Tag Archives: grief

When Personal Anguish Intersects with Collective Trauma

 

Eight years ago today I was introduced to my daughter’s killer. Of course none of us knew it at the time. But an innocuous visit to the Emergency Room on a Summer Monday evening eventually proved to be deadly. By Thursday the killer’s name had finally been identified:  Stage 4 Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma. Still unaware of the dangerous threat to the life of my then 16-year-old curly haired blonde vibrant daughter, Claire, we moved forward with quickly beginning an intense and lengthy treatment in hopes of stopping this killer dead in its tracks. Refusing to Google statistics, I didn’t realize her chance of surviving another five years was a mere 5%. And as fate would have it, she only made it 20 months.

So every year since 2010 on June 21 (and sometimes days leading up to it) my body, my mind and my heart re-live that day and all the trauma that followed. Unless you have suffered the loss of a child, it is understandably difficult to imagine what it feels like. Even though my husband Dan was intimately involved and completely supportive during Claire’s illness and death, it wasn’t until he tragically lost his own son, Ben, two years later that he said to me, “I thought I understood, but I didn’t until now.” I responded by telling him I was so sorry that he understood.

So it is one thing to carry on in life while enduring personal tragedy. I have learned how to navigate my way through my private grief these last several years, able to focus on my own sadness while feeling relatively safe in my world. But things have changed recently. We now find ourselves in a different kind of world. One that feels more unsettled, darker and scarier. Maybe it has always been that way but my privilege has insulated me from the harsh realities that others more marginalized than myself have experienced on a daily basis. At any rate, I have had trouble finding words to describe how our nation’s shift toward uncertainty, divisiveness, anger and even hatred has added unfamiliar layers and dimensions to my grief. No longer do I feel safe in my world. No longer do I have a basic foundation of trust for our leaders because of the lies that are told every single day and the confusion produced by the frequent gas lighting. It doesn’t feel safe anymore to hold space for my personal grief when I have so much fear for the world around me.

The latest turn of events, however, has captured my heart in a dreadful way. The fact that those in power have chosen to act inhumanely by separating children, even infants, from their parents for trying to enter our borders is unconscionable. I am not saying there should be no vetting process for immigrants, but there are humane and decent ways of doing it. My own grandparents were immigrants. Those who are making these horrible decisions are only here because they have descended from immigrants. Regardless of anyone’s views on immigration policies, this has crossed a dangerous line. Permanent damage is being done to these developing children by removing their secure attachment figures at such a traumatic, transitional time in their lives. My heart is so broken over this. All I can think of is the pain I live with every single day having to live without my daughter. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. Cancer killed my child and took her away from me. I hate cancer for that. How in the world can another human purposefully decide to inflict pain on another like that? I do not understand. The world is watching and the world is weeping. And my personal grief is now magnified by thousands as I feel the pain of those parents and their children. I hope and pray that their separations will not be permanent like mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Raging Grief

My daughter Claire is dead. She died at the age of 18 while a senior in high school from a “rare” childhood cancer, alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma. And the thing about having a dead child (well, one of the things) is that I am full of rage. Rage that must be acknowledged, ignored, hidden, managed, contained, revealed, suppressed and/or worked through on a daily basis. Every. Single. Day. Most days I do an okay job of keeping it at bay. I’m pretty sure people that see me regularly don’t observe my rage or feel its intensity. But every so often it gets tired of being politely masked and it comes unleashed. Like now, for instance. I have felt it brewing for a while and have been painfully aware of the things which have poked and prodded it out of its slumber, but still was unprepared for its dramatic appearance when I blew up at my husband for a completely unrelated matter. Once it was out, however, I quickly became its puppet, becoming numbly insulated from myself and going through the motions of an out of body experience, simultaneously feeling devastation, sadness, hopelessness, anger, helplessness and inconsolable pain.

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And the last thing I need as I try to wrangle my grief induced rage back into the corral is to be repeatedly exposed to a raging, arrogant, misogynistic, hate generating xenophobe masquerading as a presidential candidate. It is beyond my comprehension how successful Donald Trump has been in his latest endeavor to rule our country with his iron fist and orange face. I am beginning to lose faith in humanity. I knew that racism still existed, on a personal and institutional level. I knew that there are people who fear what they don’t know and are angry. I knew that White privilege is alive and well. I knew that in spite of women being told, “You’ve come a long way, baby,” sexism still rears its ugly head. What I didn’t know, however, is just how many Americans are still clinging to those hurtful ideologies. And that scares me. And it also makes me realize how many of us are full of rage. Maybe all of us? I mean, some things should be raged against, right? Like injustice, violence, bigotry, rape, murder, cancer. Far be it from me to begrudge anyone their rage since I am so full of it myself. But I see Trump abusing his followers by tapping into their rage and welcoming it and giving it space to play out regardless of who it may hurt. And he does this for his own benefit. Again, it boggles my mind that anyone can believe a narcissist has anyone else’s best interest at heart. I could stay on my anti-Trump soap box all day, but in the end I don’t know that it will make a difference anyway, and the more I think about it the more my own rage expands. So I am left with once again trying to manage my rage while allowing it to be expressed. How the hell do I do that?

 

I’m not sure if my latest raging bullshit makes me more reactive to Trumpgate or if the political climate has contributed to my recent rage attack. Chicken vs. egg situation I suppose. But that’s the thing with the erratic rage of grief, every day we face situations which heap rubble, gravel, glass shards and sharp metal objects onto the trebuchet waiting to fling our rage into whatever happens to be in the way when the weight becomes unbearable. Thinking back on the last several weeks I suppose it makes sense that I was due for a release of rage….

  • February 10 –the second year anniversary of the death of my husband’s son, Ben.

 

  • February 14 – while most of the world celebrates Valentine’s Day, I will forever remember this date as the day we brought Claire home from the hospital to die, hearing the doctors tell us “There’s nothing else we can do.”

 

  • February 26 – attended the unveiling ceremony at Regions Hospital of the Donor Wall acknowledging those who have donated organs where Ben’s photo is displayed.

 

  • March 1 – the fourth anniversary of Claire’s death.

 

  • March 5 – the anniversary of Claire’s cremation and 20th anniversary of my father’s death.

 

  • Receiving a letter indicating I was denied the option to purchase life insurance because I had breast cancer four years ago, even though I am probably in the best health I’ve been in my life right now. Apparently I’m too great a risk and the insurance company thinks I will die too soon for them to make any money off me.

 

  • Business taxes.

 

  • And then there’s this, which is not a bad thing at all, yet evokes all sorts of conflicting emotions within me…. All of Claire’s friends are getting ready to graduate from college this year. I am so proud of them and happy for them as I hear news of them becoming journalists, educators, world travelers, musicians, activists, inventers, world changers…for the better! But the pain is indescribable as I am left to wonder what contributions Claire would be making to society and that she never got a chance. And she would have made such a positive impact. She had such a kind and loving heart full of passion for social justice and was an amazingly talented artist. To be honest it makes no sense to me that she was taken and someone like Trump is allowed to go on living and is damaging humanity in the process.

 

And so now my rage has calmed down for a time, turning into a dull headache after getting these words onto the page. When you see me I will smile and tell you I am fine but know that the rage always lurks and requires vast amounts of energy to remain contained.

 

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