Category: cancer

Tamara

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I want to take a moment and thank someone. Someone who, after all she’d been through, passed one more lesson on to someone needing a class.

Tamara (Lukowicz) O’Hara had every reason to be me. Every reason to be angry, pessimistic, defensive, and assuming, a person who only saw what was wrong with the world and never what was good. A victim. The war I saw my late wife Lisa wage against cancer scarred me eternally as sure as it took her life. I have guilt that will never be assuaged. It can never be mitigated despite logic and reason, regardless of the assurances from my children that my guilt is misplaced. I have bottled rage with no pressure relief valve. There is no one to complain to or in charge with whom to debate my points.

And I found myself bitter. Angry with the unfairness, inconsolable in my rage.

As a child, Tamara had childhood cancer. She battled it and beat it. She was Lisa’s cousin. I only met Tamara as a young adult after I began dating Lisa in the late 1980s. It was either a Thanksgiving at Lisa’s parent’s house or a Christmas Eve party at Lisa’s mom’s cousin’s apartment. I found her bubbly, engaging, and happy when I first met her. She greeted everyone, me included, with a smile and a story. Her parents and her sister were all there. The whole family was approachable and energetic. I took to them all fast. At the time, I think she was the only person I’d ever met who had survived cancer. Not that I ever asked. At that time, cancer was as foreign to me as hieroglyphics and certainly not a polite topic of dinner conversation.

Every time I saw Tamara, she was the same. I never once heard her complain about anything. Not the dinner, the people, the conversation, work, life, nothing. Ever. Over time, as I matured into marriage and had twins, her perpetual bubbliness I relegated to goofiness! She was goofy! Happy beyond all reason, charismatic seemingly without cause. And that’s when I first missed the opportunity to learn from her. She wasn’t goofy. She was alive in every way.

As we age, relationships fade, faltering, not through animosity, but as our lives are dominated by the mundane. Work consumes our days as we seek to purchase the bread our families eat at night. The kids’ kindergarten work morphs into helping them build a trebuchet for high school. And soon, or so it seems, after decades of this march, we see extended family members at weddings and funerals. We see ourselves taking another step up in the generational parade.

A corollary consequence of this separation is the paralysis of others in time. A different cousin of Lisa’s had a daughter who recently graduated from Columbia. I missed it! Without the periodic injection of news (touching base with that faction of the family), she was forever a student there. It is the mirror image of how we miss the small changes in those in our household. Those that have not seen them (or us) for a while notice the slow changes we miss.

And so it was with Tamara. She was somewhere out there, bubbly and happy. Except that was not how she was. She married in 2015, and I saw her in 2021 at Lisa’s mom’s funeral. She became ill again last November and endured procedures and pain I hope never to experience. She died Thursday at 53 years of age. Far too young for her shining light to be extinguished, leaving those who knew her to continue in a darker world.

I will see her family at the funeral. I will see again the familiar anguish, incomprehensible sense of loss, and appreciation that her struggle and pain are over. Her widower has lost a soulmate. Her parents have lost a child. Her sister has lost a part of herself. Cancer has again stolen one of the best of us. I have lost a belated teacher. A teacher I failed to learn from in life, but one whose message I hope to employ in the future.

Control

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Can this be how it works? I’m 57 years old and see more life in the rearview mirror than the open road ahead. With that perspective, I find it’s become essential to reflect on what I’ve done with my time on this planet. Blissfully ignorant of the repercussions of news events growing up in bucolic suburbia, adulthood, parenthood, citizenship demanded my attention as I aged. I’ve experienced events no one wants. People summarize it as “life” when you see death. I’m not special. Just frustrated.

After the massacre at the movie theater in Aurora, CO, I began to write. Not with the expectation of affecting change, but rather to give my anger, my emotions, an outlet, an offramp for the toxic blood poisoning my body. I saw gun violence stealing a generation. While some social issues had moved the Overton Window, political intransigence (keep cashing the NRA’s checks!) and eventual American ennui accepted gun violence as baked into the American fabric in the name of “freedom.”

After the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre in Newtown, CT, I began to speak. Surely, a tragedy of this scale would shock Americans (and politicians) out of their stupor. Nope! I talked to groups in Texas as the lone spokesperson for the Brady Campaign in Texas. The only one. That alone tells you all you need to know about the calculus of “I NEED my gun, dead kids and teachers be damned.” Thoughts, prayers, and sad face emojis flooded social media until America’s fruit fly attention span moved on to the latest “tragedy” affecting Kim Kardashian.

My anger peaked with the death of my wife. Fuck cancer makes a great tweet, a guttural reaction without consequence. Utterly suicidal and dying with my wife, I could not yell at the tumor. I took it out on God for a while (also useless) and even turned to God for a bit (utterly meaningless). There was no one to blame, no revenge to be had. No offramp for my anger.

And then Americans, in the obvious next step for a society that had abdicated all personal responsibility and suffered no consequences, elected a narcissistic moron president—a billionaire (if you believe him) speaking for the uneducated rubes. Merit and logic were dead. With each lie, with each crime, I expected consequences. None came. Robert Mueller fumbled the ball with no defenders anywhere near him. Facts were relegated to the trash bin. Tweets became governmental edicts. And I waited. Furious.

When I get angry (when I get down), it is because things should be easier. “Keep the simple things simple; the hard things are hard enough.” But nothing was easy. Changing a light bulb resulted in the glass bulb snapping off the metal base, a trip or two to Lowes, and a call to the electrician. Nothing was easy. Ultimately, I realized it was an absolute lack of control. There was nothing I could do about any of it. My wife was dead, guns were more important than life, freedom from fact and responsibility replaced actual democracy, and rabid evangelicals believed in Trump as the messiah. Stop the world; I want to get off.

And now we have Ukraine. Again, one man brings the world to the point of a world war—one man. Ukrainians are fighting to survive- as a nation and a people. “Denazifying” Ukraine? Really?

I’m reminded of Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot speech as I watch an army destroy entire cities. Stepping back for a second, it seems bizarre that NATO and the UN watch the massacres with tepid financial penalties because Ukraine doesn’t belong to their club. It’s like a high school clique turning its back on a less cool student getting beaten up because they don’t wear the “right” jeans. I understand the political ramifications of engagement. But on a human level, it seems callous and impotent.

So here I am—no one special, poisoned with anger and unable to control or change anything. Hell, I can’t even watch baseball now! The billionaires are too busy fighting with the millionaires. I get the feeling that if aliens did visit earth, they’d look down and say, “Nah, they’re petulant adolescents with nascent technology and a penchant for killing each other. Keep driving.”

So, my clock continues to tick down, and I’m not ignorant enough for its promised bliss. I’ve read Viktor Frankl and Thomas Paine but still cannot find reason or acceptance. How do I accept all of this? How do I “let it go?” No, seriously, I’m asking.

Sandra

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My former mother-in-law, Sandra McIntosh, died on Friday. She had had multiple sclerosis since before I met her in 1987 and finally succumbed to ovarian cancer at age 81. This is a difficult piece to write.

I met her in 1987 when delivering her daughter’s baseball glove after she broke her leg during a company softball game. It was an excuse to see Lisa. Nothing more. We weren’t even dating at that point, but I had my sights set on her. Indeed, with a broken leg, there was not much need for a baseball glove! Sandra met me at the door and was very courteous if confused. That initial reaction held for the entirety of the time I knew Sandra.

Her husband, Doug, was my friend. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1999, Lisa, our two young children, and I moved in with him and Sandra to care for him. He and Lisa had similar, effervescent personalities. It was a fool’s errand to try to keep up with them. But, oh, did we laugh.

In December of that year, he died in my arms as I tried to help him to a chair on the one night in all those months that Lisa left the house with her friend Naomi. Telling Sandra to stay in the bedroom while I called 911, and then Lisa felt like juggling cats underwater, my head drowning. Immediately after that, Sandra came to live with us. She lived in assisted living facilities off and on after that, sometimes living with us, sometimes living in ALFs.

Lisa was diagnosed with cancer in 2008. As many of you know, she, the kids, and I moved to Texas to treat her. Forgetting the dye had already been cast, and despite her Herculean efforts, she died in 2015. Sandra was with us in Texas from 2010 until the kids, Sandra, and I returned to Rhode Island in 2016 after the kids graduated from the University of Texas at Austin.

Before Doug died, he made me promise to take care of Sandra. It is a promise I have always tried to uphold. Lisa made me make the same promise. Two peas in a pod, those two. I promised her, too.

I don’t know why them and not me. It makes no more sense to me than knowing why cancer is, ultimately, suicidal, that it kills its host. To paraphrase Christopher Hitchens, “Why me?” “Why not,” said the universe.

Sandra was an only child. So was Doug. So was Lisa. We used to joke that Lisa didn’t have a family tree; she had a creeping vine. And now, they are all gone. However, the family tree/vine continues in Lisa’s children, my children: Samantha and Cameron. Thanks to IVF, they exist. Thanks to luck, they are not only children.

Sandra did not have Doug or Lisa’s electric personalities and never tried to keep up with them. Looking at family photos (or even photos from her high school yearbook), she rarely smiled in them. Most of the time, she isn’t even looking at the camera. However, that is not to say she didn’t enjoy herself. She loved crocheting, painting, drawing, family get-togethers, “cousin’s parties” at the Cape, and Christmas Eve’s at the DeCesare’s.

She learned to cover her not knowing something with wit, exaggeration, or obfuscation. She was either a graduate of a nursing school or any number of four-year universities to listen to her talk. Over the past twenty years, I’ve spent many hours with her in Emergency Departments. Invariably, she tells the nurse that she spent many years at that hospital as a nurse. Once, at dinner, she bonded with the waiter, who told us he was Hungarian. “I’m Hungarian, too!” she said. She put other’s minds at ease with her exaggerations and obfuscations, blending into conversations rather than dominating them. She made everyone feel they belonged indeed, that she belonged.

She did attend and graduate from a nursing program in Boston in the early 1960’s. After that, she worked briefly at a psych hospital. She then spent her adulthood watching Doug’s meteoric rise through the business world, attending board outings, professional dinners, and weekends at the Cape. She settled into life as a quiet wife and mother. She taught ceramics out of their basement and signed her works “Sugar.” Lisa never acquiesced to Sandra’s request that she sign her pieces “Spice.” Indeed, signing them “Oil” and “Water” might have been more appropriate. Mothers and daughters.

Now she is gone like Doug. And like Lisa. The family I married into, all gone. I feel bad for my kids. The unlived memories and stolen years with their mother and grandfather hurt more than the memories and years stolen from Doug or Lisa because the kids still exist to feel the pain. I can only offer stories and hope I did right by their grandfather and mother and the promise they made me make.

Funny thing about promises: anyone can make them to anyone else. I know Lisa made Naomi promise to look in on me occasionally, to see how I was doing, to see how the kids were doing. I appreciate it and, like everyone else, am doing the best I can to live a meaningful, productive life. I have remarried and am allowing myself to be happy. May we all have a reprieve from grief for a while? I wish I could promise.

The Dragon in the Garage

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Marjorie Taylor Greene (GQP, GA-14) recently tweeted, “Vaccinated employees get a vaccination logo just like the Nazi’s forced Jewish people to wear a gold star. 

Vaccine passports & mask mandates create discrimination against unvaxxed people who trust their immune systems to a virus that is 99% survivable.”

Retweeted by Greene was a post from David Brody, who wrote, “People have the freedom to NOT get vaccinated if they don’t feel comfortable with it. Those that ARE vaccinated shouldn’t shame the unvaccinated. We have enough division. The last thing America needs is separating citizens into two medical tiers with a reward/punish system!”

Antisemitism and disingenuous calls for unity aside, these tweets are idiotic for another reason. I will shame any individual not lining up to get the vaccine. Not only shame but judge and ostracize. 

I have my problems with doctors and our state of medicine. I think we are still in the dark ages, despite the “advances” we’ve made. We don’t know shit about the human body. And the thought (by some) that we are nearing a cure for cancer is beyond foolish. 

However, the vaccines developed by medicine and science to address the COVID-19 pandemic are as miraculous as I’m ever willing to admit. And we are not worthy of it.

According to Johns Hopkins, today (May 26, 2021), 3,488,625 people have died due to the virus. In the United States, that number is 591,179. And yet, despite overwhelming evidence that masks and social distancing help keep the virus from spreading, we got bored! Bored! Masks holding chins up, Republican politicians and right-wing media downplaying the risk, or simply the maskless citing their “freedom” over common sense and community concern allowed the virus to keep taking bites out of us like a shark on a whale carcass. 

I cannot shop in a grocery store (adorned with more lines and markers than an international airport tarmac) without feeling like a spawning salmon going upstream. I catch myself looking behind me on every aisle to ensure I’m going the correct way as an armada of uncaring shoppers approaches me.

1,735,215,327 vaccine doses have been administered worldwide (288,596,955 in the US), but Dr. Barstool next to me in the grocery store won’t get the vaccine because he does not know the long-term effects of the vaccine… Well, doctor, 591,179 people Americans know the long-term impact of dying from the virus. Sorry, they aren’t available to comment. The CDC currently reports a 0.0017% chance of death from an adverse reaction to the vaccine (resulting from voluntary reporting and before any analysis of death certificates or autopsy reports). The United States Navy, because the vaccine was approved using “Emergency Use Authorization” (you know, because of the pandemic), is now offering incentives for military personnel to get the vaccine. This is beyond outrageous. Have the vaccine fully approved and mandate vaccinations. Life is full of risk. This one is a no-brainer. It was simple before. Wear the damn mask. This is simpler. Get the damn shot.

And yet, the Democrats expect to negotiate in good faith with Trump’s party, to compromise on solutions, in short, to govern. And here is where the Democrats bring a pillow to a gunfight. Republicans no longer exist. Although I suspect they’d be fine with Democrats bringing a My Pillow to the gunfight, because, as we know, Mike Lindell has all of the answers. They have been corrupted to the point of extinction by Trump and his acolytes. Ipsos presented the results of their recent survey, which showed that today (again, May 26, 2021), 53% of Republicans believe Trump is the actual president. How, in the name of parliamentary debate, do you argue with a party that does not accept facts? 

John Adams wrote, “Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.” He was obviously wrong. Today, the power within the Republican party lies with those that are grounded in neither fact, evidence, nor reason. Shakespeare’s three witches in Macbeth said, “Fair is foul, and foul is fair.” That’s the Republican party today. 

Trump’s Orwellian claim that “What you are seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening,” seems lifted directly from 1984 (“The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”)

And yet, 53% of Republicans believe Trump is president.

This week has seen an avalanche of improbable headlines:

  • Texas approved “constitutional carry,” where individuals do not need a license or training to carry a handgun. As if that’s not depressing enough, consider that Texas wasn’t first to that party. They are the 21st state to approve constitutional carry.
  • Voter suppression bills (read; racist voting obstacles) are being passed in red states faster than a Texan can quick draw in Target. Coupled with ongoing gerrymandering, this all but guarantees Republican wins in the midterms. Democrats want a fair fight, a fair election? I refer you back to Shakespeare’s three witches.
  • Republicans stand ready to kill a bipartisan commission to explore the origins and failings evidenced by our own eyes and ears of the January 6 insurrection, claiming it is political theater. Enough people have compared this proposed commission with the 18 congressional hearings on Benghazi for me to have to expand on here. Besides, they were just tourists, right Rep. Clyde?

There were many more batshit crazy headlines, but why give them all oxygen? And yet, in the end, I must still adhere to Carl Sagan’s analogy of the dragon in the garage. Sagan wrote, “Now, what’s the difference between an invisible, incorporeal, floating dragon who spits heatless fire and no dragon at all? If there’s no way to disprove my contention, no conceivable experiment that would count against it, what does it mean to say that my dragon exists?” In other words, the Maricopa audit of the 2020 election is simply putting the onus on the sane to disprove the lunacy put forth by the insane. 

And so, I’ll close with one final quote, this from “Darwin’s bulldog” T.H. Huxley, who wrote, “The great tragedy of Science – the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact.” Republicans believe in beautiful bullshit. I’ll take the ugly truth.

Baseball

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On October 15, 2015, forty-three days after my wife died, I smiled and I cried.


Today, Major League Baseball should be opening its 2020 season. Unfortunately, like life everywhere, it is on hold as the world wobbles off its axis and addresses the COVID-19 pandemic. Then, like now, I am unsure and hesitant, worried about those I love and unsure about the future. Now, like then, I look to baseball to bring structure, excitement, comradery, and normalcy.


Today, MLB.com offered full-length games from its storied past. Without knowing why, I clicked on the American League Division Series Game 5 between the Rangers and Blue Jays. A winner-take-all game, it is better known as the game in which Jose Bautista flipped his bat after homering late in the game.


It started as a great game between pitchers Cole Hamels (Rangers) and Marcus Stroman (Blue Jays). Tied 2-2 going into the seventh inning, Rougned Odor singled for the Rangers and ended up at third after a sacrifice bunt and groundout. After Rangers’ right fielder Shin-Soo Choo took a high pitch, Blue Jays catcher Russell Martin attempted to throw the ball back to pitcher Aaron Sanchez. Unbelievably, the ball hit Shin-Soo Choo’s bat and rolled down the third baseline. Odor took off and easily crossed the plate while the Blue Jays wondered what happened.
After a long conversation between the umpires, Odor was granted home plate as the ball was considered “live.” Needless to say, in a tight game, the Toronto fans erupted in protest. Bottles, cans, and trash were thrown onto the field. Play stopped for what seemed forever. After such a close game, I, too, was upset to see a team lose a playoff series in such a meaningless manner. After failing to save my wife from the relentless attack of cancer, my sense of life’s unfairness seemed to distill itself into this moment. I was incensed. What happened next, through baseball, I still can’t properly process.


In the bottom of the seventh inning, through a series of errors that almost made me believe in (at least a baseball) god and righting the wrong from the previous half-inning, Jose Bautista stepped to the plate. With the fans (and me) standing and on a 1-1 count, pitcher Eric Dyson threw a meatball that righted my world. The monster blast that Bautista hit into the upper deck released every pent up emotion I had no way of handling following my wife’s death 43 days earlier.


With my children back at school, finishing their senior year at the University of Texas at Austin, I was living alone at home with my dying dog who would not see Opening Day the following season. My days at work were blue and my lonely nights and weekends utter blackness. Fortunate enough to have cable and splurging on the MLB package, baseball was my roommate, the television conversation.


To have the game I love bring a sense of fairness, where doing the right thing is rewarded in positive results, meant the world to me. To see the Blue Jays (and Bautista) win the game and set straight a correct but unnatural technicality somehow made me weep as if I had beaten cancer for my wife (or was even a Blue Jays fan). I watched that game today and realized how soon after my wife’s death that game took place and how much it meant to me then and why.


That day, baseball showed me a flicker of fairness. That day, Bautista did something I could not. That day, baseball brought me back.

When it is safe, baseball will bring us back again.

Without You, Again

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Wedding Photo

We were denied our 26th anniversary two years ago when cancer took you a week before. Now I’ve had to endure what should have been our 27th and 28th without you. If our vows said “until death do us part,” why does it feel as though part of me died when cancer took you? Happy anniversary, Lisa. I’m doing the best I can without you. Thank goodness for the kids. And fuck cancer.

Sharks and Cancer

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quint

So, eleven hundred men went in the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest…”  Quint, Jaws

It has been a very difficult year and a half. First, in November of 2014 my father died after a brief but excruciatingly painful fight with lung cancer which had spread to his bones. Almost one year later, last September, my wife died after a long fight with breast cancer which had spread to her lungs. And then only six months later, my dog died after a painful fight with a soft tissue cancer which had spread to his bones. One year, then only six months, part of me wonders what horror will befall us in three months. But I have to believe that the pain and suffering have ended now.  I can’t help but appropriate Quint’s quote to, “So, five of us went to Texas, three of us come home, cancer took the rest…”

Cancer has targeted my family for far too long now. I don’t want it to have any more power over us. My children have spent fully one-third of their lives living under the threat of cancer taking their mother and then their dog. Almost their entire teenage years, years difficult enough without cancer moving in to live with us, has been spent living under that dark cloud. They are 21 years old now and, in spite of these added pressures, will both graduate on-time from the University of Texas at Austin, each with over a 3.5 GPA. How they have been able to stay focused amazes me and is a testament to their strength of character.

I know people have had it harder than we have. I don’t claim to have a corner on suffering. And I am grateful for the seven years we were able to steal from cancer by moving to Texas and seeking treatment at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. I’ll never regret that decision. But if we could have a break from any additional pain for a short time, that would be great.

Each of us is dealing with these losses in our own individual manner. Certainly, grief counseling has helped, but we still face a world in which neither Lisa nor Delbow will walk with us any longer. We have had long discussions about faith, heaven, philosophy, and all of the accompanying topics. We disagree as much as we agree but the discussions are always lively and fascinating. I hope that we can each find some comfort in our positions.

Finally, there is the issue of moving forward. The house, already quiet from Lisa’s absence is now even quieter without Delbow’s rambling about. The kids are on spring break this week, so I have a respite before facing that still house alone. I now have six months of experience without Lisa and living alone. I hope this serves me well when the kids return to school. But before we know it, school will be over, graduations will have been concluded and we will be packing up for our trip back to Rhode Island. I hope it goes well and we can begin our new lives healthy. No sharks, no cancer.

Coming Around For Another Bite

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Two Novembers ago it took my father. In September it took my wife. Now it wants my dog. I hate cancer. Why won’t it leave us alone? I am reminded of the quote from Christopher Hitchens who, when confronting his cancer diagnosis wrote, “To the dumb question “Why me?” the cosmos barely bothers to return the reply: why not?” So it is with my family. And so it goes.

Susan Sontag warns us of anthropomorphizing cancer, but it is so easy to do. Without a face, your foe it is that much harder to fight. What made Jaws so powerful was that the animatronic shark kept breaking forcing Steven Spielberg to come up with other ways to present the omnipresent danger through the use of camera movements and ominous music. The unseen monster is far worse than the seen. So we put a face on cancer and try to fight it from the outside while it destroys us from within.

So now we are awaiting the results of the biopsy which will tell us if the tumor is malignant. If it is, we will be faced with the difficult decision of what to do next. At twelve years of age, my wonderful dog has already battled cancer twice, had both back knees rebuilt, and had his eye repaired in Chicago. He’s been through it all. And yet his only concern in life is that he loves us. We will be faced with the difficult answer to the question: for whom are we going to submit him to more medical treatment? If it is for him, we will proceed, cost be damned. If it is for us, we will need to regroup and face the ultimate question of when is more surgery, radiation, and recovery too much for him leading to the inevitable decision whether to put him down. But I’m ahead of myself. We need the biopsy results first. We’ve been down this road before and will make the right decision when we have all of the facts and in spite of the perturbations it will cause.

We will be forced to answer the tough question: for whom are we going to submit him to more medical treatment? If it is for him, we will proceed, cost be damned. If it is for us, we will need to regroup and face the ultimate question of when is more surgery, radiation, and recovery too much for him leading to the inevitable decision whether to put him down. But I’m ahead of myself. We need the biopsy results first. We’ve been down this road before and will make the right decision when we have all of the facts and in spite of the perturbations it will cause.

I hate cancer. Leave us alone. Even sharks need time to digest their latest meal.

Anger and Pain

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When I held Lisa, I knew that two inches below my embrace, inside her lung, was a demon bent on her destruction. And now she’s gone. The demon won. Now all I have are pictures that can’t kiss back, photos of her long blond hair I cannot tussle; the dimples in her cheeks are now flat, photo paper and ink. I know this is the nature of all living things: we live, we die; but being three weeks out from that painful night, the shock is still palpable. God, I miss her.

I am still lost; second-guessing my every decision. “Zerrissenheit” still reigns. I have grown to hate nights and weekends. The structure of work provides comfort. But each night and weekend feels like the four walls of the house are closing in on me, and I can’t stand the silence. The television is always on or, and if not, music is filling the void once filled with her laugh. When will I be granted a good night’s sleep? 2:00 a.m. seems to have some subconscious awakening charm on my slumber. After that, the thoughts of the empty place in the bed next to me overwhelm me in the silence and the dark, and sleep eludes me.

Someone told me that I will come to appreciate all of the time we had together and no longer begrudge the time cancer stole. Speaking from experience, I trust this individual, but I’m not sure it won’t come down to my personality and not time to transform this anger. Is it the well-adjusted individual who ultimately finds peace? If so, my keel is not keeping the ship upright. And I do not think I have the personality (or capability for forgiveness) to right the ship.

Elizabeth I, to the Countess of Nottingham said, “God may forgive you, but I never can.” At this point, I cannot forgive God. Of course, we can hide behind the old analogy that we (humans) are not wise enough to see God’s grand blueprint, but right now I cannot help but to think that either there is no God (which is less painful) or there is one, but who is either capricious or lacks the omniscience attributed by humans. If I am wrong, then I will follow Maurice Maeterlinck’s advice when he said, “It is always a mistake not to close one’s eyes, whether to forgive or to look better into oneself.” I will forgive God as I look into myself. But right now the only thing inside me is anger and pain.

Zerrissenheit

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Shattered FutureGive sorrow words; the grief that does not speak                                                         Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.                                                                              Shakespeare, Macbeth, IV, iii, 209

A very dear friend of mine gave me Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s book Gift from the Sea following my wife’s September 2nd death. It was a wonderful little book and contained a German word that accurately describes my emotional state: “zerrissenheit.” It is described as “torn-to-pieces-hood.”

The thing I am learning about grief is that it does not follow a linear path. One does not travel from one emotion to the next, leaving the first entirely contained in the rearview mirror. Rather, from minute to minute, I can wander from disbelief to acceptance to anger to sadness back to disbelief. This emotional whiplash takes a physical as well as an emotional toll. While I am back at work, my mind is not. This mental “zerrissenheit” manifests itself in a lack of confidence, second-guessing, a lack of focus, and sudden confusion. I was so much more confident when Lisa was here. I check my pockets a dozen times before leaving the house to make sure I have everything I need: keys, wallet, phone, etc.. In a word, I am lost.

And it isn’t that I don’t smile or laugh. I do. But so often I find myself reaching for my phone to text or call Lisa to tell her the joke only to realize that the call will never be completed again. I am having a hard time with the concepts of “never” and “forever.” I know that someday I will be glad for the time we had, but right now I am angry over the time that has been stolen (not to mention the time wasted fighting cancer when we should have been living our lives together). “Never” and “forever” are as daunting to me as the size of the universe is to a child.

It has been two weeks now, and the house is silent. I don’t know what the future holds anymore. We are taught to plan, to prepare as we enter adulthood. I did. This is not what I planned for; this is not the future I wanted. I am alone. My best friend was stolen from me. And while she would tell me to snap out of it and start living my life, this grief-triggered “zerrissenheit” is involuntary. I miss her so much.