I did it. I submitted some writing. Now I’m working on keeping tabs on my hopes- which are UP. They are so far up I’d be embarrassed if they were visible. Like I’m pretty positive that this submission is going to change my life forever.

 

Actually, I suppose in a way it already has, right? Just gathering the courage (which took weeks by the way) and getting the project done, and actually submitting it, means that my life has taken a dramatic shift. I don’t have to cry into the couch about not being able to move forward anymore. I also have a little less ammunition for my bad self- the self who tells me I’m a loser and a lazy turd. So suck on that bad self!

 

Now, if I could just finish unpacking my apartment, lose these 15 pounds, outline my book, finish a screenplay, and make my hair grow 10 inches, I’d be in the money. In the meantime, I guess I’ll settle for a box a week, a pound a week, and writing as much as I can. Even these little accomplishments remind me how far I’ve come from May 16th. That day that I felt like my veins were filled with cement and my heart was ground into a pulp.

 

I’m alive little baby, and I’m living for you and Daddy. And I’m going to make you so proud of how I used the gifts you gave me.

 

Right outside the balcony of our new apartment is a big, well-lit billboard. I love how often they change it and how low-budget the ads always are. My favorite so far has been Burger King’s $1 Cherry Icee. I liked the Clear ad so much I signed up for their service. But I woke up this morning to the most glorious billboard of all (pictured above).

 

The copy asks “Does your furnace make you this comfortable?” then pictures two naked guys playing what seems to be the tiniest pool table in the world. Is this billboard saying that their furnaces make you so comfortable you’ll explore your bi-curiosity? Or so comfortable that you won’t scream and pass out when you find a naked bearded ginger playing pool in your miniature rec room?

 

I just hope they leave this one up for a while. It’s so relaxing to be sitting on the couch, gazing at two naked dudes made ambiguously comfortable by their furnace.

Sometimes I’m struck by how adult I feel. There are all these responsibilities hemming me in and forcing me to make rational decisions. But most of the time I feel like I’m going through a second set of teenaged years- this one marked by events instead of age. Hormones are still a suspect. I’m obsessed with my body, no one understands me, I have wild mood swings, I’m painfully unsure of myself.

 

It’s hard to change without getting tripped up by all the real and imagined things in your way. Remember that movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”? I wouldn’t erase the pain of Tommy Jr leaving us. I would erase the anxiety filled spelling tests of grammer school, the times-table races that I always finished last while the other kids would stare quietly at my scratching pencil. I would erase the failed auditions for public high school plays, the public speaking performances when the judges never understood why I presented “Waiting for Godot” as a comedy. I would erase the poetry class I took at boarding school with the professor who thought my work got worse the harder I tried. I didn’t get a good grade until I completely gave up and wrote the poem “Why I Hate Poetry”. I got laughs but resented having to make a joke out of something I wanted to take seriously.

 

It’s not reasonable to resent going through the little hardships of life. It’s just that those are things that sometimes tug at me when I’m trying to really change.

 

I want to read “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath, and my friends keep sounding relieved when I tell them a Kindle version hasn’t been made yet.

 

Tommy Jr would be five months old today. I’ve decided to stop wondering when I’d stop calculating how old he’d be, and what he’d be like now. I haven’t been able to stop wanting to snarl at people who come too close and sneer at people who’ve stayed too far. I went into Marshall’s and got a punch in the heart when I walked past the rows of hilarious baby Halloween costumes, and the little onsies that say “I’m Thankful For My Grandpa!” and other clever sayings written and orange and yellow block letters.

 

When the baby first died I went back and forth between wanting desperately to get pregnant and wondering if I’d ever be able to try again. Now that I’m sure I want to try, and pretty sure when I want to start, I think the time will pick up again. Lately the daylight minutes have dripped along, torturing me summer traffic. Then when it’s finally late enough to go to bed I lie there with my eyes open, watching the clock slip towards to morning.

My sudden and violent entrance into adulthood has made me realize how fragile many of our relationships are. I have a few friendships that feel effortless. It’s harder to find time to spend together now that we’re older, or live apart, but when I’m with these people I feel like I’m my whole self. That’s how I feel with my husband too- like I wasn’t even really myself until I met him.

 

I have other relationships that require so much dancing, flirting, back-peddling, and careful plotting. It didn’t used to bother me- if the person was fun or funny or dear I took pride in being able to have a relationship with challenge. But these days, in these grown-up days, I don’t think I have it in me anymore. I just to have normal relationships with normal people. So I think I’ll work on that for a while.

 

Anyway, who cares about all that? The real reason I’m writing today is to announce good news! Well the pills are WORKING! I mean I’m still crying all the time and really sad in the afternoons but I have no appetite and have therefor finally lost a little weight! Huzzah! Sure sure, I’ve been exercising so hard that I’ve been offered a towel for my sweat run-off more than once at the gym. That probably has a lot to do with it too. The point is, this little accomplishment (I’m being modest, actually I think it’s a HUGE accomplishment) has made me very pleased with myself. And that’s something to write about.

Well my idea got pushed back a few days. I thought that my afternoon battle with depression was just a phase (and hopefully it still is) but it’s not over yet. I have this big internal battle: Take the pills and feel clogged up creatively, or don’t take the pills and spend every single afternoon feeling like my brain and body are submersed in mud. I sucked it up and started taking the pills again. But it’s just been two days.

 

Oh man, I’m just sick of this. SICK. I cannot take it anymore. I feel like I’m going to have to start pulling my hairs out, or my eyelashes. Blech, that sounds so gross, I don’t want to pull anything out. I just want to be better. I WANT TO BE BETTER NOW.

 

I’m screaming in this blog post. My apologies. I feel like I’m stuck inside this grief, like I’m a baby chick and I can’t peck my way the hell out of here. If I can’t get myself to fight again, I’m going to lose everything I worked for over the past five years. I’ll back slide right into this self-absorbed, constantly complaining, low self-esteemed, agoraphobic turd who pretends to be outgoing so people don’t as a lot of questions. “Oh look at me, a hilarious chubster who loves to be the center of attention!” I can’t be that pretend person again. I have to get the fuck out of this egg immediately if not sooner.

 

So? What do I do? And don’t say go back to Second City…I just don’t feel like it.

Sorry about the lack of posting this week. I have written several sad sentences, but writers block kicks in quickly, and I don’t come up with anything I want to post. I think I want to try to tell our story in a different way- in a way that I’ve been practicing for these past four years. I’ll do some work this weekend and see what I some up with.

 

Tom and I are headed to my Uncle’s funeral this morning. Since Tommy Jr died I feel so close to other people’s grief it can be a little overwhelming. Sometimes it feels like I can crawl right into the cracks of a person’s broken heart. It’s not just death; I feel much closer to all kinds of heartbreak now. That closeness doesn’t come with a calmness however- my cuticles are bleeding even as I type this.

 

I hope my little boy is showing my Uncle around right now, and that they both know I’m still loving them from here.

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

 

Reading your blog has given me (and countless others) a lot of insight into how people grieve. It’s easy to forget how people are skill grieving even when they act like they’re ok. The comments on your blog also remind us how many parents suffer the loss of their children.

 

I wanted to reach out to you for advice. Many of your readers, fans, friends and family don’t always know what to say or how to act. We don’t want to ignore your pain, but we don’t want to bring it up if you’re doing ok…I mean if you seem to be doing ok. Could you give us some insight? We want to support and love you, but some of us need some guidance.

 

Love Always,
Trying to do the right thing

 

Dear Trying,
Thank you for your thoughtful question, and for your support and sympathy. This is a hard question to answer, because the nature of grief keeps changing- sometimes I feel like it changes every 20 minutes. I can only speak for myself but here are some points to keep in mind:

 

-When you first see the person, say- “I am so sorry for your loss, and I think about you frequently” Then stop talking. I know it’s hard to just stand there in what may feel like awkward silence, but it allows the griever to steer you in the right direction. I like when people say that to me because then I know they’ve heard what happened, and I don’t have to keep up the “everything’s great!” facade. I also do like to talk about what happened, and when people bring it up it alerts me that the person is ok with me talking a little.

 

-If you are worried about introducing a trigger (inviting me to a child’s birthday party for example) ask the person! Ask them how they’d feel and assure them that your feelings won’t be hurt if they decline EVEN IF YOUR FEELINGS MIGHT BE HURT. Your hurt feelings might subside after a few minutes, but acting insensitive towards a grieving person might scar your relationship for a very long time.

 

-Sending flowers is thoughtful, but sending food is helpful. Bringing over a casserole is like giving their soul a hug. Sending Harry & David’s, a little bag of groceries, carry out from a favorite restaurant- it all makes the grieving person feel cherished and keeps them from having to make decisions. When your heart is really broken, even feeding yourself seems impossible.

 

-Reach out to the person whenever you feel like it- even if you’re worried you let too much time pass or you won’t say the right thing. If you sent a card right after the tragedy but still think about the person, send another card. I am so touched by people who check in with me regularly. It makes me feel less lonely.

 

-Let the person lash out and cry and mourn. It is scary to watch, but you can help by just being there and pretending not to be scared. The girls in my book club have been so instrumental to my recovery because they just let me be the new person that I am. They aren’t afraid of my moods- they never take it personally if I’m not feeling chatty- they aren’t afraid of my pain. They ask about it and just treat it like it is, which is just a new part of my personality. I feel so safe around them because I trust that they never forget that I’m mourning, even when I’m cracking jokes. They never try and change the subject if I want to talk about what I went through, and I can’t help but be overwhelmed by their support and their faith.

 

-Remember that you might not always get it right, but your heart is in the right place. Sometimes people say stupid or hurtful or insulting things, but I know they want to say all the right things. It’s hard. If you put your foot in your mouth, just take it out and say “I think what I just said was inelegant. I just meant to say I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Or, just say “I’m so sorry for your loss”. That’s all you ever have to say.

 

-Finally instead of saying “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do”. Try saying (like my incredible friend Kitty did) “can I send a cleaning lady over, can I order you dinner, do you want the name of my psychic” etc. When people are in terrible pain, they rarely know how to ask for help. If you give them a list of ideas, they’ll trust you. They’ll call you when they do think of something they need.

 

As I’m writing this I’m realizing how much my trust was shaken when Tommy died. I didn’t trust my body, I didn’t trust doctors, I didn’t trust my friends or family to understand and empathize. I still feel so wary in social situations. In fact, sometimes I think it’s worse now than it was in the beginning. The loneliness and sadness is less sharp, but now it covers everything near me in a fine black dust of sadness. Every time I brush up against some one or something I look down and find myself covered in this sadness that’s too fine for other people to notice readily. And I know I can’t keep pointing it out.

 

I hope this was helpful. It was cathartic for me to try writing advice again, so thank you for your question.

 

Best,
Poor Lucky Me

Regarding Tuesday’s post: I haven’t sent anything out yet. I’m scared without knowing exactly what I’m scared of. I’ll keep trying today and I hope I’ll just send what I’ve got and not agonize over it. I don’t want to intellectualize my way out of taking a step forward.

 

I went to a new shrink today. I thought I could handle things on my own, but things have been getting a little wild lately. So I bit the bullet and made an appointment. The new doc is a woman and was recommended by a friend who reliably “gets it”.

 

I was really anxious about the appointment. One minute I wanted to call and move it up, the next minute I wanted to cancel it and forget the whole thing. Somehow I made it to her office and then next thing I knew I was sitting on a different couch, facing a different doctor, clutching a box of Kleenex in my lap.

 

We started going through my history, but I cut it off after about ten minutes and dropped the dead baby bomb. Things sped up after that. I cried almost the entire time, and the doc cried a little too. I never expected to feel so validated and courageous and…ok. Talking with her, watching her reactions, it just made me remember that I do have perspective and I am going to get through this.

 

I was surprised by how much I cried. I’m so used to being able to get through the story without breaking down now. I told her parts of the story that I had forgotten, and parts that I wish I could forget. I told her that as much as I want to act out, I can’t, I’m too open. I know I can’t keep secrets from my friends and family, and I know I’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone if I really acted badly- so it’s like a built in safety device. A really god damn frustrating build in safety device. Her reaction to that was really satisfying too.

 

Starting a new relationship with a therapist is intimidating. you don’t want to have to spend time defending yourself and explaining yourself. I shouldn’t say “you” because I mean “I”. I want someone who trusts my level of self-awareness and gives me hope and challenges me to keep moving. And I think I found just the doc to do that.

 

For the first time this week I feel a little calmer. My eyes burn from crying for 60 minutes, but my heart is calm again. I’m going to see her again next week. We’ll just take it one week at a time.

I feel like I’ve been shrink-wrapped and vacuum-packed. I’m utterly stuck. Even when I come here to write I feel like I’m just writing the same thing over and over again. When is something going to happen? Do I have to rely on myself to break out of this rut? Do I have to try and get published, get serious about my diet, finish unpacking my apartment?

 

I think I already know the answer. But I’m so afraid to try. I was afraid to try at things before this all happened, now I would say I’m bordering phobic. Trying can lead to failing. See, it’s very simple logic. Trying can also lead to success, but I’m not a big gambler. However, I think I’m finally reaching the point, in my life and in my grief, that the prospect of more running in circles is scarier than the prospect of failing.

 

So today I’m going to take one foot off the edge, and dangle it over the canyon. I’m going to send some writing out, and see what happens. Maybe there’s nothing to be afraid of now, since the worst has already happened.

I submitted my story yesterday to this website: http://www.facesofloss.com/

 

It’s a really great project that I’m grateful to have stumbled upon. The loneliness of mourning is oppressive. It’s heartbreaking to read about so much loss and devastating grief, but it’s a relief to be reminded that what I’m going through is normal.

 

Before I sent it along, I went back and read the original essay I wrote about Tommy Jr. I cried out of sadness and happiness, especially rereading all the comments people wrote. So many people have reached out to Tom Sr and I, so many people still hold us in their hearts. Thank you all so much for your comments and love and prayers. They really did help our hearts heal. And they helped me be compassionate towards the people in my life who just couldn’t be there for me.

 

Compassion is not always easy to find, but it’s so important. I don’t want the memory of my sweet child to be mixed up with a bunch of anger, especially because I really do understand why some people couldn’t deal with what happened. Tommy Jr came here and gave me some wonderful gifts, and I can show him my gratitude by trying to be a forgiving person.

 

Wait, what if I forgive someone, but I just think they’re lame/annoying/stupid now? Does that not count? Surely experience molds who you want to have in your life, and that forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to stay friends with a lame-o. The tricky part is when/if one of these people says “what’s wrong” or some other confrontational thing. Can I say things like “Well after I had a tragedy in my life I realized you were a turd. No offense.” or is that not good?

 

Also- I’m really trying to get my sh*t together to redesign this site. I hate how weird it looks- all the “advice” stuff all over…I guess I thought if I told my readers it might make me do it faster. So there, I told you.