I haven't posted in a while... I got tired. I needed to rest.
Lila turned a year old 3 days ago, and it's felt incredibly magical. When you lose a child, you spend an inordinate amount of time worrying that your remaining children will not survive... I had seen her birthday as a landmark: a line in the sand where LILA WOULD BE OKAY. A point which I would NOT suck all the air out of the room every time my cell phone rang and I saw Terra's number (seriously, I take this giant breath every time, and start to panic, imagining the sound of Terra's hysterical screams on the other end...). But Terra just called me. Apparently, that is not a bridge I will ever cross completely. I will have occasional fits of fear that Mason and Lila will die before me for the rest of my life, apparently. It sucks to have to accept that.
At the same time, this gift of Lila, this magical little creature who already sings and gravitates to music and musical instruments... this little warm smiling package... she is so inherently unique and gushing with sweetness, and she makes me somehow grateful to have survived this long.
Some day she will probably ask questions I don't yet know how to answer, but I'm working on it:
"Would I have been born if Roxy had lived?"
--(I think I will tell her what I believe: she, Lila, was meant for us and she would have made an incredible little sister to Roxy as she is to Mason)
"Do you love Roxy more than me?"
--(Each shotgun-weilding child blasts his/her own hole into a specific part of our hearts. I have been done in, bowled over and electrocuted by the love I equally feel for all my children).
Lila, Roxy, Mason, you are all loved.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
September 8, 2007 - The Good Day
I had to take Ambien to sleep the night before, and the morning crept up slowly. My bones were lead pipes, and my eyeballs were sore. Mason was already awake, quietly playing n the other room. Terra was also awake, but just lying there on her back with her eyes open, looking nowhere.
“What would you like to eat for breakfast?” I asked Mason.
“Nothing,” he answered.
"Here we go again," I grumbled.
I poured him some cereal and pleaded with him to come and eat it. I put Terra’s coffee on, and when I approached her she was sitting up, staring. She had been up late last night web surfing herself into distraction.
“You’re coffee is ready.”
She responded by standing, and walking slowly into the kitchen. I snuck outside for a cigarette (I kept the new habit hidden from Mason). I felt light-headed and dizzy has I sucked on the filter and heard the paper burn.
When I re-entered the kitchen, I had to steady myself against the table.
“Maybe we should drive separately today,” she called from the other room. “I need to get some things from the store.”
“Well, if we don’t need that much, we could all ride together…” I offered.
“No,” she said curtly. “I don’t want to have to hurry. You always make me feel like I have to hurry.”
I didn't respond, taking a seat on the couch. I knew we were going to have a fight before the day was finished. I turned on the television and looked at the floor and then the clock.
“Mason,” I sang, “it’s about time to go to the birthday party. Do you want to ride with me or Mama?”
“I thought we were all going togedder,” he sighed.
“No, Mama needs to go to the store after you get out of school. Do you want to ride in my car or Mama’s?”
“You. Are we going to race her?”
“Yes, definitely. She’s going to stop by the post office so she’ll never beat us!”
After a short stay at the birthday party of another 4-year old (which Mason spent running circles around the living room with a balloon) we followed Terra to the local co-op for lunch and neither of us spoke to each other. We both peppered Mason with questions which he answered with shrugs.
"Did you have fun?"
"What are you doing at school?"
"Who do you like to play with the most?"
"What did you have for lunch at school yesterday?"
What we really wanted to know was whether he was aware that we were totally fucked up. We also desperately wanted to know if he was okay.
After paying the check, Mason and I said good-bye to Terra, and I felt grateful that we were going to spend the day separately. The sadness had her today, and I wanted to get away from it.
Jo had his daughter, Victoria so we met up with them at his house. I could still remember the change in his face the day she was born. She was one year older than Mason, and partly responsible for his existence, because until I saw Jo with Victoria and how happy it made him to be a father, I never could imagine myself pulling it off. Terra had wanted children for a while, but I had always had a hard time seeing myself as a father. I didn’t ever see many dads that were much like me before Jo. Before Victoria, I’m not sure I had ever held a baby. She helped change the way I looked at them. They didn’t seem so terrifying. If Jo could do it, so could I! And so a year later, Mason was born, screaming and wiggling. Mason was born in that room. Mason was born in that room where Roxy died. There was no memory of one without the other.
Victoria was the most eloquent and articulate 5 year-old I’d ever met. She chatted away about her love for The Ramones as Mason crawled underneath the kitchen table and made fart noises. I felt a sudden warmth at the sight of these two beauties. One, so mild and articulate, the other, bursting at the seams with physical energy… the sage and the imp, perfectly juxtaposed. Mason crawled from under the table and sat down next to me. I smiled and put my arm around him.
We decided to caravan over to a nearby park. A large contraption with slides and ladders became the castle. Jo was The Dragon, Victoria The Princess and Mason the knight. The Dragon chased The Knight up the ladder and down the slide. The Princess screamed. I was The Feral Cat. I hunched and fretted.
“Don’t climb back up the slide Mason!” I yelled from the ground.
The Knight ignored me and continued his climb.
“Be careful,” I called, putting my left arm up over my head and biting my lip.
The Knight slid back down and climbed again up the tall twisting yellow slide.
“Mason!” I yelled, “I mean it! Don’t climb up that slide. You’re going to fall over backwards!”
The Knight, preoccupied with The Dragon and The Princess, couldn't even hear me.
“Okay, over here,” I said sternly, “sit down next to me for a minute.”
He could not die, not ever. I would not let him.
The Princess called to The Knight.
“I can’t come there now Victoria, I’m in trouble,” he responded, matter-of-factly, as he turned and walked and counted his paces my direction. I giggled, silently.
I pointed to the top of the slide and offered an explanation as to why I thought it was dangerous. Mason looked up at me, bored. “I have to go poop Dad.” I giggled again. The sunlight began to reach around the grey clouds and I looked at it as it hit my left hand. I felt its warmth inching up my arm. Mason smiled at me and I was suddenly happy.
After about 40 minutes, we decided to head to The Cinemat for their Saturday “Atomic Age Cinema” short film and old Science Fiction TV show feature. Br and U had been telling me about this for years, but for whatever reason, today was our first time. Inside their screening room, there were two young men dressed as a gorilla and a Robin-esque superhero, respectively. We bought some popcorn and found a seat. Br was there with Ella and Winter, and they sat together with Victoria and a couple of other young girls on the large orange vintage couch in the front row. Jo, Br, Mason and I sat behind them. Mason climbed onto my lap. He was captivated by our superhero host, who introduced the first show, Stingray. Stingray was a show from the early to mid sixties, featuring marionettes living in a futuristic under-water setting. Our heroes, Captain Troy Tempest, his navigator with the slow southern drawl, Phones, and Marina, a Brigette Bardot copy with sleepy, stoned eyes. Their bodies twitched and shook as they guided their submarine past a variety of pitfalls and diabolical schemes and the dialogue was wonderfully ridiculous. I was caught up in it, laughing. Mason sat up on my knee, wide-eyed.
Stingray was followed by episodes of Captain Marvel and other older and goofier television shows, and we never moved. I laughed so hard and so often that Mason eventually reached back with his left hand to cover my mouth. When the last episode of Captain Marvel was over, and they turned the lights on in the screening room, I looked at Mason. He continued to stare at the blank screen. “Did you like that?” I asked.
“Yeah that was awesome.”
“It was pretty awesome. We should do this again sometime.”
We said good-bye to our friends, and we exited, hand in hand. On the way to the car, we stomped in some puddles. Mason looked happy and tired.
“We have to go pick up Mama so we can go to Aunt Carole’s Birthday Party,” I told him.
“Can I play my game when I get home?”
“For a few minutes, sure.”
As I drove home, I adjusted the rearview mirror and watched him with a full heart. He shifted a little, and then smiling, he looked directly at me. My heart jumped up and saluted.
That evening, with little rest, we met my entire extended family at The Sushi Bar. Mason sat across from me, between my mom and Lu, the 2-year old daughter of my cousin Mike. Lucy is tiny and blond. Her hair was cut at an angle, the bangs hung down low over her chin. She had wild eyes and bounced in her seat.
“Mason! Mason! Mason!” she shrieked.
There were 20 of us sitting at tables placed end to end. Two toddlers cried loudly, their screams piercing every corner of the restaurant.
“Oh my god,” Ka said under her breath as she sat down next to me.
“You like that?” I asked, giggling.
“Yeah. I think I might barf,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Because! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not well.” Ka had been having anxiety attacks too.
The screaming continued. Kids were passed around the tables. Scream, scream, scream. Scream, scream, scream.
I glanced around at other patrons, feeling amused by their discomfort... feeling mischievous. It felt wonderful. I looked across the table into Jo’s eyes. He was nowhere to be found in there. His eyes looked peaceful. (I’ve always been jealous of his ability to disappear like that.) Still, I managed to get his attention and I was laughing.
Going out to eat sushi was not a common activity for many of us. We were from southern Indiana, after all. At one point, Sheila, Jo’s older sister was standing up at the end of the table.
“What is THIS?” She held up a spicy tuna roll. “Is it all like THIS?! I’m not eating THIS!”
I watched the expressions of the other patrons, their faces turning red with disgust. I was mindful of the sneering waitress standing on the other side of the fish aquarium. A goldfish swam across her frown. I took this all in.
My older sister, Carey, was also there at the end of our table. Her gaze was tense underneath her blond hair. (She is autistic, and social situations cause her a great deal of discomfort, even the reasonable kind.) She kept repeating “can I have some ice cream?” loudly.
“No! We’re not getting ice cream Carey…” my mom anticipated a meltdown and began to look uncomfortable.
“Can I have some ice cream?” Carey asked the waitress.
“Kori, we’re not getting ice cream,” said my mother, waving her off.
The toddlers scream, scream, scream. Mason placed his hands over his ears.
“I’m with you,” Kandi said, reaching over to tug on his sleeve.
I watched this all, feeling so oddly pleased.
When we all finally received our checks, I realized that I had been significantly overcharged. I didn't even mind, happy to pay extra for this day. I signed the receipt and sighed heavily.
“Let’s go get some ice cream,” I said to Terra and Mason. Terra looked at me surprised, an eyebrow raised. I smiled widely. She smiled back. We walked across the sidewalk, into the rain soaked parking lot.
“What would you like to eat for breakfast?” I asked Mason.
“Nothing,” he answered.
"Here we go again," I grumbled.
I poured him some cereal and pleaded with him to come and eat it. I put Terra’s coffee on, and when I approached her she was sitting up, staring. She had been up late last night web surfing herself into distraction.
“You’re coffee is ready.”
She responded by standing, and walking slowly into the kitchen. I snuck outside for a cigarette (I kept the new habit hidden from Mason). I felt light-headed and dizzy has I sucked on the filter and heard the paper burn.
When I re-entered the kitchen, I had to steady myself against the table.
“Maybe we should drive separately today,” she called from the other room. “I need to get some things from the store.”
“Well, if we don’t need that much, we could all ride together…” I offered.
“No,” she said curtly. “I don’t want to have to hurry. You always make me feel like I have to hurry.”
I didn't respond, taking a seat on the couch. I knew we were going to have a fight before the day was finished. I turned on the television and looked at the floor and then the clock.
“Mason,” I sang, “it’s about time to go to the birthday party. Do you want to ride with me or Mama?”
“I thought we were all going togedder,” he sighed.
“No, Mama needs to go to the store after you get out of school. Do you want to ride in my car or Mama’s?”
“You. Are we going to race her?”
“Yes, definitely. She’s going to stop by the post office so she’ll never beat us!”
After a short stay at the birthday party of another 4-year old (which Mason spent running circles around the living room with a balloon) we followed Terra to the local co-op for lunch and neither of us spoke to each other. We both peppered Mason with questions which he answered with shrugs.
"Did you have fun?"
"What are you doing at school?"
"Who do you like to play with the most?"
"What did you have for lunch at school yesterday?"
What we really wanted to know was whether he was aware that we were totally fucked up. We also desperately wanted to know if he was okay.
After paying the check, Mason and I said good-bye to Terra, and I felt grateful that we were going to spend the day separately. The sadness had her today, and I wanted to get away from it.
Jo had his daughter, Victoria so we met up with them at his house. I could still remember the change in his face the day she was born. She was one year older than Mason, and partly responsible for his existence, because until I saw Jo with Victoria and how happy it made him to be a father, I never could imagine myself pulling it off. Terra had wanted children for a while, but I had always had a hard time seeing myself as a father. I didn’t ever see many dads that were much like me before Jo. Before Victoria, I’m not sure I had ever held a baby. She helped change the way I looked at them. They didn’t seem so terrifying. If Jo could do it, so could I! And so a year later, Mason was born, screaming and wiggling. Mason was born in that room. Mason was born in that room where Roxy died. There was no memory of one without the other.
Victoria was the most eloquent and articulate 5 year-old I’d ever met. She chatted away about her love for The Ramones as Mason crawled underneath the kitchen table and made fart noises. I felt a sudden warmth at the sight of these two beauties. One, so mild and articulate, the other, bursting at the seams with physical energy… the sage and the imp, perfectly juxtaposed. Mason crawled from under the table and sat down next to me. I smiled and put my arm around him.
We decided to caravan over to a nearby park. A large contraption with slides and ladders became the castle. Jo was The Dragon, Victoria The Princess and Mason the knight. The Dragon chased The Knight up the ladder and down the slide. The Princess screamed. I was The Feral Cat. I hunched and fretted.
“Don’t climb back up the slide Mason!” I yelled from the ground.
The Knight ignored me and continued his climb.
“Be careful,” I called, putting my left arm up over my head and biting my lip.
The Knight slid back down and climbed again up the tall twisting yellow slide.
“Mason!” I yelled, “I mean it! Don’t climb up that slide. You’re going to fall over backwards!”
The Knight, preoccupied with The Dragon and The Princess, couldn't even hear me.
“Okay, over here,” I said sternly, “sit down next to me for a minute.”
He could not die, not ever. I would not let him.
The Princess called to The Knight.
“I can’t come there now Victoria, I’m in trouble,” he responded, matter-of-factly, as he turned and walked and counted his paces my direction. I giggled, silently.
I pointed to the top of the slide and offered an explanation as to why I thought it was dangerous. Mason looked up at me, bored. “I have to go poop Dad.” I giggled again. The sunlight began to reach around the grey clouds and I looked at it as it hit my left hand. I felt its warmth inching up my arm. Mason smiled at me and I was suddenly happy.
After about 40 minutes, we decided to head to The Cinemat for their Saturday “Atomic Age Cinema” short film and old Science Fiction TV show feature. Br and U had been telling me about this for years, but for whatever reason, today was our first time. Inside their screening room, there were two young men dressed as a gorilla and a Robin-esque superhero, respectively. We bought some popcorn and found a seat. Br was there with Ella and Winter, and they sat together with Victoria and a couple of other young girls on the large orange vintage couch in the front row. Jo, Br, Mason and I sat behind them. Mason climbed onto my lap. He was captivated by our superhero host, who introduced the first show, Stingray. Stingray was a show from the early to mid sixties, featuring marionettes living in a futuristic under-water setting. Our heroes, Captain Troy Tempest, his navigator with the slow southern drawl, Phones, and Marina, a Brigette Bardot copy with sleepy, stoned eyes. Their bodies twitched and shook as they guided their submarine past a variety of pitfalls and diabolical schemes and the dialogue was wonderfully ridiculous. I was caught up in it, laughing. Mason sat up on my knee, wide-eyed.
Stingray was followed by episodes of Captain Marvel and other older and goofier television shows, and we never moved. I laughed so hard and so often that Mason eventually reached back with his left hand to cover my mouth. When the last episode of Captain Marvel was over, and they turned the lights on in the screening room, I looked at Mason. He continued to stare at the blank screen. “Did you like that?” I asked.
“Yeah that was awesome.”
“It was pretty awesome. We should do this again sometime.”
We said good-bye to our friends, and we exited, hand in hand. On the way to the car, we stomped in some puddles. Mason looked happy and tired.
“We have to go pick up Mama so we can go to Aunt Carole’s Birthday Party,” I told him.
“Can I play my game when I get home?”
“For a few minutes, sure.”
As I drove home, I adjusted the rearview mirror and watched him with a full heart. He shifted a little, and then smiling, he looked directly at me. My heart jumped up and saluted.
That evening, with little rest, we met my entire extended family at The Sushi Bar. Mason sat across from me, between my mom and Lu, the 2-year old daughter of my cousin Mike. Lucy is tiny and blond. Her hair was cut at an angle, the bangs hung down low over her chin. She had wild eyes and bounced in her seat.
“Mason! Mason! Mason!” she shrieked.
There were 20 of us sitting at tables placed end to end. Two toddlers cried loudly, their screams piercing every corner of the restaurant.
“Oh my god,” Ka said under her breath as she sat down next to me.
“You like that?” I asked, giggling.
“Yeah. I think I might barf,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Because! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not well.” Ka had been having anxiety attacks too.
The screaming continued. Kids were passed around the tables. Scream, scream, scream. Scream, scream, scream.
I glanced around at other patrons, feeling amused by their discomfort... feeling mischievous. It felt wonderful. I looked across the table into Jo’s eyes. He was nowhere to be found in there. His eyes looked peaceful. (I’ve always been jealous of his ability to disappear like that.) Still, I managed to get his attention and I was laughing.
Going out to eat sushi was not a common activity for many of us. We were from southern Indiana, after all. At one point, Sheila, Jo’s older sister was standing up at the end of the table.
“What is THIS?” She held up a spicy tuna roll. “Is it all like THIS?! I’m not eating THIS!”
I watched the expressions of the other patrons, their faces turning red with disgust. I was mindful of the sneering waitress standing on the other side of the fish aquarium. A goldfish swam across her frown. I took this all in.
My older sister, Carey, was also there at the end of our table. Her gaze was tense underneath her blond hair. (She is autistic, and social situations cause her a great deal of discomfort, even the reasonable kind.) She kept repeating “can I have some ice cream?” loudly.
“No! We’re not getting ice cream Carey…” my mom anticipated a meltdown and began to look uncomfortable.
“Can I have some ice cream?” Carey asked the waitress.
“Kori, we’re not getting ice cream,” said my mother, waving her off.
The toddlers scream, scream, scream. Mason placed his hands over his ears.
“I’m with you,” Kandi said, reaching over to tug on his sleeve.
I watched this all, feeling so oddly pleased.
When we all finally received our checks, I realized that I had been significantly overcharged. I didn't even mind, happy to pay extra for this day. I signed the receipt and sighed heavily.
“Let’s go get some ice cream,” I said to Terra and Mason. Terra looked at me surprised, an eyebrow raised. I smiled widely. She smiled back. We walked across the sidewalk, into the rain soaked parking lot.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
September 6, 2007 - Lifting the Hood
Another day, and another crack at eliminating Xanax from the menu. I did not feel well. Terra scowled and her movements were sharp. I knew one wrong word and she would be slamming dishes down and going to bed, weeping. So far, we had been pretty good at not taking our misery out on each other, but we were both volatile and electric with desperation as we weaved around each other in the kitchen.
“Mason, what would you like to eat?” I asked.
No answer.
“Mason,” I continued, impatiently.
“I don’t want anything,” he said, continuing to mess with a board game on the floor.
Terra walked to the fridge and pulled out chocolate pudding and began eating it, absent-mindedly.
“Can I have some pudding!?!” Mason was standing at attention.
I looked at Terra and nodded sarcastically. Great. I waited to hear how she would respond.
“Um, no, you have to eat something good for you first,” she answered with disinterest.
Mason retreated in defeat back to the living room floor and refocused on his game. I could feel the anger coming up into my spine, my shoulders and then my arms. Anything could trigger a surge of horrible adrenaline in me during those days. “Did YOU?” I asked quietly.
“No, but I’m an ADULT.” She was zero to 60 livid as well.
“Man, I don’t like that. Double standard. I don’t think that’s fair,” I snarled.
“Well, I’m not you.” Terra rose and stomped into the other room.
I continued to hover over the table shaking with rage. Mason was just a few feet away. Breathe. I quickly walked myself through some rational thoughts:
"This is complicated. We get through these moments however we can. It may be hypocritical and cruel, eating chocolate pudding in front of a 4-year-old who can’t have it, but at that moment, maybe that chocolate pudding was keeping Terra from turning the table over and screaming."
I concentrated and kept this thought in my head to avoid turning the table over myself.
I walked outside and Mason followed me. He spoke exuberantly as he poured water from a discarded plate into a plastic cup. “Look Dad! Look! That’s all the water there is!” “Yes,” I said, blank and smiling. I pulled Mason onto my lap and he continued his water experiment. I placed my cheek against the back of his head and I sighed, deeply. "We’ve got to get it together", I thought.
After 20 minutes, I approached Terra who was lying on the living room couch. She had been crying.
“Did you get your records release faxed?” I asked her, changing the subject.
“No, I forgot to bring it in here.”
“I’ll do it for you. Is the fax number on the sheet?”
“Yes, at the bottom.”
I started the fax machine, and punched the numbers in, listening for the right kinds of beeps and boops. I sat down on the floor in front of Terra. I looked at her but I dared not speak.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said, finally.
“That’s okay,” I answered. “You don’t really think that way, though, that it’s okay to do stuff like that in front of him when he can’t, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Good. That’s what matters to me.”
After a couple of quiet, sad hours in front of the television, Mason had gone to bed. The withdrawal continued to grow worse and worse inside me. Darkness all over the sky. I paced around my house, irrational, frightened and wild. I felt my eyes dilate and dart. Breathing again became a conscious process. Reminding myself, I would gasp and squint. I smoked and smoked. Teeth chattering, feet pacing... I had not anticipated that after just one month of daily consumption, Xanax would be so brutal to quit. Or maybe this was just how my body FELT when my senses weren't dulled. I tried to read a newspaper. Couldn't. Couldn't write either. My thoughts scattered like cockroaches, and I could not get a handle on them. There were hundreds of words in my head, pushing and shoving, trying to get to the front of the line. I could HEAR them, but not quite understand. Oh god, the thing's coming again. SHE was coming. Roxy. No, no, I couldn't handle that, no. No, no, no, no. Block it. Block it. I was so afraid.
“I feel really terrible,” I said to Terra.
“Why don’t you try taking Ambien?” she asked. She didn't have the energy to babysit me while I flipped out again.
“Maybe I should.”
“Mason, what would you like to eat?” I asked.
No answer.
“Mason,” I continued, impatiently.
“I don’t want anything,” he said, continuing to mess with a board game on the floor.
Terra walked to the fridge and pulled out chocolate pudding and began eating it, absent-mindedly.
“Can I have some pudding!?!” Mason was standing at attention.
I looked at Terra and nodded sarcastically. Great. I waited to hear how she would respond.
“Um, no, you have to eat something good for you first,” she answered with disinterest.
Mason retreated in defeat back to the living room floor and refocused on his game. I could feel the anger coming up into my spine, my shoulders and then my arms. Anything could trigger a surge of horrible adrenaline in me during those days. “Did YOU?” I asked quietly.
“No, but I’m an ADULT.” She was zero to 60 livid as well.
“Man, I don’t like that. Double standard. I don’t think that’s fair,” I snarled.
“Well, I’m not you.” Terra rose and stomped into the other room.
I continued to hover over the table shaking with rage. Mason was just a few feet away. Breathe. I quickly walked myself through some rational thoughts:
"This is complicated. We get through these moments however we can. It may be hypocritical and cruel, eating chocolate pudding in front of a 4-year-old who can’t have it, but at that moment, maybe that chocolate pudding was keeping Terra from turning the table over and screaming."
I concentrated and kept this thought in my head to avoid turning the table over myself.
I walked outside and Mason followed me. He spoke exuberantly as he poured water from a discarded plate into a plastic cup. “Look Dad! Look! That’s all the water there is!” “Yes,” I said, blank and smiling. I pulled Mason onto my lap and he continued his water experiment. I placed my cheek against the back of his head and I sighed, deeply. "We’ve got to get it together", I thought.
After 20 minutes, I approached Terra who was lying on the living room couch. She had been crying.
“Did you get your records release faxed?” I asked her, changing the subject.
“No, I forgot to bring it in here.”
“I’ll do it for you. Is the fax number on the sheet?”
“Yes, at the bottom.”
I started the fax machine, and punched the numbers in, listening for the right kinds of beeps and boops. I sat down on the floor in front of Terra. I looked at her but I dared not speak.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said, finally.
“That’s okay,” I answered. “You don’t really think that way, though, that it’s okay to do stuff like that in front of him when he can’t, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Good. That’s what matters to me.”
After a couple of quiet, sad hours in front of the television, Mason had gone to bed. The withdrawal continued to grow worse and worse inside me. Darkness all over the sky. I paced around my house, irrational, frightened and wild. I felt my eyes dilate and dart. Breathing again became a conscious process. Reminding myself, I would gasp and squint. I smoked and smoked. Teeth chattering, feet pacing... I had not anticipated that after just one month of daily consumption, Xanax would be so brutal to quit. Or maybe this was just how my body FELT when my senses weren't dulled. I tried to read a newspaper. Couldn't. Couldn't write either. My thoughts scattered like cockroaches, and I could not get a handle on them. There were hundreds of words in my head, pushing and shoving, trying to get to the front of the line. I could HEAR them, but not quite understand. Oh god, the thing's coming again. SHE was coming. Roxy. No, no, I couldn't handle that, no. No, no, no, no. Block it. Block it. I was so afraid.
“I feel really terrible,” I said to Terra.
“Why don’t you try taking Ambien?” she asked. She didn't have the energy to babysit me while I flipped out again.
“Maybe I should.”
September 5, 2007 - Basketball and Trying to Kick Xanax
Exhausted. Tired and sore in the bones. The time had come to kick Xanax, and the insomnia was back. While I was no stranger to exhaustion itself, when coupled with grief it was exponentially more debilitating. Sitting up in bed when the alarm went off felt impossible. One muscle at a time, I could feel them all clench and anticipate the ugly movement.
I had now heard all the talk about the various components of grief so many times I could spell the words backwards. Denial, anger, depression, blah blah blah. In my opinion though, “exhaustion” should be added to that list. When exhaustion and terrible sadness are intertwined, a shroud is woven from beneath which sometimes you literally cannot see or hear. The world around you becomes a hum of violence and decay. Your head pounds. Everything is too bright. Like the first and second lines in an ancient Roman army, they attack in quick succession. Exhaustion, with spears, weakens you and then Grief comes galloping in on horseback and cuts your fucking head off.
I had decided to play basketball with my regular group of middle-aged IT and IU Business School employees. If I had to exercise, this was the way to do it. I used to play regularly three times a week over lunch, but lately, I’d hardly participated at all. I needed to get my mind off of this Xanax withdrawal. I needed to outrun it.
The court was brimming with young, new faces. New additions since I’d been gone, to be sure. The games were fast-paced and we were really out and running. Harvard, a 6’5”, 250 pound former division 1 college athlete was on the court, and, by our standards, unstoppable. He was on my team, and we were running, running, running like horses. An hour and a half had gone by, and My lungs felt shrunken and my chest ached. Knowing I shouldn’t, I decided to play one last game by 2’s and 3’s to 20. We were up 16 to 15, and suddenly, my vision began to go. I steadied myself. I couldn't focus.
“I have to quit guys, sorry,” I gasped. I back peddled to the water fountain, nearly falling into it. (I needed to get my peasant ass out into the hallway so my impending death didn't inconvenience anybody). The hall became a dark tunnel all around me as I gasped and silently prayed:
"Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. Mason needs you. Mason needs you. Oh my god."
I ran to the bathroom and put my head under the faucet and felt the rushing cold water over my neck... "slow down heart, slow down, slow down..."
Soaking wet, I wandered back out to the hall and down the stairs where the lockers were, but I couldn't make it through the door. I found a couch nearby and leaned back into it. I placed my left arm over my head and tried to breathe. This had been going on for a few minutes, when they guys started streaming down the stairs. The game was over.
“Are you alright?” Steve asked.
“You don’t look good,” Mark said.
“Are you going to throw up in my car?” inquired Jim.
“I just need to sit here for a minute…” The lights were flashing. Chest pains!! I remember thinking it must be embarrassing to die.
“You’ve stopped sweating,” Mark said.
“I’ll get you some water,” said Steve.
“He probably needs something to get his electrolytes back up,” said Mark. He appeared with water. Jim handed me a banana and a Powerade. I gulped it all.
Another twenty minutes went by, while I repeated these things in my head: “Oh my god. Mason needs me.”
Young women and men walked by with curious expressions. I can see their thoughts: “I’ve never seen anybody DIE before!” and “man, that dude must be diabetic.”
“Let’s try this…” I finally said to Jim, motioning toward the stairs. I walked slowly, stair by stair, out the door, down the long sidewalk and across the large, 3-tiered parking lot. Jim was nervously trying to make small talk, but I couldn't concentrate. It was 94 degrees outside. The air was so thick you could feel it pushing back against your body. Oh god. I pressed the Powerade to my face and cold drops of water landed on my thighs.
At last, we were back to our building. I stumbled in through my office door, and waved, thanking Jim for the ride. I walked carefully to my desk and slumped in my chair. Needed the water from the fridge. Stood up, 23 steps, grabbed the water, Xanax on the tongue, and poured the water down over it. 30 minutes later, I took another one. I was going to have to kick this on another day. Maybe the next one.
I had now heard all the talk about the various components of grief so many times I could spell the words backwards. Denial, anger, depression, blah blah blah. In my opinion though, “exhaustion” should be added to that list. When exhaustion and terrible sadness are intertwined, a shroud is woven from beneath which sometimes you literally cannot see or hear. The world around you becomes a hum of violence and decay. Your head pounds. Everything is too bright. Like the first and second lines in an ancient Roman army, they attack in quick succession. Exhaustion, with spears, weakens you and then Grief comes galloping in on horseback and cuts your fucking head off.
I had decided to play basketball with my regular group of middle-aged IT and IU Business School employees. If I had to exercise, this was the way to do it. I used to play regularly three times a week over lunch, but lately, I’d hardly participated at all. I needed to get my mind off of this Xanax withdrawal. I needed to outrun it.
The court was brimming with young, new faces. New additions since I’d been gone, to be sure. The games were fast-paced and we were really out and running. Harvard, a 6’5”, 250 pound former division 1 college athlete was on the court, and, by our standards, unstoppable. He was on my team, and we were running, running, running like horses. An hour and a half had gone by, and My lungs felt shrunken and my chest ached. Knowing I shouldn’t, I decided to play one last game by 2’s and 3’s to 20. We were up 16 to 15, and suddenly, my vision began to go. I steadied myself. I couldn't focus.
“I have to quit guys, sorry,” I gasped. I back peddled to the water fountain, nearly falling into it. (I needed to get my peasant ass out into the hallway so my impending death didn't inconvenience anybody). The hall became a dark tunnel all around me as I gasped and silently prayed:
"Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. Mason needs you. Mason needs you. Oh my god."
I ran to the bathroom and put my head under the faucet and felt the rushing cold water over my neck... "slow down heart, slow down, slow down..."
Soaking wet, I wandered back out to the hall and down the stairs where the lockers were, but I couldn't make it through the door. I found a couch nearby and leaned back into it. I placed my left arm over my head and tried to breathe. This had been going on for a few minutes, when they guys started streaming down the stairs. The game was over.
“Are you alright?” Steve asked.
“You don’t look good,” Mark said.
“Are you going to throw up in my car?” inquired Jim.
“I just need to sit here for a minute…” The lights were flashing. Chest pains!! I remember thinking it must be embarrassing to die.
“You’ve stopped sweating,” Mark said.
“I’ll get you some water,” said Steve.
“He probably needs something to get his electrolytes back up,” said Mark. He appeared with water. Jim handed me a banana and a Powerade. I gulped it all.
Another twenty minutes went by, while I repeated these things in my head: “Oh my god. Mason needs me.”
Young women and men walked by with curious expressions. I can see their thoughts: “I’ve never seen anybody DIE before!” and “man, that dude must be diabetic.”
“Let’s try this…” I finally said to Jim, motioning toward the stairs. I walked slowly, stair by stair, out the door, down the long sidewalk and across the large, 3-tiered parking lot. Jim was nervously trying to make small talk, but I couldn't concentrate. It was 94 degrees outside. The air was so thick you could feel it pushing back against your body. Oh god. I pressed the Powerade to my face and cold drops of water landed on my thighs.
At last, we were back to our building. I stumbled in through my office door, and waved, thanking Jim for the ride. I walked carefully to my desk and slumped in my chair. Needed the water from the fridge. Stood up, 23 steps, grabbed the water, Xanax on the tongue, and poured the water down over it. 30 minutes later, I took another one. I was going to have to kick this on another day. Maybe the next one.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
August 31st, 2007 - The Cookout
We were going to have a cookout. Terra’s best friend, Hi, had come town with her family and Terra wanted to see them... entertain them even. For me, it was an excuse to drink hard and stay out of my head.
We cleaned the house, got Mason down for a nap, and prepared food. I couldn't even tell you what. I chopped onions and drank cans of Natural Light. Terra and I laughed and teased each around the island in our kitchen, chopping broccoli, tomatoes, scallions… I was feeling good. I had actually SLEPT the night before and it was having a wonderful affect on my mood. "I'm going to make it," I thought to myself. I breathed in and the air felt clean. I was able to think of Roxy and let it hurt without shaking my head "NO NO NO NO NO." I opened another Natural Light. Then another. Then another.
Guests began to arrive. Adults and children alike, were scattering throughout our back yard. Whiskey and coke, cheap beer, wine and food all around.
IThe outdoors were blurry with trees and laughter. I spun around one corner of the yard with 5 kids and a giant blue rubber ball. I kicked it repeatedly up into the outstretched branches of the maple trees, and one at a time, the children would chase it down with wild flailing arms and bring it back to me. I was a child myself. I have wandered into the creation of a new game. Something accidental and perfect.
And oh yes! I promised them we would make s’mores!
I had never been drunk in front of my son before Roxy died, and now it was every Saturday.
Natural Light in hand, I gathered good marshmallow sticks from the hanging branches of trees.
“Can we help?” Ella asked.
“Yes yes! That would be great!”
“I want to help too!” Em screamed.
“Me too! Me too!” from all around.
“Yes yes!” I yelled, stumbling.
I gathered up the sticks. Em approached with a heap of brush and hands it to me. “Thank you!” I giggled. I gathered more sticks. I heard Ella and Shell giggling. I looked up to see Ella with gobs of brush sticking out of her shirt, shorts and hair.
“You are totally camo!” I bellowed! Hee hee!!! Ha Ha!!!
Then I heard a mother scream. It is U.
“ELLA!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S POISON IVY!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Oh. No.” Ella muttered, sadly.
“Oh shit,” I heard myself say. “That’s poison ivy?” I glanced around with bleary eyes. All the children were holding thatches of poison ivy.
“Yes.” U was trying to stay calm. “Yes, this is poison ivy, see when the leaf looks like it has a thumb…” she explained.
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, this is not good… Ella, go into the bathroom and wash off from head to toe.”
The party outside had gone silent. I was still holding onto my Natural Light. Guilt hammered me hard, and everything started slowing down. I realized at the exact same time everyone else did that I was completely shitfaced. I sat down. Z, Hi’s 5-year-old daughter, wanted to save me and dragged me back into the fray. Suddenly I found myself again with the giant blue rubber ball, surrounded by young, chocolate covered faces. I kicked and I kicked and I kicked. I was sweating, snarling, giggling and jumping. I stopped occasionally and shouted “nice job!” or “now wait until it’s your turn” but mostly I was just kicking with a beer in my hand. I was disappearing.
As darkness began to descend, scenes from the day were grouping together as I watched. Bocce ball over there, heart to heart over there and Hi and her family had quietly disappeared without much of a goodbye. Aside from signed names on a Christmas card that year, Terra never really heard from her again. So much for entertaining them.
I made popcorn for children watching a movie and kicked over somebody's juice. They had tired, tired eyes.
“About 20 more minutes…” I slurred in Mason’s direction.
An hour later I heard myself saying the same thing again. Outside, the scene was getting crazy. Only the wild ones were left. The music had gotten louder, and I gave a standing sermon regarding The Kinks and how they could eat The Beatles' lunch, and challenged anyone to state differently. Jo and Mike were slapping each other. A group was smoking dope. Terra was drunkenly threatening to fight our friend Mac but instead lurched and sprayed bug repellent into Jo's open mouth.
"I have GOT to put Mason to bed before things get too out of hand," I heard myself say. I wobbled, watching him brush his teeth, and tried to brace myself against the back of the toilet.
“Can we read a book?” he asked.
“Oh, it might be too late,” I mumbled, leading him into the bedroom.
“Oh…” he was about to crack.
“Alright,” I relented. “A short one.”
I stuttered through an awful, uninspired rendition of “We’re Going On a Bear Hunt.” His eyes were heavy. "Shouldn’t take him long to fall asleep" I thought. "Please, please, please..." I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. I had to pee terribly. "Please, please, please.." I stared at him for 45 minutes, both of us in total silence. His eyes were heavy, but his body squirmed. Finally, he stopped moving his knee. Was he asleep? I began to crawl out of the bed.
He moved.
Dammit. I lay back down. The shrieks outside were gleeful and irreverent and I wanted to be out there. I wanted to vomit and I desperately wanted to take a leak. Slowly, slowly, slowly, his eyes closed again. I again started to crawl out of the bed. Tip toe, tip toe, tip toe…
He opened his eyes and sat straight up.
“Honey, I have to pee really badly. I’ll be right back.”
He made a face.
“Really, I’ll be right back…”
By the time I returned, he was sleeping hard. I said his name softly to be sure. Nothing. "Oh thank you thank you thank you..."
Outside, I took shots of whiskey and smoke. I turned up The Kinks and admonished Br for touching the stereo. I talked loudly about Mike’s high school haircut and my wife had started winging wet marshmallows at Josh. So I started to throw marshmallows. A full on scrum ensued, with people running all over the yard, everywhere. Animals, animals, animals. We had clawed our way back to madness.
Then, bang, my head hit the iron table. I was going to sleep tonight.
We cleaned the house, got Mason down for a nap, and prepared food. I couldn't even tell you what. I chopped onions and drank cans of Natural Light. Terra and I laughed and teased each around the island in our kitchen, chopping broccoli, tomatoes, scallions… I was feeling good. I had actually SLEPT the night before and it was having a wonderful affect on my mood. "I'm going to make it," I thought to myself. I breathed in and the air felt clean. I was able to think of Roxy and let it hurt without shaking my head "NO NO NO NO NO." I opened another Natural Light. Then another. Then another.
Guests began to arrive. Adults and children alike, were scattering throughout our back yard. Whiskey and coke, cheap beer, wine and food all around.
IThe outdoors were blurry with trees and laughter. I spun around one corner of the yard with 5 kids and a giant blue rubber ball. I kicked it repeatedly up into the outstretched branches of the maple trees, and one at a time, the children would chase it down with wild flailing arms and bring it back to me. I was a child myself. I have wandered into the creation of a new game. Something accidental and perfect.
And oh yes! I promised them we would make s’mores!
I had never been drunk in front of my son before Roxy died, and now it was every Saturday.
Natural Light in hand, I gathered good marshmallow sticks from the hanging branches of trees.
“Can we help?” Ella asked.
“Yes yes! That would be great!”
“I want to help too!” Em screamed.
“Me too! Me too!” from all around.
“Yes yes!” I yelled, stumbling.
I gathered up the sticks. Em approached with a heap of brush and hands it to me. “Thank you!” I giggled. I gathered more sticks. I heard Ella and Shell giggling. I looked up to see Ella with gobs of brush sticking out of her shirt, shorts and hair.
“You are totally camo!” I bellowed! Hee hee!!! Ha Ha!!!
Then I heard a mother scream. It is U.
“ELLA!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S POISON IVY!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Oh. No.” Ella muttered, sadly.
“Oh shit,” I heard myself say. “That’s poison ivy?” I glanced around with bleary eyes. All the children were holding thatches of poison ivy.
“Yes.” U was trying to stay calm. “Yes, this is poison ivy, see when the leaf looks like it has a thumb…” she explained.
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, this is not good… Ella, go into the bathroom and wash off from head to toe.”
The party outside had gone silent. I was still holding onto my Natural Light. Guilt hammered me hard, and everything started slowing down. I realized at the exact same time everyone else did that I was completely shitfaced. I sat down. Z, Hi’s 5-year-old daughter, wanted to save me and dragged me back into the fray. Suddenly I found myself again with the giant blue rubber ball, surrounded by young, chocolate covered faces. I kicked and I kicked and I kicked. I was sweating, snarling, giggling and jumping. I stopped occasionally and shouted “nice job!” or “now wait until it’s your turn” but mostly I was just kicking with a beer in my hand. I was disappearing.
As darkness began to descend, scenes from the day were grouping together as I watched. Bocce ball over there, heart to heart over there and Hi and her family had quietly disappeared without much of a goodbye. Aside from signed names on a Christmas card that year, Terra never really heard from her again. So much for entertaining them.
I made popcorn for children watching a movie and kicked over somebody's juice. They had tired, tired eyes.
“About 20 more minutes…” I slurred in Mason’s direction.
An hour later I heard myself saying the same thing again. Outside, the scene was getting crazy. Only the wild ones were left. The music had gotten louder, and I gave a standing sermon regarding The Kinks and how they could eat The Beatles' lunch, and challenged anyone to state differently. Jo and Mike were slapping each other. A group was smoking dope. Terra was drunkenly threatening to fight our friend Mac but instead lurched and sprayed bug repellent into Jo's open mouth.
"I have GOT to put Mason to bed before things get too out of hand," I heard myself say. I wobbled, watching him brush his teeth, and tried to brace myself against the back of the toilet.
“Can we read a book?” he asked.
“Oh, it might be too late,” I mumbled, leading him into the bedroom.
“Oh…” he was about to crack.
“Alright,” I relented. “A short one.”
I stuttered through an awful, uninspired rendition of “We’re Going On a Bear Hunt.” His eyes were heavy. "Shouldn’t take him long to fall asleep" I thought. "Please, please, please..." I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. I had to pee terribly. "Please, please, please.." I stared at him for 45 minutes, both of us in total silence. His eyes were heavy, but his body squirmed. Finally, he stopped moving his knee. Was he asleep? I began to crawl out of the bed.
He moved.
Dammit. I lay back down. The shrieks outside were gleeful and irreverent and I wanted to be out there. I wanted to vomit and I desperately wanted to take a leak. Slowly, slowly, slowly, his eyes closed again. I again started to crawl out of the bed. Tip toe, tip toe, tip toe…
He opened his eyes and sat straight up.
“Honey, I have to pee really badly. I’ll be right back.”
He made a face.
“Really, I’ll be right back…”
By the time I returned, he was sleeping hard. I said his name softly to be sure. Nothing. "Oh thank you thank you thank you..."
Outside, I took shots of whiskey and smoke. I turned up The Kinks and admonished Br for touching the stereo. I talked loudly about Mike’s high school haircut and my wife had started winging wet marshmallows at Josh. So I started to throw marshmallows. A full on scrum ensued, with people running all over the yard, everywhere. Animals, animals, animals. We had clawed our way back to madness.
Then, bang, my head hit the iron table. I was going to sleep tonight.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
August 30th, 2007 - The Shopping Trip, Movie and Beating a Panic Attack
Running late again. I had requested the 2nd half of the day off to take Terra shopping, just to get her out of the house, and I really, REALLY needed to get to work on time today. Terra handed Mason some clothes, and said “can you change into these please?” I was running and fumbling from room to room. Where were the keys? Where were my sunglasses? What time was it?!!! Mason sat his playroom floor, playing a video game.
“Mason,” I said, “you need to get ready right now. We need to leave very, very soon.” He couldn't hear me. I walked into the playroom and stood over him. He looked at me, tiredly.
“You need to get ready right now,” I repeated, fuse lit.
“But mom said I could get ready while I played my game.”
“You’re NOT getting ready! We don’t have time for the game this morning!”
“Well, I’m going to tell Mom!”
The fuse was burning fast now. “YOU are going to put on your clothes so that I can take you to Mimi’s house and you are going to do it right now!” I turned off his game.
He silently changed his clothes while I silently marveled at what a shit I had become.
Even still, once we had managed our way out the door and over to my mother's house (she babysits on Fridays), Mason ran to jump into my arms and he hugged me goodbye. Maybe he understood. Maybe his 4-year-old mind understood better than most. My friend CK used to say "you've probably still got money in his bank." I hoped so.
Work hours came and went like a commercial and I left to pick up Terra. The drive was long and winding. A two-lane highway for most of the 2.5 hours, we spent much of it surfing the radio waves for something, anything to keep from having to talk. We heard preachers and country singers, the odd car commercial (“WE REALLY NEED TO GIT RID OF SOME OF THIS STUFF!”) to dead air, until, finally… “SWAP SHOP!”
Swap Shop is a phenomenon you can find on some small Indiana radio stations (or so I am told). People called in and listed the things they were selling. From what I could tell, it is mostly older folks calling in:
“This is Edna Sasser, and I’ve got a swimming pool for sale. We don’t feel like blowing it up this year. Somebody come and get this thing. Get it out of here. 50 bucks. Get it out of here.”
“This is Harriet Fulford,” another woman said, speaking slowly for anyone writing it down. “I live at 42, I mean 4325 Livingston Court and we are having a big, I mean BIG 6 family yard sale. I’ve got a cabbage patch doll from 1985, still in the box. Not even opened, I mean it’s an original. One of the first ever made, so come on down and see us, Honey.”
The deejay often struggled with his composure, and attempted to succinctly summarize each caller’s products: “that’s right, Harriet Fulford, go out and get you a cabbage doll…” or “yes, Edna Sasser, she’s got a swimming pool just like new, so give her a call." The “caller” had often vacated the line when the deejay connected their call, which left 20 seconds of silence over the airwaves before the deejay finally says “welp, folks I think we lost ‘em there.”
Swap Shop, Swap Shop, Swap Shop!!
Unfortunately, we lost the station around New Albany.
In silence, we continued. We fidgeted and rocked. We stared out of our windows. At all costs, we avoided eye contact and we took turns watching the clock.
Finally! Shoe stores! Massive, massive shoe stores!! The Gap!! Old Navy!! Toys R Us!! (I DESPISE shopping by the way. I don't even like buying gas). Terra spent the day walking up and down isles, picking things up and putting things down. I spent the day trying desperately not to ruin it for her with my bitter and severe countenance. I smoked outside of the stores and grumbled at the backs of strangers in their crisp blue jeans. This antiseptic outlet malls in the wake of my daughter's death, I imagined, was worse than any Hell I'd ever heard about. (Burn me, cast me into the eternal darkness, whatever, but DO NOT send me to one of those Tangier Outlets.) If there was a God, and he was truly omnipotent, then he must also be selfish and cruel.
I found a bench outside of the Baby Gap, and sat on it. Finally. Shade. Quiet. The wind was blowing and the air was cool. It felt good. I watched sparrows in the parking lot fight over a french fry. I watched them as they sat on the skinny blades of the elephant grass, swaying up, down, side to side.
Then, THUD.
A couple walked out with a newborn baby. The woman pushed a stroller ahead, and the very young father held the baby’s face to his own. The baby had thick, black hair. Thick, black hair. Thick. Black. Hair.
It’s Xanax time.
Earlier in the day, Terra had hinted that there may be a sexy reward along the highway if it was dark enough driving home. Romance, sex, none of that had come up in that last month, so it seemed monumental and exciting in light of our new selves.
By the time we she found me outside on that bench, though, that is all gone.
“Do you need me to drive?” Terra asked.
“No, I can handle it.”
We drove directly into the sunset. Its beauty was distracting, and its brightness a hazard. Our car was, again, quiet. All of the promise of the day was gone. Back to surviving it. We again searched the airwaves. We finally found Gene Simmons on NPR being interviewed by Terri Gross. It was a replay, but a good one with plenty of awkward moments. Eventually, as with Swap Shop, we lost reception.
We started passing the cell phone back and forth, making phone calls. We need someone else. Someone outside of this bubble of misery that we lived in.
We would meet Jo!! (Jo never once failed to drop any and all plans he had at the spur of the moment for me during this time... I never even had to mention how desperate I was... He would agree to anything before I even finished my sentence, and he saved me more than once.)
We would go to a movie!! Just like regular people!! It seemed so foolproof... so perfect. Escape.
We decided to see the ‘Halloween’ remake (an excellent choice for anyone dealing with severe anxiety issues!)
The parking lot of the movie theatre was riddled with teenagers. I had always despised large crowds anyway, but lately they were unbearable. Yet another element I had not considered. “Wow, look at them all. This is terrifying.”
“Oh my god,” Jo affirmed without missing a beat (my closest compadre, he would never leave me hanging.)
We stood in the ticket line and giggled nervously. "Uh oh..." and it occurred to me that I could run into people we knew. The thought was horrifying. Why hadn't we just gone home?!! Thank Shiva for Jo, who whispered "I'm scared too," and giggled again. "Oh fuck this", I thought. I was weary of trying to talk myself down. I decided that I would just let it kill me.
I opened myself up, completely, to the waiting anxiety standing right there in that line. I allowed it to cover my skin and pulse through my veins. I INVITED it to attack, attack, attack my cerebellum. How funny that “two tickets to the 9:40 showing of Halloween” would be my last words. I followed Jo and Terra to the snack and popcorn stand, and with each step I felt my body surging with the waves of panic, only, I wasn't under them. I was on top. I could almost enjoy it. As if I were falling, I gave myself permission to feel the pleasure and speed of falling without worrying about the impact.
The rest of the night, Jo and Terra and I laughed and laughed. The movie was predictably terrible. We were the oldest people in the theatre. This was the night that I realized I had to leave my pre-Roxy self behind. I had to learn a new way.
“Mason,” I said, “you need to get ready right now. We need to leave very, very soon.” He couldn't hear me. I walked into the playroom and stood over him. He looked at me, tiredly.
“You need to get ready right now,” I repeated, fuse lit.
“But mom said I could get ready while I played my game.”
“You’re NOT getting ready! We don’t have time for the game this morning!”
“Well, I’m going to tell Mom!”
The fuse was burning fast now. “YOU are going to put on your clothes so that I can take you to Mimi’s house and you are going to do it right now!” I turned off his game.
He silently changed his clothes while I silently marveled at what a shit I had become.
Even still, once we had managed our way out the door and over to my mother's house (she babysits on Fridays), Mason ran to jump into my arms and he hugged me goodbye. Maybe he understood. Maybe his 4-year-old mind understood better than most. My friend CK used to say "you've probably still got money in his bank." I hoped so.
Work hours came and went like a commercial and I left to pick up Terra. The drive was long and winding. A two-lane highway for most of the 2.5 hours, we spent much of it surfing the radio waves for something, anything to keep from having to talk. We heard preachers and country singers, the odd car commercial (“WE REALLY NEED TO GIT RID OF SOME OF THIS STUFF!”) to dead air, until, finally… “SWAP SHOP!”
Swap Shop is a phenomenon you can find on some small Indiana radio stations (or so I am told). People called in and listed the things they were selling. From what I could tell, it is mostly older folks calling in:
“This is Edna Sasser, and I’ve got a swimming pool for sale. We don’t feel like blowing it up this year. Somebody come and get this thing. Get it out of here. 50 bucks. Get it out of here.”
“This is Harriet Fulford,” another woman said, speaking slowly for anyone writing it down. “I live at 42, I mean 4325 Livingston Court and we are having a big, I mean BIG 6 family yard sale. I’ve got a cabbage patch doll from 1985, still in the box. Not even opened, I mean it’s an original. One of the first ever made, so come on down and see us, Honey.”
The deejay often struggled with his composure, and attempted to succinctly summarize each caller’s products: “that’s right, Harriet Fulford, go out and get you a cabbage doll…” or “yes, Edna Sasser, she’s got a swimming pool just like new, so give her a call." The “caller” had often vacated the line when the deejay connected their call, which left 20 seconds of silence over the airwaves before the deejay finally says “welp, folks I think we lost ‘em there.”
Swap Shop, Swap Shop, Swap Shop!!
Unfortunately, we lost the station around New Albany.
In silence, we continued. We fidgeted and rocked. We stared out of our windows. At all costs, we avoided eye contact and we took turns watching the clock.
Finally! Shoe stores! Massive, massive shoe stores!! The Gap!! Old Navy!! Toys R Us!! (I DESPISE shopping by the way. I don't even like buying gas). Terra spent the day walking up and down isles, picking things up and putting things down. I spent the day trying desperately not to ruin it for her with my bitter and severe countenance. I smoked outside of the stores and grumbled at the backs of strangers in their crisp blue jeans. This antiseptic outlet malls in the wake of my daughter's death, I imagined, was worse than any Hell I'd ever heard about. (Burn me, cast me into the eternal darkness, whatever, but DO NOT send me to one of those Tangier Outlets.) If there was a God, and he was truly omnipotent, then he must also be selfish and cruel.
I found a bench outside of the Baby Gap, and sat on it. Finally. Shade. Quiet. The wind was blowing and the air was cool. It felt good. I watched sparrows in the parking lot fight over a french fry. I watched them as they sat on the skinny blades of the elephant grass, swaying up, down, side to side.
Then, THUD.
A couple walked out with a newborn baby. The woman pushed a stroller ahead, and the very young father held the baby’s face to his own. The baby had thick, black hair. Thick, black hair. Thick. Black. Hair.
It’s Xanax time.
Earlier in the day, Terra had hinted that there may be a sexy reward along the highway if it was dark enough driving home. Romance, sex, none of that had come up in that last month, so it seemed monumental and exciting in light of our new selves.
By the time we she found me outside on that bench, though, that is all gone.
“Do you need me to drive?” Terra asked.
“No, I can handle it.”
We drove directly into the sunset. Its beauty was distracting, and its brightness a hazard. Our car was, again, quiet. All of the promise of the day was gone. Back to surviving it. We again searched the airwaves. We finally found Gene Simmons on NPR being interviewed by Terri Gross. It was a replay, but a good one with plenty of awkward moments. Eventually, as with Swap Shop, we lost reception.
We started passing the cell phone back and forth, making phone calls. We need someone else. Someone outside of this bubble of misery that we lived in.
We would meet Jo!! (Jo never once failed to drop any and all plans he had at the spur of the moment for me during this time... I never even had to mention how desperate I was... He would agree to anything before I even finished my sentence, and he saved me more than once.)
We would go to a movie!! Just like regular people!! It seemed so foolproof... so perfect. Escape.
We decided to see the ‘Halloween’ remake (an excellent choice for anyone dealing with severe anxiety issues!)
The parking lot of the movie theatre was riddled with teenagers. I had always despised large crowds anyway, but lately they were unbearable. Yet another element I had not considered. “Wow, look at them all. This is terrifying.”
“Oh my god,” Jo affirmed without missing a beat (my closest compadre, he would never leave me hanging.)
We stood in the ticket line and giggled nervously. "Uh oh..." and it occurred to me that I could run into people we knew. The thought was horrifying. Why hadn't we just gone home?!! Thank Shiva for Jo, who whispered "I'm scared too," and giggled again. "Oh fuck this", I thought. I was weary of trying to talk myself down. I decided that I would just let it kill me.
I opened myself up, completely, to the waiting anxiety standing right there in that line. I allowed it to cover my skin and pulse through my veins. I INVITED it to attack, attack, attack my cerebellum. How funny that “two tickets to the 9:40 showing of Halloween” would be my last words. I followed Jo and Terra to the snack and popcorn stand, and with each step I felt my body surging with the waves of panic, only, I wasn't under them. I was on top. I could almost enjoy it. As if I were falling, I gave myself permission to feel the pleasure and speed of falling without worrying about the impact.
The rest of the night, Jo and Terra and I laughed and laughed. The movie was predictably terrible. We were the oldest people in the theatre. This was the night that I realized I had to leave my pre-Roxy self behind. I had to learn a new way.
August 29th, 2007 - Finally, Sadness Without Panic (and the Onset of Semi-Permanent Anger)
I started the day off scrambling, running late. I told Mason to change his clothes and eat his breakfast while I showered, brushed my teeth and gathered the day’s necessities:
1) A check to pay Mason’s Pre-School tuition for the 2 week period.
3) My lunch: a bag of half-rotten lettuce and cucumbers (anything, as long as I didn't need to repackage it.)
4) My lunchtime basketball gear.
5) My MP3 player.
6) Movies to return to the library: P.S., The Matador and DragonballZ- the first season.
The phone rang and it was my mother:
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Just trying to get out of here,” I sighed impatiently.
“Oh, well, Ni got the number for the person to contact who can tell you whether that OB specialist will be covered under your insurance…”
I sighed impatiently again.
“Hello?” she said.
“Yeah. I’m trying to find a pen. Okay, go ahead…”
She recited the info, wounded and I hung up. “Mason, come on, we really have to go…”
“I’m coming,” he sang, smiling.
We ran out the door to another day, with guilt having set up it's shop the crow's feet of my squinting eyes.
One of the things that our therapist had repeated to us was that, really, only time could help ease our suffering and I was banking on it. I tried to hurry through days as fast as I could, just to get them over with. Most of the “fight or flight” panic had begun to subside now (aside from the near-daily panic attack which refused to keep a predictable schedule) but the emotions- the sad, sad, angry, furious, guilty, sad- that had been waiting beneath were no better. My stomach felt less tight, but songs were starting to creep in.
“Girl From the North Country” by Bob Dylan was playing as I drove and that song was no longer about a lover. It was no longer romantic. For me, it was (and is now) about a daughter and about death:
Well, if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm,
When the rivers freeze and summer ends,
Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm,
To keep her from the howlin' winds.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
If it rolls and flows all down her breast.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
That's the way I remember her best.
I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all.
Many times I've often prayed
In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.
So if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Before I knew it, I was crying again, but for the first time since Roxy died, the tears didn't feel completely wasted. There was something GOOD in them. Something furious. Something sad, sad, sad. Something LOST but not afraid, at least for the moment, and it felt like I was kind of alive.
I was off to work with my spine feeling like a spear and my eyes like two 45's. I WANTED someone to say the wrong thing to me. I CRAVED conflict.
After a day spent in simmering hostility and nearly losing it with people all day, I decided to come home early. Terra was in the process of making dinner and Mason was watching cartoons.
“Dinner is almost ready,” she said.
It was Fettuccini Alfredo with Shrimp, Mushrooms and Broccoli. “Come on Mason,” I huffed, “Mama made dinner.”
No response.
“Mason!” I repeated.
No response.
“Mason!”
No response.
I lost it. “MASON!!!!!!!” I screamed from the kitchen.
He entered the doorway, bottom lip trembling, 4 years old. I was angry. Angry at him and sick of myself.
“Mason,” I gathered myself, “you’ve GOT to start listening to us when we’re talking to you.” Bottom lip still trembling, he didn't say a word.
“Okay, you look like you might be tired,” I said. “Are you tired?” (Where was this going?)
“No, I’m not tired,” he sighed. He climbed reluctantly into his chair. Terra sat across from him. I sat to his left. Terra said nothing. She had no plate in front of her.
"You need to eat," I said.
“I’m not that hungry and I didn’t make that much. You should eat it.” I stood gruffly, walked to the cabinet and jerked out a plate and piled half of my serving onto it, and said “you should eat something, really.”
Mason looked down at his plate. “Oh, why do I always have to eat this stuff?”
“You know what? That’s really rude. Why don’t you just go to bed,” I I snarled quietly and coldly. My voice sounded unrecognizable. I hated it. I wanted to run but instead Mason did, crying.
We listened as he wailed in his bedroom. I looked into Terra's eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, voice cracking. I felt tiny, hateful, mean. Her eyes welled with tears.
Deep, deep breath. “Okay, Mason, do you want another chance?”
“What?” he coughed.
“Do you want to try this again? Come here please.” He walked slowly and deliberately back into the kitchen.
“Look" I said, calmly (and oh so very together), "it’s rude, after Mama makes you dinner, to sit there and complain about it. The first thing we should do is thank her for making us dinner.” This was when I realized that I hadn't thanked her myself.
“Thank you Terra,” I said, lost. Where had I gone? Who was I now? Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Thank you for dinner,” Mason said, still breathing hard.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “calm down. Take a deep breath.”
“I wish I could ask Dad a question,” Mason said to Terra.
My heart restarted and I began to feel a deep, deep remorse. I tried to smile. “Mason, you can ask me anything, any time. I just don’t want you to be rude. Sometimes, when you are tired, it makes you act, um, not very nice, and sometimes when I’m tired it makes me act, um, not very nice either.” I hugged him tightly. “What’s your question?”
His eyes lit up and he expelled an extended monologue regarding Superman and his superhero cohorts. I felt even worse. I nodded, hugged him again. He continued, excitedly.
Mason finished his meal and re-entered the living room to continue watching “Kenny the Shark.” How appropriate.
Terra was at the sink. I approached her and put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m really sorry,” I said.
“For what?” She didn’t turn around.
“For being a grouchy dick,” I said. “I shouldn’t act like that. I’m as bad as Mr. Bee.”
“No you’re not! It’s really hard. He’s been driving me crazy today too.”
“He’s just tired,” I sighed. “Please, let me do those.” I took a plate, and wished it were enough.
1) A check to pay Mason’s Pre-School tuition for the 2 week period.
3) My lunch: a bag of half-rotten lettuce and cucumbers (anything, as long as I didn't need to repackage it.)
4) My lunchtime basketball gear.
5) My MP3 player.
6) Movies to return to the library: P.S., The Matador and DragonballZ- the first season.
The phone rang and it was my mother:
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Just trying to get out of here,” I sighed impatiently.
“Oh, well, Ni got the number for the person to contact who can tell you whether that OB specialist will be covered under your insurance…”
I sighed impatiently again.
“Hello?” she said.
“Yeah. I’m trying to find a pen. Okay, go ahead…”
She recited the info, wounded and I hung up. “Mason, come on, we really have to go…”
“I’m coming,” he sang, smiling.
We ran out the door to another day, with guilt having set up it's shop the crow's feet of my squinting eyes.
One of the things that our therapist had repeated to us was that, really, only time could help ease our suffering and I was banking on it. I tried to hurry through days as fast as I could, just to get them over with. Most of the “fight or flight” panic had begun to subside now (aside from the near-daily panic attack which refused to keep a predictable schedule) but the emotions- the sad, sad, angry, furious, guilty, sad- that had been waiting beneath were no better. My stomach felt less tight, but songs were starting to creep in.
“Girl From the North Country” by Bob Dylan was playing as I drove and that song was no longer about a lover. It was no longer romantic. For me, it was (and is now) about a daughter and about death:
Well, if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm,
When the rivers freeze and summer ends,
Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm,
To keep her from the howlin' winds.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
If it rolls and flows all down her breast.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
That's the way I remember her best.
I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all.
Many times I've often prayed
In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.
So if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Before I knew it, I was crying again, but for the first time since Roxy died, the tears didn't feel completely wasted. There was something GOOD in them. Something furious. Something sad, sad, sad. Something LOST but not afraid, at least for the moment, and it felt like I was kind of alive.
I was off to work with my spine feeling like a spear and my eyes like two 45's. I WANTED someone to say the wrong thing to me. I CRAVED conflict.
After a day spent in simmering hostility and nearly losing it with people all day, I decided to come home early. Terra was in the process of making dinner and Mason was watching cartoons.
“Dinner is almost ready,” she said.
It was Fettuccini Alfredo with Shrimp, Mushrooms and Broccoli. “Come on Mason,” I huffed, “Mama made dinner.”
No response.
“Mason!” I repeated.
No response.
“Mason!”
No response.
I lost it. “MASON!!!!!!!” I screamed from the kitchen.
He entered the doorway, bottom lip trembling, 4 years old. I was angry. Angry at him and sick of myself.
“Mason,” I gathered myself, “you’ve GOT to start listening to us when we’re talking to you.” Bottom lip still trembling, he didn't say a word.
“Okay, you look like you might be tired,” I said. “Are you tired?” (Where was this going?)
“No, I’m not tired,” he sighed. He climbed reluctantly into his chair. Terra sat across from him. I sat to his left. Terra said nothing. She had no plate in front of her.
"You need to eat," I said.
“I’m not that hungry and I didn’t make that much. You should eat it.” I stood gruffly, walked to the cabinet and jerked out a plate and piled half of my serving onto it, and said “you should eat something, really.”
Mason looked down at his plate. “Oh, why do I always have to eat this stuff?”
“You know what? That’s really rude. Why don’t you just go to bed,” I I snarled quietly and coldly. My voice sounded unrecognizable. I hated it. I wanted to run but instead Mason did, crying.
We listened as he wailed in his bedroom. I looked into Terra's eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, voice cracking. I felt tiny, hateful, mean. Her eyes welled with tears.
Deep, deep breath. “Okay, Mason, do you want another chance?”
“What?” he coughed.
“Do you want to try this again? Come here please.” He walked slowly and deliberately back into the kitchen.
“Look" I said, calmly (and oh so very together), "it’s rude, after Mama makes you dinner, to sit there and complain about it. The first thing we should do is thank her for making us dinner.” This was when I realized that I hadn't thanked her myself.
“Thank you Terra,” I said, lost. Where had I gone? Who was I now? Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Thank you for dinner,” Mason said, still breathing hard.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “calm down. Take a deep breath.”
“I wish I could ask Dad a question,” Mason said to Terra.
My heart restarted and I began to feel a deep, deep remorse. I tried to smile. “Mason, you can ask me anything, any time. I just don’t want you to be rude. Sometimes, when you are tired, it makes you act, um, not very nice, and sometimes when I’m tired it makes me act, um, not very nice either.” I hugged him tightly. “What’s your question?”
His eyes lit up and he expelled an extended monologue regarding Superman and his superhero cohorts. I felt even worse. I nodded, hugged him again. He continued, excitedly.
Mason finished his meal and re-entered the living room to continue watching “Kenny the Shark.” How appropriate.
Terra was at the sink. I approached her and put my hands on her shoulders. “I’m really sorry,” I said.
“For what?” She didn’t turn around.
“For being a grouchy dick,” I said. “I shouldn’t act like that. I’m as bad as Mr. Bee.”
“No you’re not! It’s really hard. He’s been driving me crazy today too.”
“He’s just tired,” I sighed. “Please, let me do those.” I took a plate, and wished it were enough.
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