The Griefs of Christmas

The Christmas season, though often a season of restoration for many-is also a very grievous season. High rates of suicide, death, depression and disappointment.

When we truly look at the birth of Christ, it was not shiny, pretty or beautiful. I imagine it was nothing like what Mary ever dreamt her first labor and birth would be like...surrounded by animals, hay and manure. It was dirty, messy and ugly.

The first Christmas wasn't shiny and sparkly. It was bittersweet. When Christ was born, it wasn't just to give us a new festival or celebration. It was for HOPE! What was born that day, was the HOPE of the world.

We can feel disappointed and unfulfilled, as is also common at Christmas time. We can dance and praise God with grief, disappointment and sorrow. Knowing that nothing will fulfill us-nothing-but Christ alone.

What we need...is Him alone.

It's meant to be that way, for nothing to ever satisfy, to be in a constant state of longing. Longing for Christ. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for better days. We only have hope when today isn't what we want, imagined or dreamed of. It's ok. Acknowledge the grief of today and embrace the hope for a better tomorrow.

Happy Birthday Mom

Mom,

Well, the tears started last night. Are you surprised? You didn't really know the non-robotic me, I don't think. I started the memory wreath tonight, I'll finish it tomorrow I guess. I think I started this 'tradition' last year, in memory of you and Ernesto's dad and grandma. It's something I guess...to keep my hands busy, moving. I don't know. It just seems like a nice sentiment. It's made out of rosemary, which is symbolic for remembrance.

There's so much going on right now, mom. I can't stop the tears, even though I try. I've really made a mess of things and I don't know how to fix it. I can't fix it I guess and I wish so bad I could. I don't know what else to do.

My life has pretty much come full circle. And it really sucks. I've been completely rejected and abandoned...pretty much a repeat of my birth, huh? Funny how that works. I guess you would really understand if you were here...and if I told you. I think there were things you wanted to tell me--but you didn't. I suppose that is because I didn't let you, maybe. I'm not sure.

It wasn't fair of you either, you know. You resolved your self of the guilt of your 'secret' but you didn't stop to think how you were transferring the burden on me to carry. That's not really fair to a little girl, don't you think? I'm not mad at you for it, but I think it's long past time to be honest about this. It wasn't fair to put that on me and then be unwilling to answer my questions about the situation. How can a little girl process the idea of abandonment & rejection--that I didn't even know about until you chose to tell me? What did you expect me to do w/ that information? Why did you act like you were willing  to answer questions when I was seven, and didn't have any, but not when I was 17 and did? Why couldn't you be mature enough to answer MY questions about it then?

I know why. Because you weren't. I don't really blame you--it wasn't your fault. I know things didn't go as you expected and probably dreamt about either. Wow, how I can understand that now. I can see your disappointments now. I understand why you were so tired and seemed so angry. I feel it now. I'm feeling that same disappointment and anger and fatigue.

I guess, maybe, we both bought into the fairytale, huh? I never thought this before, but maybe we both were actual romantics at heart. I didn't even realize it for myself until the fairy tale began to unravel. I thought love would save us...I still hope it can--but that just might be the hopeless romantic in me.

How did I get here, mom? I really believed my life would be so different from yours. From my perspective--it really looks like it's nearly the same--in all the disappointing ways. The childhood abandonment, the welfare, the depression, even going back to school--and I might have to give up being a stay-at-home-mom at some point too, like you did. At least you and dad stayed together. For whatever that was worth. I'm sorry--I know it was worth it. Did you know that mom? It meant something. It meant a lot.

I'm sorry we weren't as close as you wanted us to be--sooner anyway. I really thought since you and Birdy hit it off, you'd have the best friend you always wanted in me. How could we know the time would be so short? I thought I was stronger than you mom--but I don't really think I am. I don't think that anymore. I don't think I can do this mom. I don't think I can deal with all the disappointment. I don't know HOW to 'get over it'. Did you? Did you really?

Or maybe you didn't and that was why you were depressed. What did you ever figure out, at all those therapist appointments? What was the secret? How did you do it mom? Cause I really need to know. Really.

Sometimes people mention you, a perception of you--and I don't know that part. I didn't see it. Someone called you a prayer warrior. Is that true? Cause if so, I didn't know that. How did I not know that? But if you were--guess what? So am I. I guess. I am. More like a prayer desperado (ie: desperate criminal) than prayer warrior.

Why did you stop journaling? I tried to find your journals. I wanted to read them. I wanted to know all your secrets. I wanted to read about myself, from your perspective. The things maybe you wanted to tell me but didn't. I only found a few books, maybe, but they were BLANK mom! Where are they? I found one and it only had writing on ONE page--about dieting or something. Really, mom? Dieting!?!

I write mom. I know you wanted to write--I think, right? You liked it. You started that blog--I'm sorry, I forgot the password so now it's lost in cyber-space. Both of them, and I regret that. You'd be excited about my writing. Not the personal stuff, but the writing I get paid for. Thank you for always being encouraging. It meant a lot to me. Really. Even if I didn't believe you, thought you were just saying it because you were my mom and that's what moms do. But I still really liked hearing it.

Why didn't you say anything before you died? Did you really not have anything to say? Did you tell dad? Were you waiting for me to ask?

I want to go to the cemetery. I'd actually like to go more often. At the same time, it feels silly-because I know you're not even there. I put flowers, for what? For who? There's a lot of cemetery peer pressure mom. A lot. It's strange. I feel guilty for not going more often when I see other sites so decorated. Some people come and seem to stay all day, having a picnic. I thought I would do that. It seems pointless now, though. I'm sure I won't go tomorrow.

At first, there was a spot near yours, it was a younger man--maybe my age--I can still consider myself younger right? I think he was gay. I think it was his mom, cause she looked older. She brought roses all the time. He had extra vases on his plot, maybe six of them. I think they are even in the shape of a cross. Anyway, she was there all the time, at first. All the vases filled with red roses. Not anymore though. His is just one neglected plot, like yours, out of many more than when you first arrived.

The tree is really big now too. I hung a wind chime once, while it was still smaller. Other people had hung some too. I guess someone stole it cause it wasn't there anymore a few visits ago.

I wish you could have met Kurtis. Of course, you would have loved him and really liked  him. I named him after you and grandma you know. And me I guess, technically. I wish you wouldn't have rushed back down the hall when I was in labor with Sam-or was it Birdy? I would have let you stay.

I was crying earlier and Kurtis said, "I love you mom, don't cry." He thinks he needs to say that I guess, cause he's witnessed a lot of crying from me the past few months.

I tried to reassure him, "I'm crying because I miss my mommy. Don't you cry sometimes when you miss me?"

"You mean your mom?"

He's sharp, mom, real sharp.

I understand a lot more now, mom. About being a mother. That pain and sorrow. Did you think I was fearless, mom? You thought I was brave but that's not the same as being fearless. With out fear. I was afraid mom. Not of the dark. Not of monsters. I am not really afraid of anything...but this, if I am being honest. I guess I can be, I should be. What does it matter now?

I tried not to be, didn't want to believe my fears would come true...but they are. They are mom. It's happening. I don't know what to do. It's all fallen apart. What did you do when you were afraid? I can't remember. I don't think you ran away, did you? Did you give up? Did you write? Tell me mom. Why didn't you tell me what to do?

What should I do? Did you pray? Did it work or help? What were you afraid of mom? Were you afraid of dying? You didn't say you were. I know you didn't want to, but...I am glad I was with you. I'm glad you let me be with you. I was afraid I would miss it. I wanted to be with you. To feel it. To feel everything.

You died in my arms, mom. Did you know that? In our arms; mine, Nancy's and Shari's. I didn't realize it at the time. Thank you for that mom. It was amazing. Like birth. Your rebirth.

A few more hours and you would have been 57. I can't imagine you at 57, of course. I don't think I can do this mom. I will try--what choice do I have? Like you, what choice did you have? You couldn't do anything to stop your death, to save your life. I can't do anything to save my marriage, mom. There. You were brave though. You trusted. Anyway, you trusted. I think it takes a lot of faith to die mom. No one can tell you, what's on the other side. No one can tell me what is on the other side either, not really. You had to go alone, no one could go with you. I have to go alone too. It's just me. I'm trying to trust. Finally. Be brave, whatever bravery is worth these days. I guess it just depends on what the going exchange rate for fear is.

Maybe if you could do it...I can too.

Sorry for asking so many questions, by the way. I have been told my questions are very irritating, apparently.  I guess that could be true. I don't know. Maybe, they are only irritating to people that don't really care about you, as a person. Does this sound like a lot of whining? I know you would get it, mom. I think you knew me better than you gave yourself credit for. I knew you a lot less than I gave myself credit for.

Thank you for being good enough mom. You were always good enough and that was enough. You were enough.

Happy Birthday, mom.

I have been there.

I was making dinner, chopping vegetables and thought, I should just slit my wrists, since I'm holding the knife anyway. Then, I'm sure everyone thinks that when they chop carrots, right? 

In that darkest state of mind, I believed my situation was hopeless and there was no way out. To me, in that state, it made perfect sense to slit my wrists while chopping carrots. I was certain that everyone thought this while making dinner and it was a perfectly “normal” thought process. (for the record, NO, it's NOT "normal") My “truth” that I was living, was one of despair. My physical body ached, my heart ached and my mind ached. My “truth” was also wrapped in my circumstances. I fantasized “if only” often. If only things were different, If only I had made different choices, If only this or that...then I could feel differently.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was after I had my second child, a child I had wanted for so long and was so excited to have. I began to realize I didn't feel right. I started researching 'depression' and it all made sense. Before I could get to a doctor to inquire about anti-depressants, I was pregnant with my third child. I spoke to my doctor and we agreed to reevaluate how I felt after baby was born. The natural hormones from pregnancy seemed to help a little bit but not much. Everything felt so hard every day.

 I quickly spiraled downward emotionally after her birth. Racing thoughts, the whole slit wrists ideas while chopping carrots, the body aches and unlike my usual self--I was emotionally out of control.

"Do you have a plan on how you would kill yourself?" the psychiatrist asked me.

The tears started flowing and I knew this was a trick question but wasn't sure exactly what answer I should give. I didn't think the 'chopping carrots' thoughts could be considered a 'plan' as much as an 'idea'. I did feel desperate though and was willing to tell this male stranger anything he wanted to hear if he promised to help me. At the same time, I was afraid a 'yes' answer would lead me straight to being 'committed'.

"No," I answered, looking down and sniffling.

 

I felt like an utter and complete failure as a human being and took home my new prescription. 

The anti-depressants silenced the racing thoughts and calmed my spirit. My emotions didn't go numb and my problems didn't go away. I could think clearer and instead of feeling my entire life was hopeless, suddenly I knew it wasn't. It was amazing!!!

With this new level of clear thinking I researched depression even more. I took a hard look at my life. I had always been predominantly in emotional control of myself. Happiness was an elusive idea that I never understood. I watched other children open birthday gifts and literally squeal with delight over gifts and presents, as if every gift was 'exactly' what they wanted! When I opened gifts, I smiled and said thank you. I wanted to say it was the best gift ever but I honestly didn't know how to express something I'd never felt. If you asked me how I felt, I didn't know. I knew the people around me wanted me to say I was 'happy' but I didn't know what that was or how it was supposed to feel for me to accurately say I felt it.

Being an emotional robot works great in moments of crisis. Wake up to a fire in your living room? Don't panic. Ignore panicked husband. Close hall way door to prevent smoke and fire from spreading. Climb on chair near flaming piano. Remove items away from flame. Get baking soda-where is it?-in the bathroom. Run to bathroom and grab baking soda. Douse flames with baking soda. Fire's out! 

Being a robot also works well to hide those deeply painful moments within your heart. Been abandoned? Been rejected? No problem--didn't affect me one bit. Nope, I feel fine. I don't need to talk about it, think about it or feel anything more than indifferent about it. HA!

This God that loves me? Well, I don't feel that love but I believe it. I believe it as much as I can, having never felt it or experienced any proof of it's existence. Actually, I don't feel anything, I think thoughts I don't feel feelings. Feelings are for the weak.

At least they were until the great depression of my life. The pregnancies might have triggered the worst episode but I realized it had always been there. It had even been a regular member of my family for generations; my grandmother displayed depressive behaviors, my mother was clinically depressed and now here I was.

Beyond the medications, I worked on finding preventive measures: exercise, healthy eating, sunshine and vitamins.

Crisis hit, my grandmother died and less than six months later my mother died. I thought for sure that would do me in. It didn't. I was no longer on the prescriptions but had been preparing myself mentally and emotionally to accept my emotions and gave myself permission to feel them. Much of the 'stoic me' served me well during that time too. However, the emotions I did feel were overwhelming but I did not drown in them. I felt shock, deep sadness, loss...grief! I went through the normal variety of emotions and the process of grief for the first time in my life. 

I could still laugh and smile and enjoy each day. I was no longer living under a black cloud but basking in the freedom that the sunshine gives.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Phil 4:8

I can clearly look back now with out the lens of depression and see how mistaken I was in my own identity. The idea that emotions make one weak or appear to be weak...and a myriad of other 'mistaken' identities I was carrying around. I had to search hard and deep into God's word to silence the voices that were not his, voices I heard growing up, voices I had given power to, voices I created, to hear the one, true Him, but I did.

I learned to be more disciplined in my spiritual life, reading God's word, turning to Him in times of trouble--not the lies of my mind. Drenching myself in the truth only He can offer. I went through a process of prayer that God used to reveal some of these deep hidden wounds that gave so much insight to the mistaken belief system I was holding onto.

I also learned how to be proactive and preventive. I survived the death of my grandma and mother within six months of each other with out an signs of 'depression'.  I had my fourth child with out any post-partum depression. I survived other family crisis as well.

I don't regret taking the anti-depressants one bit. They saved my life at the time. From there I was able to receive the healing, emotional and mental, that only God can provide. He led me to the information I craved, to keep myself healthy. I had to retrain my thought processes, which I believe the verse above indicates. 

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones. Prov. 3: 5-8

Reading these verses now, it is so clear the depth of understanding God has for our human condition. He knows that if we rely on our own understanding, of what we see with the natural eye--we may be misled. We must rely on His truth in all things. We must not dwell on anything that He has commanded we not dwell on.

Our truth and identity can ONLY be found in Him. It’s not about what *we* think of ourselves or what others think of us, only what God thinks of us. We must focus on HIS truths for our lives. If I had believed in my own “truth” in my darkest hour--I would have ended my life. If I had believed my own mistaken identity--I would have ended up without an identity.

I don't have a magic formula for mental health or even physical health. I can only share my own personal journey, or at least bits and pieces of it. I know that life situations, no matter how hard or impossible looking, are never hopeless. I know that Christ is a God of love and ultimate truth. 

Don't succumb to the lies of a mistaken identity, embrace what God has planned for you and who HE has designed you to be.