Grief @ MindSay 
death
About everything that's happened
In the past few days.
Never thought I wanted
To see your face.
I never thought
That I'd feel this bad,
When you were gone.
But apparently, I was wrong.
I've been hopelessly scared.
I never thought that I'd care about you..
What am I supposed to do now?
These emotions I feel for you
Are scaring the life out of me.
I never thought that it would matter,
If anything happened to you.
I never thought that I'd care,
Now I do and it's scary.
I don't think I'm falling for you,
I just wish that you were here
And I could show you
That at least somebody cares about you.
Now that you're gone,
Tell me this...How am I supposed to live without you?
This feeling down
Deep in my heart.
Is telling me
That if you were alive,
You'd and I
Would be the best of friends.
So many things are going
Through my head.
I never thought that I'd feel this way.
Now I fear it's too late,
To show you, just how much you mean to me.
What am I supposed to do now?
These emotions I feel for you
Are scaring the life out of me.
I never thought that it would matter,
If anything happened to you.
I never thought that I'd care,
Now I do and it's scary.
I don't think I'm falling for you,
I just wish that you were here
And I could show you
That at least somebody cares about you.
Now that you're gone,
Tell me this...How am I supposed to live without you?
I can't let go now,
No matter how hard I try.
I can't erase all of these feelings,
That I feel for you.
All you needed was someone,
To hold you and tell you
That it'll all be all right...
What am I supposed to do now?
These emotions I feel for you
Are scaring the life out of me.
I never thought that it would matter,
If anything happened to you.
I never thought that I'd care,
Now I do and it's scary.
I don't think I'm falling for you,
I just wish that you were here
And I could show you
That at least somebody cares about you.
Now that you're gone,
Tell me this...How am I supposed to live without you?
[repeat chorus]
I just want you to know,
Down here,
Somebody cares...that someone is me.
An argument over money with my brother. I need to survive on more than $20 a week. He refused to give me anything more than that. I made a list of everything I need to buy. It still didn't matter. My brother refused to budge. But it wasn't really about the money. After he spent more than a week very deathly ill with the H1N1 flu virus (scaring me half to death) I patiently waited for him to be well, waiting constantly by the phone for updates from him. When he's finally well enough to go out to eat, he's a complete sour puss, talking down to me, and flat out insulting me in front of strangers. He tries to apologize, but it gets under my skin.
I love to share my artwork with friends and I consider my brother one of my best friends, but after we get a table and sit down to talk, I pull out my sketchbook to show him my latest illustrated ideas. He scoffs at it and then asks, "Why do I have to look at this?" I almost break into tears. I scoff back with, "You're just like our other relatives, Star, not interested in anything I do. One day you'll regret that." He just gently tells me to shut-up because he's just gotten over the flu and needs silence. "This is why I didn't want to eat out," he says long after we've ordered food and sat down. I can understand being grumpy after being sick, but... my feelings get hurt anyway.
I hold back anything else I could say that would be nasty and maybe that's not such a good thing. Holding back hurt tends to build it up. So all my concern for my brother's well being and my eagerness to share with him after I'm happy he's well is shattered by his sour pussing put-me-downs. I begin to feel like if I can't have my brother's care and approval, how can anyone else really care about me? A dark cloud begins to overshadow the entire day. The more time I spent with my brother, the more he made it clear that spending time with me was a chore he desparately wanted to be over and done with. It's that kind of attitude that compells me to be an introvert.
Why does my family treat me this way? Why can't I have their support and love? Why don't they love my drawings and creations the way my friends do?
After we argued over the money (I have over $300 in the bank, mind you, enough to pay bills and have some fun) I literally exited my brother's car and took off for the hospital because an anxiety fit was coming on. It started to feel like the whole world was crashing down on me and the only place I felt safe was the hospital. By the time I got to the front desk I was sobbing so hard I couldn't articulate what I was going through. Even though I kept telling her not to fuss over me because I'm just depressed, the receptionist felt bad for me and walked me over to the ER. On the way, I nearly lost my dinner, throwing up half of it on the carpet and just feeling very pathetic.
I felt worse in the waiting area trying to control my emotions. There was a little boy nearby who was screaming and he paused when he saw me, an adult, weeping as bad, if not worse, than he was! I laughed while crying, mirroring my own, his eyes twinkled with tears and for a meek little second he seemed to crack a shocked smile back at me, as if his heart were pointing out to his mother, "Hey, Mom, I didn't know grown ups could weep worse than me!"
There's nothing worse than going to the ER for anxiety. Only a psychiatrist can handle you if you're mentally ill, a regular doctor on call at the ER can only pat your shoulder, so to speak. But it's better to have a breakdown in a hospital than it is to just go ape shit on the street. The doctor I did see had asshole bedside manner, making me feel like the anxiety is all in my head, but, hey, "take this pill and go home to relax" and once again I'm left feeling like a problem easily shook off his shoulders.
The nurses on staff tonight all had wonderful bedside manner and were happy to try to distract me from my weeping fit. One way to distract me was to turn on the television and watch the history channel! And the first thing I did with the meesly $20 my brother gave me was rent a few movies. It abates the loneliness and fuels my creativity, but I'm still left with the after taste of sorrow.
As I write this, I begin to figure out what else could be bothering me at this time. October is a month when a lot of violence and emotional break-ups happened to me in both my recent and distant past. The only joy I get out of October is Halloween and Samhain -- the dressing up, the candy, the horror movies that go on sale, and dreaming up ways to decorate my altar, creating spells, working out a list of things I'm thankful for and wish for, blahdee blahdee da! But no matter how much I put it in the back of my mind, my heart skips several beats and my body remembers better than I do what I have survived and I get all bent over with grief. I spend a lot of time in bed this time of year, making me feel all the more of a loser. What can I do to shake out of this?
For the time being, I'm making a mix CD of my favorite haunted house themed music and keeping my chin up believing that nothing can get worse now. Okay, so I have less than $20 to keep me comfy for the rest of the month, or at least until my brother (my payee representative who is the only person authorized to handle my finances until I'm deemed less crazy) decides to agree with me that I need more, so I should make the most of it, right? *grumbles*
Right now I want to just want Taco Bell for supper. I think that is what I'll do. I want to write more off my shoulders, but after re-reading midway through this post, I feel the need to end on a cheery note so friends don't worry about me. I don't often like to write out my feelings this much on my blog anymore. I try to make it a goal to post mostly my art and keep positive about the future. I ache to show off to myself, if no one else, that I am keeping productive, even though I'm not making money and feel the urge to push myself harder to submit my work to publishers. But the act of producing art has a way of keeping me sane and I don't need the rejection of publishers to take away the joy I get out of drawing. I want so BADLY to tell my stories and share my characters with the rest of the world because I really do believe you all will love them, so I create with much emotion, obsessing over details and taking a long while to form ideas and images, etc. Besides feeling sorry for myself, I really feel bad that I am not mentally and emotionally well enough right now to network.
Perhaps I just need to be a little more gentle and patient with myself?
fuck life
fuck this
why bother
The most right thing I ever felt turns out to be wrong.
I can't live with that.
I'm gone.
Program Date: September 25, 2009
Program Time: 2100 hours, Pacific
Topic: Joy after Tragedy
Listen Live:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/LawEnforcement/2009/09/26/Joy-after-Tragedy
About the Guest
Sharon Knutson-Felix has served as Executive Director of the 100 Club of Arizona since 2001 but her first experience with the 100 Club came several years before, in 1998, when Sharon’s husband, DPS Officer Doug Knutson, was tragically killed in the line of duty. She received a check from an amazing organization that’s mission was to support the families of public safety in times of tragedy, which she found out was the 100 Club of Arizona. Having been a recipient, Sharon truly understands what the 100 Club’s benefits, both financial and emotional, mean to a public safety family in a time of crisis. She has become a passionate advocate of the 100 Club since becoming its Executive Director and has been instrumental in its recent growth.
Sharon’s experience in dealing with public safety and her commitment to supporting its men and women position her as the ideal leader for this public safety non-profit. Since being elected as the Executive Director, Sharon has led the organization to create and launch six new benefits and programs, including the non-line of duty death benefit and the safety enhancement stipend program which provides equipment to public safety agencies in an effort to prevent or minimize tragedy. Yearly benefits given out have increased from $100,000 in 2001 to over $800,000 in 2008. Membership has more than doubled and corporate sponsorships have increased phenomenally, including securing the largest corporate sponsorships in the history of the 100 Club.
Before coming to the 100 Club of Arizona , Sharon served two years as President of Arizona Concerns of Police Survivors (COPS) which provides resources to help families of law enforcement officers who have been killed in the line of duty rebuild their lives. She has also served, and continues to serve, in many community support groups. For the past nine years, Sharon has been a part of the Arizona Critical Incident Stress Management Team (CISM), a group that provides emotional support for public safety officers (and their families) who have been injured in the line of duty so that they may continue to serve their community in a law enforcement capacity. She has also been a part of her church support group, Soulcare Ministry, for the past four years that provides a system of peer support for people in the community dealing with difficult issues and tough life decisions.
Knutson-Felix is also the author of the successful book, Gifts My Father Gave Me: Finding Joy after Tragedy that is part memoir and part grief advisor. Sharon is also a sought after speaker and grief counselor. She is the wife of DPS Executive Officer David Felix, the loving mother of two children, and grandmother of five grandkids.
About the Watering Hole
The Watering Hole is Police slang for a location cops go off-duty to blow off steam and talk about work and life. Sometimes funny; sometimes serious; but, always interesting.
About the Host
Lieutenant Raymond E. Foster was a sworn member of the Los Angeles Police Department for 24 years. He retired in 2003 at the rank of Lieutenant. He holds a bachelor’s from the Union Institute and University in Criminal Justice Management and a Master’s Degree in Public Financial Management from California State University, Fullerton; and, has completed his doctoral course work. Raymond E. Foster has been a part-time lecturer at California State University, Fullerton and Fresno; and is currently a Criminal Justice Department chair, faculty advisor and lecturer with the Union Institute and University. He has experience teaching upper division courses in Law Enforcement, public policy, Public Safety Technology and leadership. Raymond is an experienced author who has published numerous articles in a wide range of venues including magazines such as Government Technology, Mobile Government, Airborne Law Enforcement Magazine, and Police One. He has appeared on the History Channel and radio programs in the United States and Europe as subject matter expert in technological applications in Law Enforcement.
Listen, call, join us at the Watering Hole:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/LawEnforcement/2009/09/26/Joy-after-Tragedy
Program Contact Information
Lieutenant Raymond E. Foster, LAPD (ret.), MPA
editor@police-writers.com
909.599.7530
During that first year after her baby boy’s death, Danielle was numb. She had heard people describe feeling “numb” before and didn’t get it, at the time. She’d never been to a funeral in her life. Her son was her first. She had made it through the funeral. Had made it through packing up her child’s things. Made it through packing up their apartment where she was so happy. She had come into a new kind of existence. One of mind numbing depression. Going through the motions. That was all she could manage.
Thankfully she was numb when she had her miscarriage. She and Jack had agreed to their plan and Project Recovery was in action. In reality it was still too early for Danielle. She was excited about the prospect of a new baby. But in a desperate kind of way. Like after you’ve had too much coffee and you feel great. Alive. Motivated. But on edge. Caught between a scream of triumph and a scream of make it stop.
She found out she was pregnant right after the holidays. She didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving or Christmas that year. It was brutal. She thought she’d be celebrating Ben’s first Thanksgiving. First Christmas. She thought he’d be mashing potatoes and pumpkin pie into his face. She thought she’d be shopping for the first time ever for Christmas gifts for her own child. Not to be. She pretended it wasn’t November. Then she pretended it wasn’t December. But then January rolled around and she took the test. At the earliest possible moment. It was positive. She couldn’t believe it. She was too raw to be happy. Too jaded to be hopeful. And too scared to contemplate what happens next. Seeing the plus sign was bittersweet for Danielle. How could she not relive the moment she discovered she had Ben? 9 months of life and preparation flooded her mind. Followed by 9 months of death and desperation. It was too soon.
She wasn’t shocked when she started bleeding. It would take a long time for an event to have the ability to shock her anymore. She was used to bad things happening and really, in the scheme of things, this loss was nothing. In the state of depression she was in, she didn’t expect anything good to happen anyway. So that was that.
It took Danielle 6 more months to get pregnant again. She was in a better place. Not great. Not even good. But keeping her head above water. She had joined a SIDS support group and met 2 moms who had lost their first born to SIDS. They were each other’s life lines. They were the only ones who really knew how the other was feeling. Tracy was the veteran. She had lost her daughter 2 months before Ben. Rhonda was the newbie. She lost her daughter 3 months after Ben. Between the three of them, they survived. Somehow.
Danielle was ready for the plus sign this time. Time had given her a tiny bit of hope. A small glimmer of what might be. And she also had a plan. This time if something bad happened, she would end her life too. This plan wasn’t born out of melodrama. Not born out of sobbing, wringing of the hands, shell shocked grief. This plan was Danielle’s sigh of relief. She would never have to go through what she had been through ever. She had a plan. She had that scenario covered and could move forward.
Jack and Danielle’s friends at the restaurant were ecstatic for them. How exciting! A baby! Surprised that Danielle was with Jack in the first place. But who can judge? They were simply happy that finally something good was in store. A new chapter had begun. Everyone was ready. Ready to be done with not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to help. Finally something easy. Something they could all do. Be happy.
Danielle went to her first appointment right on schedule at 12 weeks. She’d made it through the first months and was cautiously optimistic that a baby might be born. She went to her appointment alone. Jack had to work. Danielle was slightly disappointed, but after all, this was her plan. So she sat in the stirrups and waited. The doctor had been apprised of her situation and was appropriately delicate with Danielle. She offered the right amount of acknowledgement and sympathy for Danielle and Ben and moved on. Excited about the new baby they would be learning about together. She proceeded to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. They listened intently. They moved around the stethoscope and listened intently. Danielle tried shifting positions and they listened intently. Nothing. No sound. No racing gallop of baby heart beat. Only the sounds of silence.
But the doctor assured Danielle not to worry. Maybe the due date was off. Maybe the baby was simply not in a good position to hear. But to ease Danielle’s mind because of what she’d been through, let’s just do a vaginal ultrasound. Just to ease Danielle’s mind. And let’s do it right away the doctor said. The doctor gave her a referral to another office that was equipped with the ultrasound machine. They were waiting for her. By this point Danielle was numb, again. She hadn’t really thought something positive could happen to her again anyway. She hadn’t really had her hopes raised. Not really. She prepared herself for the inevitable. No baby. Starting over. Again. People sorry for her. Again. People not knowing what to say to her. Again. People avoiding her. Again. Darkness. Again.
She climbed onto the table and the technician was all business. Danielle could tell by the eye contact avoidance that she knew. She knew Danielle’s story. Danielle feared she would forever be remembered as that poor woman who lost her baby. It was a small town. Everyone knew. She hated that everyone knew. She hated the invasion of privacy. She hated everyone knowing her business. She hated having to put on a brave face. Mostly she hated being “that poor woman”.
Within a matter of minutes Danielle lay in a darkened room, with a vaginal monitor inserted and was looking at a black and white monitor. Once the technician got the image she had been looking for, Danielle’s doctor was summoned to the room. Danielle had to wait. Alone. In the dark. She knew it was bad. Why else would they call in the doctor? She waited. Palms sweating. Reminding herself that she didn’t expect anything good anyway.
The doctor swept into the room apologizing for making Danielle wait. She confirmed the image on the screen. She looked down at Danielle and asked her if she could make out what she was seeing. Danielle answered she could not. The doctor pointed at some indecipherable image on the screen and told Danielle that was the embryonic sac. Right there was one. And right there was one. And there is one heart beat. And there is one heart beat. The doctor explained that the reason they couldn’t hear the heartbeat was because the sacs were on top of each other. Making it too dense to hear her twin’s tiny 12 week old hearts. She offered congratulations to Danielle and breathed a sigh of relief for herself. She didn’t have to give this poor woman more bad news. She printed the frozen screen, removed the monitor, advised Danielle to make her follow up appointment for next month and was gone.
Danielle got dressed and walked out of the clinic. In a daze. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t the plan. She could do one baby. She couldn’t do two. She knew enough to know she was now a high risk pregnancy. Something would go wrong. That was a given. The odds that her child would die of SIDS were not high, and he did. The odds that she would have problems in her pregnancy were high, hence “high risk pregnancy”. This wasn’t in the plan. But as we all know plans change.
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