Permission to Speak - HUFF POST

A few weeks ago I went to two memorial services within two days of each other. One was for a remarkable man, my friend Lisa's dad, Michael Dontzen, who lived to 89 and accomplished more in his lifetime than just about anyone I've ever met. He was a New York State Supreme Court judge, an aide to Mayor John Lindsay, a lawyer, a brilliant man with so much passion for justice, that on his deathbed, just a short time before he passed away, he married a gay couple. This was his last "professional" duty and he was determined to accomplish that despite the fact that he could barely speak.

The second memorial was heartbreaking. It was for a woman named Chris Twomey. She was an artist and a mother of three. Her art and motherhood were intertwined and she was passionate about both. She had breast cancer, which spread throughout her body and after a long, heroic struggle, she finally died, at age 58.

There weren't many people who were as determined to live as Chris. She loved life, she loved making art and she maintained a sense of humor throughout the years of treatments and tremendous pain.

I met Chris at Friends In Deed, a pragmatic, spiritual counseling center in Soho, New York. I have written about it before. FID saved my life when my life was completely falling apart. One of the gifts of Friends was that it put me right smack into a community that understood suffering, so that I was able to feel less alone.

In her eulogy for Chris, the founder of Friends In Deed, Cy O'Neal, spoke about Chris's courage. I just happened to be near the front desk the day that Chris first arrived at FID, announcing "I have breast cancer" as if she were saying "I just arrived from Paris." I sat in big groups with Chris for well over a year, and as Cy said, "She always raised her hand, early in the meeting. She shared whatever was going on with her, which generally included the work she was doing and some difficult aspect of her treatment. She always had a strong spirit and a rich sense of humor and after she spoke, it seemed that she gave everyone else permission to tell whatever they were going through."

Like a lot of people, weathering the storm of Hurricane Sandy meant keeping close to our battery-operated radios. (Actually, I had a crank radio too, the kind you wind up if you don't have batteries, but it just made me cranky. If I had to only use that, my arm would have fallen off by day two, and my only news would be spastic, like "flood waters reaching... evacuated and you should seek....") People were calling in all day with the stories of what was happening, good and bad, giving each other comfort and advice. The radio gave us permission to speak and a means to reach out to one another when we would have been going it alone otherwise.
During those five days of sitting in candlelight and mostly silence, I began to think about community. My neighbors in our building in Soho supported each other emotionally -- one neighbor, Martin, was staying uptown with his girlfriend, but each day he came back to the building and dropped off bags of food for his neighbors, fresh fruit, bagels, peanut butter, The New York Times. On Halloween, our next door neighbor, Louise, came over and gave us Tarot card readings by candlelight.

My upstairs neighbor, Barbara, was sitting shiva (a week long mourning period) for her dad, who passed away a few days before the Hurricane. The first few days there were dozens of people who came to pay their respects, but once the hurricane hit, it was harder for family and friends to get there, so my loftmate, Abigail, and I tried to come up as much as we could.

And then, on one of my uptown bike trips, when I had Internet access, I saw a posting on Facebook written by someone who had been helping out in Rockaway Beach. They were delivering blankets and supplies, cleaning out basements, doing all the heavy lifting that needed to be done. But I read this: "People need emotional support. They are suffering."

And I thought about the woman in Staten Island who lost both her young sons, because a neighbor wouldn't let her into his home, he was too afraid to open his door. I hope that she will give herself permission to speak of her profound loss, when the time is right, and with a caring group of people with her.

We often give lip service to the idea of "it takes a village" but in reality, we so rarely do come together to support each other. One of the reasons 12 Step programs are so effective is because they have learned the power of community. For most of history, family was our community, but now families are spread all over the place. Often people worked in organizations for their entire careers and felt a part of something. That is the exception now, it's rare that anyone stays longer than a few years with any job -- in fact, the "Millennials" don't even expect to stay past three years.
In the aftermath of so much devastation and what has been a divisive election -- and what will surely be many more hurricanes and tornadoes and devastation -- maybe we can try to solve both the physical challenges of dealing with floods and the emotional challenges of how to create a real sense of community so that we truly can "get by with a little help from our friends."

A Huff Post on caregiving

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robin-amos-kahn/caregiving_b_1913914.html

The Age of Grief (or How Loss Transforms You)

It seems like every day I speak to a friend who is either racing off to the hospital to see a parent who’s ill, or a spouse, a friend, or dealing with their own illness, or divorce, or job loss. It’s not that I don’t know people whose lives are great – but the reality is that millions of us are dealing with difficult challenges. 

As Pema Chodron, the Buddhist writer says in When Things Fall Apart:

“Rather than letting our negativity get the better of us, we could acknowledge that right now we feel like a piece of shit and not be squeamish about taking a good look.”

In 2009, I had my own personal “tsunami.” My 23 year marriage ended, I had no job, my mother died, my daughter moved 3,000 miles away, and I had to move, with two dogs. Life dealt me a hand that left me broken.  I felt like I was under water and couldn’t breathe.

A dear friend pointed me in the direction of Eckhart Tolle’s book, The New Earth and I read this:

“Whenever tragic loss occurs you either resist, or you yield.  Some people become bitter or deeply resentful; others become compassionate, wise and loving. Yielding means inner acceptance of what is. You are open to life. Resistance is an inner contraction, a hardening of the shell of the ego.  You are closed.  Whatever action you take in a state of resistance (which we could also call negativity) will create outer resistance and the universe will not be on your side: life will not be helpful. If the shutters are closed, the sunlight cannot come in.  When you yield internally, when you surrender, a new dimension of consciousness opens up. If action is possible or necessary your action will be aligned with the whole and supported by creative intelligence, the unconditioned consciousness, which in a state of inner openness you become one with. Circumstances and people then become helpful, cooperative. Coincidences happen.  If no action is possible, you rest in the inner piece that comes with surrender.  You rest in God.”

This became like a mantra to me. (A long one, I know.)  I typed it up and carried it with me.  And honestly, circumstances and people did become helpful. 

One night at Friends In Deed in New York City, a “pragmatic, spiritual crisis center,” I attended a workshop on grief. I told myself I was willing to go anywhere for help, but it didn’t hurt that Friends In Deed was just up the block.

Here is what I learned:

Grief is the natural response to loss. Loss is a perceived change in circumstances plus a perceived change in personal identity. Grief now becomes a lifelong companion, never leaving you in the beginning, softened over time, but never leaving completely. If the person meant anything to you, the loss of them will visit you, sometimes when you least expect it.

The five stages of grief Elizabeth Kubler-Ross defined—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—are helpful, but perhaps the stages are not linear and maybe there are better models.  And what about relief?  What about guilt?  

Another model for grief is shock, disorganization, reorganization.  

There are three levels to grief – the first level is the loss of the person, the life.  The second level is the practical issues, the loss of income, a home, structure.  The third level, the constant reminders: you pick up the phone to call the person, you cook for two instead of one, you look at the chair he or she sat in.

First comes disintegration, then eventually reintegration..."the new normal."  The spaciousness and the possibilities begin to return.  Grief is natural, like breathing.  Try to let it happen, let it run its own course.  One day you’re on the floor and then surprising yourself, you find you’re going out on a date, something unimaginable just a short time before. 

Here are some myths:  you'll get over it.  You'll transcend it.  There is a right way to grieve.

Truth:  Your loss will transform you.  This is the experience, and it is what it is.  Tell your friends what you need.  Let them know you can use their help.  If they ask, and you don't know what you need, thank them for asking and ask them to maybe ask again.  Soon.

The transformation is often for the better.  Not always, but usually—especially if we find ways to get out of our own way. I gave myself to the process, and it is a process, and now I’ll avoid the word journey, but it was and continues to be.

The tried and true methods of dealing with grief and anger, though they can be effective in the short term:  drugs, drinking, eating too much, are distractions from the process. 

The good news: human beings are resilient.  We are amazingly strong.

What helps with grief?

Talking helps
Not talking helps
Crying
Screaming
Being silent
Writing (in your own handwriting)

Hitting a punching bag
Reading
Walking
Prayer
Meditation
Animals

Music

Laughter

Nature

Sad movies

Maybe you were grieved last week when NBC cut into Olympic coverage to give a sneak peak of the new show starring Matthew Perry called "Go On." In it, they find the humor and pathos inherent in a grief counseling group. I was lucky enough to find Friends In Deed, but there are many kinds of groups out there, one that will suit you. You may even feel most comfortable in an online community. The main thing is to take your grief seriously, as loss is a necessary part of living. It needs to be respected and not ignored (as Perry's character finds out in the first episode) - and you need to feel that you are not alone.

The tsunami that hit me ultimately has been the greatest gift of my life.  It added depth and understanding to my life and what else would I have to share?  Tips on how to deal with curly hair?  (Not that that isn’t very important information.) 

But I am now a far more empathetic person than I was when frizzy hair was my biggest problem. 

 

Friends In Deed is located at 594 Broadway, Suite 706, New York City, friendsindeed.org

Three years

The anniversary of my mom's death was Saturday, June 9th and somehow the sadness of that didn't hit me until this morning.  I woke up feeling very sad.

I opened the book "The Tools" where I'd left off and it talks about sadness...which is like having a black cloud over our head, which then blocks out all the sun.  That's how I was feeling.   The antidote, they say, to the black cloud is gratitude and also connecting to a source, a higher power, or whatever that means to each of us.

It helped me to read that, but I still felt blue, so I took myself to Friends In Deed at noon.  It turned out that the topic of the Big Group at noon is grief.  So I had a good cry and now I have to deal with Lucy, who's got so many health issues it's hard to know where to begin.

Ah, life.  I am so grateful!  I am grateful for summer coming!  I am grateful that I had a good night's sleep!  I am grateful for humor!  I am grateful for health!  I am grateful for dancing!

I can feel the black cloud opening up.  I really can.  Not fast enough, but it's opening.

My small town

Last night, I went out to ride my bike and I ran into a lovely friend on the bicycle path along the Hudson.  We rode together and then sat and watched the sunset.  We talked and laughed and went back to riding - it turned out to be a lovely night.  It was kind of a date, but not.  It was what a date should be - comfortable, relaxed, easy conversation.  It was fun!  He's a nice guy, recently separated, dealing with some sadness but clear that the relationship had to end. 

Then this morning, on my way to Unity, walking up Broadway, I ran into my friend Judy who is visiting from Berkeley.  We went to high school together and re-connected on Facebook.  I mentioned I was going to Unity and invited her to come along and she said yes.  We had a lovely time together. 

And then after Judy and I said goodbye...I was walking down Broadway and I ran into another friend, Amy, who works for the Visiting Nurse Service of NY.  When my mother got sick, she was one of the first calls I made and she set up my mother's care.  Her father died early this month and we talked about that.  I suggested she go to Friends In Deed - not just for her own loss, but also as a good resource for the VNS clients.  

It's amazing how often I run into people in this small city of over 8 million people!  I love living here - even in the heat, even in the cold, even on days that I really can't take the noise and the crowds, I still cannot think of a better place to live.  I can think of places I love to visit and vacation in, but for living, it's NYC that's my home.

Letting go again

Interesting - when I typed the title for this post, I accidentally typed "Letting god..." instead of "Letting go..."  But honestly, I think it really should be letting god. This week has been a great exercise for me in trusting a higher something - some higher good - to show me what I need.


I started out the week feeling very overwhelmed at work, very frustrated about my life and very stuck.  But I made a decision to just go with all the feelings, the sadness and the anger and just see where it led me.  Monday, I emailed my neighbor, Louise, and asked her to read the Tarot cards for me (she's in Connecticut for the summer.)  She did a quick reading and reassured me that I need to sit tight.  I have to say, I'm not a huge believer in psychics or cards, but somehow Louise always seems to nail it for me.  


Then Tuesday, I went to a Big Group meeting at Friends In Deed and I saw a woman there who looked so familiar, but I couldn't place her.  She came over to me and said, "We know each other, don't we?"  But neither of us knew where we met until she told me her name, which is unusual, and then I realized we met at my first Mama Gena mastery.  I remember her because she was very resistant, and at one point Regena had her dance with Alex, the teacher who comes to dance with many of the women and she looked like someone who hadn't experienced any pleasure in years - until we saw her dancing.  It was a memorable moment.  


During the big group, someone shared that she was going through a really rough time - partner sick, having to spend the summer in Europe for medical treatment, knowing that she wouldn't have the support of Friends In Deed except by phone, not having any friends there, and in her frustration she said, "I feel...I feel...like...like....scrambled eggs."  I was sitting between two friends who had both seen the reading of my play (twice) and we all laughed. Cy, the group leader, said at one point, "Here at FID we believe that there are two really important things in life - one is living in the moment and the other is speaking your truth." 


Then Wednesday night I went out and ran into two more Mama Gena friends (Sister Goddesses) and that was a lovely surprise.  One of them had been to the reading and the other one said, "I can't wait to see the play and we want to support you in any way we can."  


Yesterday, I received an email from Steve Chandler, author of "Fearless" and "Reinventing Yourself" - and many other books - but those are the two I read and re-read continuously.  I had commented on a blog post he wrote about Jane Austen - he and a friend wrote a book about reading all of Austen's books.  I love Jane Austen too, so I commented - and I received an email from Steve saying he would love to send me the book!  I was thrilled.  His work has been enormously helpful and life-changing.


And then last night, I went to a goodbye/birthday party for my friend Barbara's brother, David, who is moving to L.A.  He and I share a special "badge" of loss - he went through a divorce, lost his mother, lost his job, had to move -- and though his divorce was easier in some ways, divorce is never really easy.  He just got hired to be the president of a company based in Los Angeles, so he's excited about his future.  I met some lovely people at the party - and came home to walk Lucy and as I was leaving the building, I ran into a neighbor and we chatted about Lola.  More sadness came up and I felt bereft about this amazing creature who lived with me for nine years and who I miss so much it's hard to even think about her without crying.  And then I walked by Savoy, a wonderful restaurant on my block which is closing (for renovation and reinvention) and saw Beth - the director of Mama Gena's School and I went inside to say hello.  She introduced me to her neighbor, who had taken this Mastery and she thanked me for all my hard work.  

Everyone hugged each other - including the owner of Savoy - and I went home feeling so grateful for all the people in my life, and all the new people I keep meeting, and for that strange higher power that leads me from despair to pleasure to sadness to hope to enlightenment -- and never abandons me. I feel especially grateful this week. 

One year later

I just looked back at this blog and saw that on August 5, 2009, my daughter, Zoe, and ex, Steve packed up the car and left our family home (the most recent one - we'd moved about three times in previous five years.)  I remember the feelings I had that day, it was probably one of the lowest points of my life.  I had just lost my mother and now my family was breaking apart.

So here I am one year later.  It's been an incredible year of magical thinking, I guess you could say.  Many miracles and many life lessons have occurred.  A one year anniversary is significant in that it is a measure of the first Thanksgiving without your family, the first birthday, Christmas and Hanukah, a long series of firsts.  Surviving these events, going through all the feelings that come up, starts to gradually make you feel stronger.  

I am so grateful for the way this year has unfolded and for all the positive changes in my life.  I have a wonderful home in Manhattan with the nicest loftmate in the world.  My dogs are still here with me and although they are both old, and not doing all that well, they have given me so much love, it would have been much harder without them. (And it was also hard with them -- walking four times a day most days, in the winter, in the heat - not an easy job.)  They are pretty famous in the neighborhood, particularly Lola.  

I am close to having a job, at least a freelance one.  I don't want to talk about it yet, but it's something that I am very excited about - and I hope will work out.  Zoe is doing really well in San Francisco.  I've met some very nice men.  I've learned so much about life just by sitting in Friends In Deed for the past year.  I've kept up my meditation practice, as imperfect as it is.  I've started running again and although recently my knee has been bothering me, I've kept it up and am working on building up the muscles around my knees.  Exercise has really helped.  We are getting closer to resolving our divorce and hopefully that will happen soon.  I wish Steve well, I am tired of fighting and look forward to someday having all of this in the past.  

My friends have sustained me and I don't even have the words to say how grateful I am.

Onward. 

Volunteering

I'm doing my volunteer work at Friends In Deed for the Mastery again this weekend.  (I've written about it a few times before.) 

It is an honor and a privilege to be in the presence of people who are so courageous and dealing with some very painful life events.  I can't really share what anyone says specifically, but I will say that some of the main themes are usually: care-giving, grief, life threatening illnesses, and fear of financial insecurity - either from having been laid off, or worrying about losing a job, or just running out of funds.  Body issues, for both women and men (although primarily women) is also a big theme. 

All of us in the back row (the volunteers) have been through this workshop and we understand how powerful the weekend can be for most people.  When each of us stands up and briefly describes our experience of having done the Mastery, it's unique to everyone, but always inspiring.  I wish more people had access to this weekend, although it's best suited to people who are in crisis. 

Then again, these days, so many people are in some kind of crisis and if they're not - they will at some point, probably dealing with care-giving in some form, or loss, or an illness.  This is life in 2010.  

What we learn in the Mastery is that we are not alone.  And if we ask for help and we show up for others, the reward is knowing that we're part of a community of people who are strong and capable of dealing with just about anything that comes their way. We take those difficult experiences and use them in ways that we couldn't imagine - by writing about them in my case, or creating work that has more meaning for us, or going back to school, or just simply asking ourselves: what is it that I truly love and want to do in my life?

These questions originated when the Mastery was called "The AIDS Mastery" and just about all of the attendees were dying from AIDS and HIV.  After the weekend, they thought of themselves as "living" with AIDS and HIV and though many still died, quite a number of them lived and are still living - rich and full lives.  There were many lessons learned from this illness and still more than we need to learn.  Accepting what is and living life fully, not playing it safe, in this moment are two important ones.

Sadness

Today, again, a feeling of sadness has come over me.  I went to Friends In Deed at noon and that was, as always, incredibly helpful. 

Mother's Day is next weekend and my mother is gone, and the anniversary of the horrific month we spent basically watching her die is coming, and all of the feelings that go along with a divorce - all of it is difficult and understandably sad.  

I went back to Melody Beattie's book, "The Language of Letting Go" since I find so much comfort in it, as I do Pema Chodron's writings, and I looked up "Sadness" in the index.

Under May 20th was a posting about "Sadness:"

"Ultimately, to grieve our losses means to surrender to our feelings.

So many of us have lost so much, have said so many good-byes, have been through so many changes.  We may want to hold back the tides of change, not because the change isn't good, but because we have had so much change, so much loss.

Sometimes when we are in the midst of pain and grief, we become shortsighted, like members of a tribe described in the movie Out of Africa. 

"If you put them in prison," one character said, describing this tribe, "they die."

"Why?" asked another character.

"Because they can't grasp the idea that they'll be let out one day.  They think it's permanent, so they die."

Many of us have so much grief to get through.  Sometimes we believe grief, or pain, is a permanent condition.  

The pain will stop.  Once felt and released, our feelings will bring us to a better place then where we started.  Feeling our feelings, instead of denying or minimizing them, is how we heal from our past and move forward into a better future.  Feelings our feelings is how we let go.

It may hurt for a moment, but peace and acceptance are on the other side. So is a new beginning.

God, help me to fully embrace and finish my endings, so I may be ready for my new beginnings."


I love that reading.  It is so in line with what I have learned at Friends In Deed.  We learn that the only way through the grief is by feeling it.  When I was dealing with my mother's illnesses and hospitalizations and other difficult challenges over a period of many years, I didn't have time to worry about my feelings, I just got on with making decisions, feeling angry about having to do so much of it alone, and being emotionally drained.  But afterward, there is usually a flood of feelings that you can't escape.  I have learned one really important life lesson through all of this: empathy. Until you've been there, you really can't understand what it feels like to cope with so much loss at once.  My hope for my future is that I can use everything I've learned and come to understand in a way that will be of service to others.  

I don't know how that will happen, but I don't have to know today.  I just have to feel these feelings and hopefully release them, so that someday they will be a faint memory, like giving birth.  Who remembers labor pains?  Yes, it hurt, but so what?  

Post script to the previous post

Life is mysterious...I dragged myself to the gym and ran faster than I have in a long time, 3 miles in 36 minutes.  It made me feel so much better.  Then I went to Friends In Deed, to a big group, where I was reminded yet again - that when we live in the moment everything is pretty much fine.  And the mantra can be:  "Come on back" when we feel like we're going back to the past and re-hashing stuff or going to the future and worrying about it.  And the AND word - I can feel sadness AND feel happy at the same time.  I can miss my mother AND also feel grateful that she is no longer suffering.  I can miss my marriage and the family unit we had AND feel excited about my life now.  

After the big group they fed us lunch which always makes me happy and I spoke to my friends who were there, then I came home and dealt with the thing that was really bothering me - my taxes.  I can't really file them because everything is up in the air about the settlement and I wasn't sure how to file for an extension.  So I called up the I.R.S. and spoke to a very lovely man who told me exactly what I needed to do and it was so easy, it was ridiculous. Life has lessons every day.  Sometimes they are painful and sometimes we make them painful when they are really quite simple. 

Getting out the grief

Last night, even though I was feeling quite happy - I love snow, a blizzard was coming, etc., I decided to go over to Friends In Deed for a Tuesday night meeting which is led by Cy O'Neal.  I always feel that I am in the presence of a very wise woman when I listen to Cy.   But I was feeling pretty good and was just listening, and then...my dear friend shared something that was painful and it moved me...so I suddenly got in touch with my own sadness.  There were only a few minutes left in the hour and a half session, but I was able to raise my hand, quickly talk about what was bothering me, Cy said, "Oh, I would so much rather be you, feeling my feelings, working through the grief, being a human being...." I don't even remember what else she said, but it felt so good just to get out the tears.  It almost didn't matter what she said at that point, it just mattered that I got in touch with the feelings.

So then this morning, in my readings, of course I found something that related.  In the Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie, this was today's reading.  (EVERYTHING IN CAPS ARE MY COMMENTS - PLEASE FORGIVE ME MELODY)

"Letting Go of Sadness

A block to joy and love can be unresolved sadness from the past.  

In the past, we told ourselves many things to deny the pain: It doesn't hurt that much...Maybe if I just wait, things will change...It's no big deal.  I can get through this...Maybe if I try to change the other person, I won't have to change myself.  (I LOVE THIS ONE.) 

We denied that it hurt because we didn't want to feel the pain.

Unfinished business doesn't go away.  It keeps repeating itself, until it gets our attention, until we feel it, deal with it, and heal.  That's one lesson we are learning in recovery from codependency and adult children issues.  

Many of us didn't have the tools, support, or safety we needed to acknowledge and accept pain in our past.  It's okay.  We're safe now.  Slowly, carefully, we can being to open ourselves up to our feelings.  We can begin the process of feeling what we have denied for so long - not to blame, not to shame, but to heal ourselves in preparation for a better life.
(YES!!  A BETTER LIFE!  IT'S COMING!)

It's okay to cry when we need to cry and feel the sadness many of us have stored within for so long.  We can feel and release these feelings.  

Grief is a cleansing process.  It's an acceptance process.  It moves us from our past, into today, and into a better future - a future free of sabotaging behaviors, a future that holds more options than our past.

God, as I move through this day, let me be open to my feelings.  Today, help me know that I don't have to either force or repress the healing available to me in recovery.  Help me trust that if I am open and available, the healing will happen naturally, in a manageable way."

You don't have to believe in any kind of God to buy this.  You maybe have to believe in something, love, friendships, ice cream - whatever works.  Something bigger than you.  At least that helps me.  I love thinking about babies who just have their feelings all day long.  One minute they're happy, they're laughing, they're joyful and the next minute something pisses them off and they're wailing their heads off.  Somewhere along the way we were taught to stuff all those feelings, through some method, for me it was food, shopping, TV, driving, anger, any kind of diversion to avoid feeling.  Once your heart cracks open though - through whatever reason - the willingness to actually feel seems to make it much less scary and stuffing the feelings doesn't work.  Many years ago, in my twenties, I had anxiety attacks because I was so afraid of my feelings.  When I was a kid, if I was crying about something and I went to my father, he would say to me, "I can't talk to you when you're crying.  Go to your room and when you're finished, we'll talk."  I loved my father, but what a schmuck.  Another friend told me recently her mother said, "Never let them see you cry.  Never let them know that you aren't strong."  Whoever "they are."  All the messages in our society is, feelings are ugly, messy, embarrassing, weak and inappropriate.  I think they are healthy, healing, powerful and positive.  I was numb for more years than I care to recall.


I loved that scene in Broadcast News when Holly Hunter unplugged the phone so she could have a good cry.  To me at that time it seemed so bizarre, fascinating, but impossible for me to do.  Remember (if you're old enough) how strong we all thought Jackie Kennedy was at JFK's funeral because she kept her emotions so under control?  I guess having her two young children and all the world's leaders surrounding her and the TV cameras made it difficult to really wail and carry on.  But my guess is she was on many milligrams of Valium and hopefully came home and cried for months.  At least I hope she did. 

Out of the muck

Update:  I am feeling much much better, even though it's February 3 - and I hate this month and I'm getting a little tired of winter (even though it's been quite easy here.)  And I had to spend $2,000 today on that same tooth that had root canal a few weeks ago, now I have a post and a new crown to pay for.  

But - on the other hand, I'm watching Jon Stewart now and I love John Oliver.  And I went to yoga on Monday and after the class I told the teacher how old I am and he said "Wow, you look amazing!  You're going to kick ass in a couple of weeks.."  or something like that.  Which is so un-yoga of him and a terrible thing to tell me, since I am so competitive.  But I have to say that I really did kind of enjoy the class, even though it was so hard.  And I'm running now on the treadmill too, which I love. Thirty minutes at a pretty good pace, it's amazing how much more I can feel the endorphins, even writing about it gets me excited.  

So personally, I am feeling good.  But I have to find work and get a good income. It's been a hell of a year, but I'm starting to see that all the hard work I've done is paying off.  I'd like to volunteer somewhere that will utilize all that I've learned at Friends In Deed. I feel like I've been studying grief and coping for the last year, as I've sat in meetings.  And I've met so many wonderful people. 

I know that the Haitian people are still struggling and it's going to take a very long time until life gets better there.  And we still have no health care bill, the economy is still not great and many people are still out of work. There was a warning tonight on the evening news about heightened concerns about a terrorist attack in this country.  


I'm looking at the glass and it's half full and half empty.  But maybe slightly more full...because my daughter is coming to visit me next month and I couldn't be happier! 

Still in the muck

But really so much better.  I still have days when my feelings come up and I wonder how long it will go on, but those days are fewer and farther between, as they say.  Today I had a Reiki session and the practitioner asked me what was going on in my life (this was at Friends In Deed) and as I told her, I had a good cry and she said, "Wow, that's a lot to handle all at once."  And she said some other stuff that I can't remember, but at the time felt good.  I don't know why, but I am really happy that I have these feelings of sadness and that I can actually feel alive after so many years of feeling numb and never crying.  I used to be amazed when someone said, "Oh, I cried all night."  Or "I couldn't stop crying."  I just didn't get it.  Now I get it.  Now I have much more compassion and empathy.  

I just got a text message that my daughter, who works at "It's A Grind" in Nob Hill, San Francisco.  She invented a vanilla-hazelnut latte and everyone likes it. I'm so proud! 

Gratitude, root canal and 2010

Well, this very challenging year ended with a crown that broke while I was away in the country and a root canal this morning.  

My days in the country with my friends were relaxing and fun and the root canal was totally easy.  

Interestingly, years ago, when I was in my twenties, I needed a root canal when I was visiting NY.  My friend Ruthie knew an endodontist who was just starting his practice.  He didn't even have his own office, he was borrowing someone else's so he could fix my tooth.  I don't even remember his name, but I do remember that the office was cluttered and he was nervous.  He screwed up the root canal and a big box fell off a shelf and landed on my head.  All in all, it was a pretty depressing experience.

This time, I went to my friend Maxine's husband, Dr. Paul Rosenberg.  He's been an endodontist for many years, probably close to forty.  He teaches at NYU and travels around the world giving clinics and speaking.  He did the root canal in less than an hour, there was no pain, no discomfort, he suggested I get a milk shake afterward since I had forgotten to eat breakfast.  I went to the Shake Shack and got a chocolate shake with peanut butter and he just called to check on me - I haven't had one moment of discomfort. 

Mike, the therapist I've seen over the years, said to me today, "Robin, you have been swinging through the jungle this year grabbing vines" (hands, warm and friendly hands).  I love this metaphor because Sheena, Queen of the Jungle was my heroine growing up. I used to put my mother's bracelets on my upper arms and watch the show every Saturday night. 


Having this blog as a record of this past year and writing through the pain has been incredibly helpful.  Meditating and praying has changed my life.  Gratitude keeps me grounded.  (Even as I fly through the jungle.) 


I hope that I have been as helpful to my friends over the years as they have been to me. As they say in Friends In Deed, quoting Pema Chodron, "things fall apart and things come together."  


I feel like I'm coming together, slowly.  To everyone who's read this blog and commented, thank you for the interest and support.  


Love,
Robin

A primer on grief

If anyone is reading this blog for the first time, I will quickly get you up to speed.  This past year, 2009, has been challenging for many people - and I'm no exception. 

At the beginning of the year, I stopped working because the business I was in tanked (real estate.) I can't say I ever really loved it, but I enjoyed the people I worked with, being of service, and having an income.  
In April, my husband and I decided to separate after 24 years of marriage.  Then in May, my mother (who'd already survived two hospice stays) got very sick and on June 9th, she died.  A few weeks later, my 21 year-old daughter (whom I adore) moved to San Francisco (she couldn't have picked Boston?)  For all of August and September, I was left alone to sort through everything in our loft in Brooklyn, selling much of it, tossing a lot out, having a stoop sale, etc., and pack up what I could to move into my dear friend's loft in Soho. Did I leave anything out?  Death, divorce, moving, empty nest, loss of income, no, I think that's it.  Could it be worse?  Yes.  Is it a lot to deal with?  Yes.
With all of that on my "plate" - I have to say that in one way I got very lucky.  My move back to Soho, where I lived with my husband and daughter for seventeen years, has brought me a block away from a place that has saved thousands of lives over the past twenty years,  Friends In Deed.  I have discussed it before, but briefly it began in the late 80's to help people cope with the AIDS crisis and it has grown into dealing with illness, caregiving and grief.  It's an amazing place that offers counseling, groups, body work, nutrition counseling, you name it, they do it. I've written about it before.
Last night I went to a seminar on grief led by Dr. Eric Schneider, who is the spiritual advisor to FID.  On Tuesday night, after hearing me share in a big group, a woman came up to me and said quite emphatically: "Thursday night. 7 pm.  Dr. Eric.  Grief and loss. Come. Trust me, he's amazing."
I've done plenty of reading on grief, but I have to say that I got what I needed to hear last night and it rang true for me.  Take what you like and leave the rest, as they say:

Loss:  a perceived change in circumstances plus a perceived change in personal identity
Grief: the natural response to loss
Grief is endless.  


The five stages of grief as Elizabeth Kubler-Ross wrote about are not linear and perhaps there are better models.  Those five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  What about relief?  What about guilt?  


Another model for grief is shock, disorganization, reorganization.  

Another one:  awareness -- alarm -- emptiness (three levels - first level is the loss of the person, the life.  Second level, practical issues, the loss of income, a home, etc.  Third level, the constant reminders: you pick up the phone to call the person, you cook for two instead of one, you look at the chair he or she sat in.)
Disintegration- then reintegration..."the new normal."  The spaciousness and the possibilities begin to return.  Grief is natural, like breathing.  You try to let it happen, let it run its own course.  
Myths:  You'll get over it.  You'll transcend it.  There is a right way to grieve.
Truth:  Your loss will transform you.  We need to get out of our way.  This is the experience, it is what it is.  Tell your friends what you need.  Let them know you can use their help.  If they ask, and you don't know what you need, thank them for asking and ask them to maybe ask again.  Soon.
The transformation is often for the better.  Not always, but usually.  I know that I have become a much more empathetic person these past few years.

What is not ultimately helpful: drugs, drinking, eating too much, these are all distractions from the process.  The one thing many people talked about was taking something to sleep - and Eric said that dreams help keep the grieving process moving forward, so maybe it's not such a great idea to take Ambien or Lunesta very often.   

Human beings are resilient.  We are amazingly strong.
What helps with grief?


Talking helps
Not talking helps
Crying
Screaming, yelling
Being silent
Writing (in your own handwriting)
Reading
Walking
Prayer
Meditation
Your animals

These are all the tools I have been using, so it felt good to know that I am on the right track. There are other tools I find helpful - music, laughter, nature, and I would put  Friends in Deed at the top of my list.  This weekend I'm doing what is called "The Mastery" at FID.  I honestly have no idea what it is, but I'll let you know. 

 

Yoga, finally

I've been threatening to take a yoga class for a long time and today I finally did.  I came in two minutes late and walked into a dark closet to find a mat.  The handsome teacher had to show me where the light was.  I had to squeeze into a spot, which then turned out to be too near the speaker, so I moved the mat.  The teacher played music in a yoga class which is very weird to me, but it turned out to be okay.  I probably could have been almost every person's mother in the class, they were all so young and beautiful.  I could follow the class, after all I studied with Bikram, for God's sake...and many other teachers over the years.  

I was in the class thinking, "Oy vey, this is way too hard for me.  I can't do this.  I can't hold my leg up over my head and hold a downward facing dog for what felt like ten minutes and breathe.  I need an easier class."  But somehow about half way through the class, I felt good.  I felt connected to my body.  I loved the stretching.  I felt proud that I could at least try most of the postures and the ones I couldn't even begin to do, many other people in the class couldn't do either.  

So tomorrow, I will probably not be able to walk or move and I will probably be in pain.  I remember the pain of yoga class when you haven't done it in awhile.  But I look foward to trying other classes and hopefully continuing.  

And then I went to Friends In Deed and had yet another good cry and a big salad and some very good macaroni and cheese.   

Looking for the bright side

One of my greatest pleasures in life is to make people laugh, but lately I haven't had too much of a sense of humor.  I should watch more funny movies and try to reawaken my inner comedian but it's tough going when you're not "in the mood." This morming I played tennis with my dear tennis buddies and I have to say, I couldn't concentrate at all or take much pleasure from the game.  (This isn't the funny part.)  My tennis skirt was too big (a benefit of being depressed is the weight loss, which, I have to say is definitely one of the perks.)  

It does seem that life has been particularly rough in 2009 for many people.  Oh, now I remember what I wanted to write about: Friends In Deed.  I have been going there on and off for the past few years.  Friends In Deed is a non-profit center in Soho which helps people who are dealing with illness, care-giving or grief.  It started twenty years ago as a response to the AIDS/HIV crisis and has expanded over the years to include all illnesses, and to those who are caring for people.  Six times a week they offer "big groups" where people come to talk about whatever is going on for them. They also offer free counseling, massage, Reiki, volunteers who are available to go to doctor's appointments, nutrition counseling. One of the sayings they have is that "the quality of life is not necessary determined by the circumstances of your life," (or something like that.)  All I know is that when I go there, I generally have a good cry, listen to others, and empathize.  And I always feel better when I leave.  Sometimes we even have a good laugh, too, which is hard to believe, but true.  Then we are all grateful for the reminder that it's possible to maintain a sense of humor in the midst of some pretty tragic circumstances. 

"Grief is spoken here"

This week seems to be a difficult week, not just for me but for a few of my friends. One friend found out that her closest friend has brain cancer and probably will not survive. Another friend's daughter tried to commit suicide this past week. Fortunately, she is still alive, but the guilt and grief my friend feels is overwhelming.

I know that a lot of the sadness I'm experiencing is not just about the present, it's a holdover from my past. Having my mother die and the marriage end, as well as my daughter moving away from home brings up feelings of abandonment that are very old. And packing up my life, finding old photographs of my mother, of our family, photos of Zoe growing up, old letters, cards, memories, is not easy. I think it's all part of the healing process though, to feel the pain and move through it.

The other day, I knew I needed some extra support, so I went back to Friends In Deed for their noon big group. After I spoke, the group leader said, "Robin, if you had only had your daughter move 3,000 miles away - you could claim your seat here. Or if you were just going through a divorce - you could claim your seat here. Or if you'd been a caregiver for so many years and then lost your mother, you could definitely claim your seat. But to have all three happen at once, is terribly difficult and for some reason, it's frequently how life happens." I listened to other people's stories and knew that I was part of a group of people who knew how much suffering is a huge part of our journey. Unspeakable losses and pain were expressed by everyone who spoke, along with acceptance and even some laughter. I liked when the leader said, "Grief is spoken here." He compared it to American tourists traveling around the world and being annoyed when people don't speak English and understand what they are saying. Not everyone understands grief, nor can they be expected to, nor can we be annoyed when someone doesn't know how to respond.

My childhood wasn't easy, but many of my friends went through the loss of a parent, or a divorce in their family and I couldn't really understand what they were going through. I think my first real glimpse of pain (not just of loneliness, because I felt that most of my life, but of loss) came when I had a miscarriage in my fourth month. I was already thirty-five at the time and I was afraid I would never be able to have a child. I remember only one person really understanding that this was a death and he encouraged me to grieve. I didn't even really know what that meant, but I let myself feel - and eventually it passed.

These days I feel good for weeks at a time, like riding gentle waves of life and then suddenly a tsunami hits and I feel overwhelmed. This morning I made a few calls, and meditated, and re-read my favorite Pema quote for early morning blues: "When you wake up in the morning and out of nowhere comes the heartache of alienation and loneliness, could you use that as a golden opportunity? Rather than persecuting yourself or feeling that something terribly wrong is happening, right there in that moment of sadness and longing, could you relax and touch the limitless space of the human heart? The next time you get a chance, experiment with this."

In the big group the other day at Friends In Deed the leader mentioned "When Things Fall Apart" by Pema Chodron. He reminded us of her message, that life is about things falling apart and then coming together again...and falling apart....and coming together again. I guess we have to give ourselves the space and go through these cycles and to know that the coming together is inevitable. And also to remember all that we have to be grateful for, even after a tsunami. I managed to get out of bed and walk the dogs this morning. We are all grateful for that. And just the knowledge that we're not alone is also comforting.

"Grief is spoken here." It's not where we live, but it's definitely understood.