Glimmers of Stage 5

It's 6:30 on a Saturday morning. I've been up for two hours and have spent that time mostly laughing.

Laughter is good (an obvious statement). I've heard it referred to as "internal jogging," but my favorite description is enclosed in this quote: "Laughter is God's hand on the shoulder of a troubled world."

Waking up at 4:30 isn't unusual for me - I spent years jumping out of bed to get to work by 5 am and my biological clock is still stuck in that sleep pattern. Now, however, I get to savor the early mornings. No more hitting the snooze button till the last possible minute and then hauling ass into my clothes and out the door.

So what have I been doing this morning? Watching funny videos on YouTube; giggling at despair.com; and laughing at captioned pictures of cats and dogs.

God, I needed that.

My world view has been bleak since the death of my best friend, now just a month ago. I've grieved for her and worried over her two teenagers - legally adults but so lost right now. Two motherless children living alone in a suburban house, angry, defiant, and, unfortunately, self-medicating. The house has become Party Central, full of underage drinkers and smokers (and I'm not referring to tobacco).

And here I stand, helpless and unable to control anything about this situation, a reality that slams right into the 'high dominance' I score on all those behavioral tests. I'm also angry at their mother - my friend - for some of her parenting skills, which makes me even more pissed off because she's dead and I want to grieve for her, not be angry.

A couple weeks ago, I printed off a copy of something called "The 7 Stages of Grief."
Stage 1 - Shock and denial
Stage 2 - Pain and guilt
Stage 3 - Anger and bargaining
Stage 4 - Depression, reflection, loneliness
Stage 5 - The Upward Turn
Stage 6 - Reconstruction and working through
Stage 7 - Acceptance and hope

I've been deep into Stage 4 these last few weeks, with occasional dips into shock and anger. In Stage 4, "you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you." It's described as a time of isolation and despair.

No kidding...


Daylight's come now. The world outside my windows is that beautiful shade of springtime green, dotted with daffodils, violets, and grape hyacinth. After the late snowfall in March and the cold, blustery days of April, spring has finally taken hold.

I've been getting glimpses of Stage 5 - the Upward Turn - these last few days, when life becomes calmer and more organized; when depression finally begins to lift a little.

A reflection of what's happening on the other side of the glass. This morning's laughter felt healing.

Meanwhile, I realize the Universe has been slapping me upside the head, once again, trying to drive home the lesson that, when it comes right down to it, I have absolutely no control. Over anything, really.

My very wise sister-in-law, who has dealt with her own teenagers, told me to "just pour love on them."

That I can do. But letting go of the worry I have for them isn't so easy.

Especially when they're being stupid.

She Had a Dream

I found, along with about 9 million other people, a video that I've watched now...oh, maybe a half dozen times, something I rarely do. Perhaps it's because I'm a little raw from grieving, but watching this clip from Britain's (original) version of American Idol was really moving.

If this video doesn't affect you, you have a heart of stone.

Enjoy.


Yeah, I know I'm probably being manipulated by cynical TV producers - but I don't care.

Out of Pocket, Out of Sorts

As my Texas family says, I've been "out of pocket" for a while. Missing in action. Gone.

My best friend of 36 years died a little over two weeks ago. Came home from a trip to Mexico and was dead in 24 hours of a virulent strain of bacterial meningitis.

I suddenly find myself the de facto guardian of her two teenage children. They're both over 18, so the fact that my friend had appointed me guardian in case of just this such eventuality means diddly-squat. But that doesn't remove the sense of responsibility. An 18 and 19 year old living alone in a house in the 'burbs doesn't leave me feeling comfortable. The 18 year old is a senior in high school and doesn't even know how to do his own laundry, though insists he's an adult now and will be making his own decisions thank you very much.

The 19 year old spent 2 years in rehab - which, from her condition during the week between her mother's death and funeral service, hasn't worked. She's turning it around, thank God, stepping up to the plate, keeping the house going, meeting with lawyers and bankers as they try to figure out her mom's estate and the trust set up for them. The decisions are theirs; I can't tell them what to do, I can only (hopefully) influence and guide. I fear for both of them.

In the meantime, I have a hole in my heart, missing my friend.

I think I have it together, but the evidence belies it: I've lost my cell phone a half dozen times in the last two weeks; lost my car keys twice; even lost my damn car in a parking lot; made a gigantically stupid error at work; got lost going to my friend's house (where I've visited a gazillion times); lost my train of thought at inopportune moments; in short, I'm a mess.

The universe is telling me to take some time off.



My friend Mary Jo, at a campground outside Jackson Hole. We sure had us some fun...

This made me laugh. I have a black cat and I can relate.

But there's fear underneath the laughter - fear of the darkness, fear of uncertainty, fear of the unexpected and of things that go bump in the night.