irrelevant, i know. but, nevertheless, i ended up wiping away surreptitious tears. watching this completely gorgeous interaction between that little girl and her dad, as he strummed his guitar and they sang together. the adoration that was evident in both their eyes......i want my kids to sing with their dad as he strums his guitar.

so i'm moved to write a bit about michael. he played guitar. i'm totally unmusical, so i can't even tell you how WELL he played the guitar, but he played. and he sang songs from his childhood.  when i was pregnant with his first child, and he strummed and hummed for me, i dreamed about the future, when he would lull his child to sleep with music and the low, rich sound of his loving voice.  throughout his hectic and often bizarre life, he carried and cared for the guitar which once belonged to his big sister, who died in a car accident when he was just blooming.  he wasn't great with 'stuff' - he just couldn't keep track of it - but that guitar was a constant.

he did play for his daughters, and he sang to them too. in fact, since his death, i find it impossible to sing to my kids, because all i can think to sing is what i heard him sing, and i cannot think about michael in the presence of our kids without tears welling and spilling from my eyes.

he also knew a LOT of stuff. he had great capacity for fact recall. he loved stories, mythology, the historical context of things.  michael had a special appreciation for a greek god called pan. pan was half man, half goat. he was the god of the wild spaces, hanging out in the countryside playing the flute and cavorting with nymphs. i don't think i'd ever heard about pan before i met michael, but he really resonated with pan, drew him, sculpted him, carved him. there was a lot of pan in michael - his hair for one thing! but also his musical bent, his playful, adventurous spirit.

i find it unutterably sad that michael's energy has left us. it's ridiculous, really, because in life it was that same energy which quite regularly made my life chaotic, unpredictable, and very much NOTfun.
i guess what always kept me in his orbit was the positive potential of that energy; what always pushed me away was the negative potential.

so my mourning for my kids' loss is around them losing the playfulness, the sense of adventure, the music, the cavorting in the countryside with panmichael.

my sense of relief kicks in when i remember the tortured michael; the negative pan aspect - the god of nightmares, panic, hauntings.  i am conscious of the moments that will never be - the fear & instability of being in his orbit when the negative pan aspect sat front and centre. the one that wouldn't let michael sleep, that whispered wild and weird plans in his ear, that gave him an endless reserve of energy for destruction/deconstruction, the one that wouldn't let him sit still long enough to ever eat. i don't miss that aspect. i'm sorry beyond words that michael has gone, but i don't miss that aspect. i don't miss worrying about the kids' mental, emotional and physical safety when dark pan was out of his box. i don't miss watching michael try to reconstruct his life after the destructive dark pan phases.

as i see it, grief is an all encompassing emotion. when i mourn, i mourn for me - for the loss of that special michael energy and for all the potential that now will never be; for my daughters - who will have to find their way without the surety of father love, without the playful, magical pan touch to their lives; for his parents, for his sisters and their families; for all his friends and acquaintances, all those he touched who will never, ever again be touched in the way that michael touched them. and i cry for the pain of his journey through this life.

endlessly seeking the positive reframe

have you ever considered your first seven years of life? i've watched a couple of episodes on iview of a show called 'life at seven'. it's a documentary record of a longditudinal study of the development of a number of australian kids - a great cross section of children, in fact.

much is said about the first seven years of life and their importance in shaping an individual's lifelong inherent traits; essentially, how the first seven years determine our carriage through life. this understanding underpins many schools of thought and philosophies about human development.

but what happens to the growing, developing being when, from the time of gestation, the life circumstances are shitty? what if a child just has to adapt to too much crappy stuff? what becomes of the person they could have been?

what i'm interested in, then, is the quality of resilience. my kids - one and all -  have had to adjust to some really awful developments in their lives. their life trajectories have violently changed from one moment to the next, and they have had to suck it up and keep moving in the new direction......for some unfathomable reason, falling to pieces just has not been an option for me, or any of my children.....when all about us lose their heads......

anyway, my kids were not....ahem....blessed.....with ideal soil in which to take root.

so i'm interested in how, and the extent to which the shit of life can be reconceptualised as compost - feeding, nurturing and strengthening the growing being.....

the positive reframe! that's what i'm after!

tips to surviving an emotional shipwreck

#1 EAT!
It's amazing how a good meal can change your perspective. Any meal, really! I accept that there are people who overeat when stressed. I'm just not one of them. My tendency is to starve when stressed.  I call it 'emotional belly' - I feel hollowed out from the inside, there is such a hunger in me, but I am incapable of eating.  This makes it difficult to have the volition to prepare food, too, so without a good meal in front of me to stave off the hunger, I eat a muesli bar, a handful of nuts, or an apple. Or nothing. There's a strange symmetry to the feeling of physical hunger, and the feeling of grief. For me, anyway.
Unfortunately, this physical body requires food to function well.  Without food, I get heavy in my body; my joints ache; my head hurts and I lack energy.  None of these things are conducive to the act of preparing food. And so it goes on.....
 
So, my first strategy for regaining control is to put food in my body. Even if I don't want to. Buy it if necessary. Drinking something other than coffee is good, too.  I'm ALWAYS drinking herb tea, even when down in the deepest, darkest hole.  It's become a good habit for me -  and a good habit is hard to come by....Juices are good, too, especially when I'm not feeling like eating; they are such a good little injection of nutrients.  Dark chocolate is also a favourite, though I wouldn't advise relying on it as the sole source of nutrients!
 
#2 LET THE INNER BITCH  OFF HER LEASH - at least momentarily
I'd have to say that at least half of my angst in life is caused by my own harsh judgements of myself.  When I think something particularly putrid, or speak whilst inhabiting a space of anger, or behave in a way which is deliberately hurtful to myself or someone else, my inner critic surfaces and I am slayed.  I expend such energy in restraining myself, keeping the bitch in her box - it's exhausting! So I'm experimenting with letting her out a little....accepting that if I am in fact a multifaceted being,  I must have some facets which are less than luminous, surely.
I'm being judicious, of course, about where and when she has free rein. My kids don't have to see her, for example.
But, really, I am so restricted by the imperative to always behave impeccably. I have such a deep ethical streak that my expectations of myself are often unattainable and I come off feeling worthless, defeated.  And it drives me to distraction that other people don't necessarily have the same imperative to behave well, and decently.
 
I'm also allowing myself to trust my gut instinct, rather than rationalising and being overly tolerant.  My instinct is so often proven right, with time, and yet when faced with a gut reaction to a person or situation, I then tend to use it as a reason to lash myself for being judgemental or risk averse.
 
So, this week I've said some wildly inappropriate things, and I've drunk alcohol recreationally (NOT that I advise this as a general coping mechanism - it's just an interesting development in terms of MY journey), and I've opened myself up a little more to unpredictable behaviour in myself.  I think I'm still stupidly sensible and responsible, but maybe just a little less so.
 
 
......and so far so good. Today I laughed myself stupid, listened to some great live music, immersed myself in conversation with strangers, and ate three meals. I must say, I'm feeling much better for it.

the happiness project

So how is it that an intelligent woman such as myself can be so floored by the predictions of a clairvoyant?  I mean, of course my daughter is going to die. We all are going to die. We all are dying this very moment. Why the histrionics then?  Why the melodrama?

I approached that reading full of hope.  What I wanted, what I expected to hear, was that yes, it’s been a shit year, but that’s all come to an end, and now the good stuff is coming.  I really thought that I’ve dealt with enough; that my family has dealt with enough. This insidious belief in the workings of karma had me believing that we were due a reward. I thought it was time I got to drop the bundle and just coast for a while.  When faced with the very real prospect of even more hard times to get through, I feel positively weak.

I regularly have people say to me something along the lines of ‘...sometimes everything feels so hard and my life feels so hard, and then I think of you and I think what do I have to complain about….’.

It’s a curious position to hold – that of the gold standard for fucked up lives.  I wish it was anyone’s position but mine to hold.

When XXXX (my eldest daughter) lost her breast to angiosarcoma at the age of 16, I struggled to keep my world together.  When told the bleak prognosis for young women with this condition, we resolved that she would be different; that good food, clean air and love would sustain for her a long and healthy life. As time passed, so did the grief and the panic and I sometimes forgot to even be afraid.

When Michael (the father and active co-parent of my two younger daughters) took his own life six months later, the walls came crashing down again.  It was so difficult to find the space to process my own grief, while still finding space for the processes of my children, and also maintaining the daily necessities of living – preparing food, chopping wood, washing clothes, working, maintaining a home, car and business.

With the passage of time, the girls and I have entered a new phase. This is the first time I have had all three of them, full time, for an extended period of time.  Gone are the halcyon days of shared care, when I was assured of regular and extended periods of time ‘child free’.  As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, I have stopped even wishing for time off.  In the absence of space, we have settled into a new routine. I’ve moved beyond exhaustion into complete acceptance.

When I took XXXXXXXX (henceforth known as ‘The Masochist’) into my life recently, I was hoping for some normalcy.  He offered a vision of the future whereby I didn’t have to sort everything out myself, where broken lights and handlebars got fixed, where dinner was cooked and bedtime stories told, and I didn’t always have to be the one to do it.  I thought I finally had a happy ending to share with the world, instead of the pain and grief which has been mine to share this last year.

When that ended a couple of weeks ago, i felt totally rudderless.  i mourned for my children, who were once again left reliant on me, their flawed and emotionally spent mother.

I was regaining my confidence, getting my balance back, when on Friday I went to see the clairvoyant.

I’ve found myself plunged into a deep and dark depression.  I know this place, I’ve been here before.  There’s very little hope here.  Here dwells defeat and lack of volition.  It’s hard to envisage a future when you spend time down here.  I’ll be honest and admit to thoughts of suicide - despite the consequence of leaving my children orphaned.  However, I know from that reading that I don’t check out now, so I can’t check out now.

Ultimately, it’s not the clairvoyant, or the masochist, or the suicide, or the cancer, or any of the myriad other griefs and heartaches big and small, which has sent me to the depths.  It’s ALL of them.  All of it put together just feels too much for me.  I feel so totally exhausted, so devoid of inspiration or joy.

The overall message from that reading was that ultimately, I do achieve happiness. So, this is my own personal Happiness Project; to chart the steps taken in the pursuit of that goal.  This is my writing therapy, a place to explore the darkness, to plumb it’s depths, to root around in there and find the light.

 

 

 

 

EXCERPT FROM A TRANSCRIPT OF AN INTERVIEW, BETWEEN XXXXXXXXXX (THE CLAIRVOYANT) AND XXXXXXXXXX (THE CLIENT)

Excerpt begins on recording at 10minutes 46 seconds and ends at 12 minutes 47 seconds.

Clairvoyant: ‘there’s deep distress here in your future and it feels like it’s got to do with children…..and it’s like….it’s like…..i feel like I’ve lost you…..and….yeah……I feel like I’ve lost them’

…..long seconds of silence, broken by sounds of the client attempting to control her breath, and her tears……

Clairvoyant: ‘okay….well, moving on from this because this one makes me too sad…..and……we’ve got to the stage where, i’ve already told you that you…..ultimately you are going to be happy, and it’s really important because this one makes me terribly, terribly unhappy…..now, you asked me straight off I could say when, but I can’t say when things will happen, because they happen……some things don’t have a beginning, a middle and an ending, because it’s happening now….and it’s just so important for you, to progress past this….and to avoid conflict over this at all costs….to avoid any  perpetration of conflict to do with this at all costs…..because we do not want you living with regret….and I’m your whole soul and your family and all your friends and everything in here (gesturing to several cards in the spread)….and there (gesturing to another card in the spread), there’s your threat…..

…..long seconds of silence….

‘you’re up against an enemy….do you know what I mean? To do with your kids…..this says you’re up against an enemy. I don’t know who it is or what it is, if it’s human being or what it is…..i don’t know what it is…..but basically, this whole thing about motherhood…..it’s….it’s up in the air….it’s like…..”what have I done?”….. 

These are the words I paid $140 (plus petrol) to hear. Well, some of them, anyway.  Many other events and processes were discussed in the reading: elsewhere there is a swarthy foreigner mentioned; a failed business; a court case; a nervous breakdown and ultimately, a long life and an image of me as a happy and contented old woman.

These are the words I paid dearly for, in the context of one child’s battle with incurable disease.

With these words, a fragile balance has tipped. I am adrift. I am literally floating on my own sea of tears. And despite crying a river, my body is so full of the unshed, that I positively ache with them.

So, it’s a chronicle of grief I’m writing.

And it’s a chronicle of healing.

Because I know I won’t give up. So there must be a way through to the other side of this.

Right now, I don’t know how, I can’t possibly envisage a route that will take me there. However, I believe that I will get there.

Perhaps this is the beginning of the book I was always destined to write?