A Mixed Bag

Most every day, on my way home, I get a brief glimpse of a bright red barn and a lovely new home under construction. It is in the rolling hills, with a stunning view. And I imagine, no, I know this is someone's dream home. They dreamed of the red barn, they wished, worked, hoped and loved this home, on this acreage, into existence. Daily it progresses, dreams to fruition.

Most days I get my glimpse and send good wishes and blessings into the universe for them. For their dream coming true. We see other's dreams come true. We see it in newlyweds, we see it for graduates, we see it in job promotions, in new babies, when people retire, those who travel the world. We see dreams come true. And, we may just have some mixed feelings. 

Life changes sometimes shatter our dreams. Just as life changes can also bring our dreams into reality. It's a mixed bag, this life we live. The view from the distance can be stunning, and perhaps it is. Or, perhaps it isn't as shiny as it looks.

I don't know how long the road has been for the people building this house. But I'd be lying if I didn't wish that was my house, my land, my dream come true. It calls to my country heart and touches on tattered dreams along the way. 

At this junction the temptation is to say, hey now. Look at how blessed you are, how lovely your home is. There are people who would love to have my home, my life, the luxuries of food, clothing, garden, employment, pets, personal freedom....you get my drift. I can be completely grateful for the life I live, and still wish for the house being built in the rolling hills. I can wish for someone to share the process and the end results with. I can even envy them a little. Owning it is the first step. I can plant one foot firmly in gratitude and the other in wishful dreaming with a dash of envy mixed in. That makes me a more honest me. But it also makes me wonder if I've used up all of my dreams come true. Time will tell. Please tell me I'm not alone in this.

So there you have it. A mixture of awe and envy. Both valid feelings. Part of life. So I give myself permission to own all the feelings, and to send good wishes into the universe as someone else's dream comes true. Especially when they include red barns and country homes. 

 

#outofthedarkness

Four years ago today life changed. One life died. Life after began. In the years since I've participated in several groups that support those who have lost someone to suicide. It has been eye opening and heartbreaking. Each story is different, only the end result is the same. None of us chose to be in a group like this. All of us are horrified to belong. Each of us are changed by it. Each of us suffers the loss daily as we try to rebuild a new life.

Some might wonder if there were signs leading up to his choice. Some were subtle, some not so subtle. He had lost a sister to suicide which doubled his risk. He'd had a stroke but was recovering well from it. Our marriage was failing. There was help available, help offered, our prayer community prayed for him, people reached out to him, medication was taken sporadically and then quit entirely. He denied that he was at risk. He mostly did not let on that he was lost and struggling. I knew of his struggle by the ways he took his pain out on me. We are sometimes most hurtful to those we care about. His family knew and reached out. Sadly, one cannot control another persons choice/actions.

In that darkness of his last day he met with his friends from the coffee cult at the Co-op. He did not let them know of his tenuous hold on life. He let himself into the house where the rage, pain and hopelessness overtook him. He expressed rage in the form of vandalizing the house with hateful graffiti written on the walls, art work, cabinets. He damaged personal items, he destroyed a list of daily gratitude's I kept. He shot a hole in the bath tub because he could. In a manner he shared his pain tangibly before he ended it. He expressed his last F-you. He called 911 and while talking to the dispatcher he fired his gun. There is small comfort in knowing he was not entirely alone as he completed his choice. 

In all of this I know he loved his children and grandchildren with his whole heart and soul. He loved his friends. He loved the Oklahoma Sooner's and the Steeler's, cigars, scotch, fishing, hunting and life in the country. He loved to shoot the shit with anyone willing to chat. He was an expert at that. He knew the pain of suicide loss and yet succumbed to it himself. He struggled with mental health and chose not to treat it. As a man, particularly, the stigma of that illness factored in. He didn't like doctors to begin with. He was not great at owning mistakes in life. And face it, we all make mistakes in life. We are humans who experience human moments of error, hurtful actions, painful mistakes. We all have opportunities to grow. We all have regrets.

Afterwards I clearly remember repeatedly saying "it didn't have to be like this". Trying to wrap my head around this new reality and the enormity of his actions.  I cannot stress this enough. It didn't have to be like this. If we are able to take one step toward mental health and suicide awareness let it be this. It does not have to be like this. It begins with one step, sometimes just one short phrase saying I am not okay. I am not okay is the most okay truth we can own. I am not okay is not a death sentence.  I am not okay is not a shameful thing to say. I am not okay is a life affirming step towards help.

Yesterday I attending the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Out Of The Darkness Walk. I stood with thousands of other grieving people who lost someone to mental illness. I stood for hope and for mental health. I stood for a man who suffered and lost the battle. I stood with the compassionate understanding that it is okay to not be okay. I stood understanding that life is hard, that we all suffer at some point in our life, we all make mistakes. Our challenge is to grow through our struggles. To be a light for others. To seek out the light when we fight the darkness. Speak of the darkness, own the darkness. Step out of the darkness. It doesn't have to be like this. Your life matters. 

Between Here and There

 A lot of life is spent between here and there. Here and there happens in relationships, on the job, on the road, in retrospect, in the future. 

This time of year I spend a lot of time between here, and there. There being the days leading up to my husband's choice to end his life. And, here, being where I am now. I have a journal I look back at to remember details of what "there" looked like at the time. Honestly, there was pretty ugly. It was worse than I realized at the time. Because I didn't know what I now know about mental health, about relationships, about making different choices. We look at the outside and think "they" have it all. You may have thought that about us. I may have thought that about us. What looks like all is not everything. Inside can be so very different. Our "there" would appall most of you, often it still appalls me. 

Which leads me to here. Here is what I make of it, being led by faith, sustained by people who love me, healing day-by-day. Here is building a new life. Yes, it takes years to build a new life. Building a new life means facing fears. Rational fears, irrational fears, and moments of anxiety. It involves leaving what you know and trusting you'll be okay. Case in point, I've been walking at a lovely park for almost a year, staying safely on the cement path. Surrounded by lovely hills complete with dirt walking paths I've been afraid of venturing onto. Why? Because I don't know where the path goes. Not knowing escalates my anxiety. It is hard to feel safe after experiencing trauma. 

Today, the dogs and I left the safe path and took the path unknown. Now, if I was more directionally gifted, I would worry less. I'm not that person. Still we meandered the path. Next time I'll even let myself enjoy it. I trusted my scant directional instincts and got us back to where I wanted to be. I did breathe a sigh of relief.

Here includes reclaiming my sense of adventure. Here includes building resilience. Here includes both honoring and letting go of the past. There happened, and one of us survived. I wish it was both of us. Here knows life is a process, sometimes pretty, sometimes painful. Here knows we have to push through to grow. We have to keep pushing. Between here and there may involve a dirt path. Take it. Then next time take it and let yourself enjoy it.

Messy Recipes

Last year I moved three times. Yes, it was a personal record, one I hope I never repeat or break. It was done with lot's of help, for which I am grateful. In the process and in retrospect, I discovered some regrets. I regret donating that bag of skinny clothes I never thought I'd wear again. Could have used them, however, there is an unlimited supply of clothing in the world. I'm not running around nekkid. I regret that life took me out of the country, but am happy it didn't take the country out of me. I regret thinking I would never need an appliance dolly or a wheel barrow again. Duh, what was I thinking? You don't need them often, but sometimes they come in dang handy. 

You know, when you move you are bound to lose something in the process. No exception here. It wasn't anything critical, like car keys. Or irritating like TV remote controls. Actually I could have dispensed with those for as often as I use them. What was lost, much to my regret, was my box of cookbooks. Yes, I'm from the era that used cookbooks. Losing that box bothered me. It was history that I cherished. It defined me as a young bride, a new Mom, a pot luck participant. It contained the only recipe for apple pie I could make with guaranteed success. Cookbooks can be a messy things. Sure there are pages of neatly typed and organized recipes. But there are also random pieces of paper, clippings from news papers, messy notes from a recipe shared in the office, cooking magazines. Recipes with my Mother's handwriting. Recipes I wanted to try but hadn't gotten to. There were church cookbooks, fund raiser cookbooks, and boozy recipe cookbooks. Life is not neat and tidy and neither are cookbooks. Sometimes you just have to touch them, feel them, share them and spill some ingredients on them. It adds to their value.

The missing books turned up when my daughter cleaned out her storage unit. We'd looked for them there. We looked twice, but they were hiding. We find what we need when the time is right. Not on our timeline, but when the universe and the good Lord wants light to shine upon them. Some of the best things in life will be lost, found, or are lying in wait. It's messy, it's frustrating, it's surprising and it's a delight when it comes into the light. Life is like that.