Rena: Mourning to Missing

 

A month and a half. It has been 45 days.

Not that I've been counting. Not in the literal sense, anyway. But when I started this post, that number at the top had been 3. It had been 3 days.

I wasn't ready.

Day after day, I changed the number and moved this draft to a further date on my posting calendar.

Friends sent me messages, asked if I'd be writing something. I told them the truth. I wasn't ready. 

I was starting to think I might never be ready. Maybe I couldn't do her justice, or maybe I just couldn't face it head on, the finality. But it nagged at me, the feeling that I would regret never having acknowledged her loss, paid tribute to who she was, and just how much so many of us have been cheated of experiencing with her in the future. So I set a date. Today. Forty-five days to gather my thoughts and do my best.

I've moved through some of the stages of grief, others linger. I'm not mad at her any more, but I can't get past the regret. The wanting a do-over. For her, of course, but for me too. Because I should have pushed harder.

Rena and I had been friends in the blogging world for about 10 years. She joined in almost all of the challenges I ran, but our bond was about so much more. We bounced ideas off of each other, helped each other with projects, shared our lives and our thoughts and our secrets with each other.

Rena died on March 18th. 

The day after she died, I posted our last conversations in a private FB group full of mutual friends.

I said:

{{Through the tears, I've given this a lot of thought and decided to share here because I know that in this group, Rena was loved and supported. She was a sharer, I believe she would have approved.}}

Friday morning 3/17:

Me: How are you this morning? Did you sleep?
Rena: Not too good last night, I had to cancel hip doctor, wasn't up to it. Very shaky and weak today.

Me: Low blood pressure?

Rena: Yes 80/68

Me: Did you eat?

Rena: Yes.

Me: Take it slow and easy. Did your doctor assess whether any of your anxiety meds could lower your blood pressure?

Rena: I'm going to doctor at 3 and I'm going to pack a bag for the hospital.

Me: I hope it doesn't come to that. Let me know what happens when you can.

Friday afternoon:
Rena: I'm at home. They pushed my oxygen up. He wants me to go back in the hospital.

Me: If he wants you to go back in, maybe you should. It will take a while to work out the right mix of oxygen and meds, and that is best done in the hospital where you can be closely monitored. I know you don't want to go, but think it through, talk to your husband, make a medically sound decision.

Rena: Probably go in the morning. We will see. That's exactly what he said. We had already packed a bag.

Me: I'm surprised you didn't go, I assumed you packed the bag because you planned to go if the doctor recommended it. I want you to just get this over with. Get the conditions under control, the meds and oxygen at optimal levels, and be able to move on. I don't think, if there are issues, you are better off at home, scaring yourself and scaring and stressing your husband. I think you're better off in the hospital until you are stabilized. Did you just not want to go today because it's Pat's birthday? I kinda get that.

{{it's eating at me, how much I want to take that last part back.}}

Rena: Yes, and it's cold and rainy. I was freezing and just wanted to get under my blankets. It's been pouring all day. Mostly because it's his birthday, and I know he's been waiting on KY to play tonight.

Me: Please take it easy.

Saturday morning 3/18:
Me: How are you this morning? Any decision about the hospital?

{{Rena died way too soon. But she died in her own home, in her own bed, and with the man she adored for over 30 years. That's going to have to be enough. Not today, but some day, for all of us who have loved her, that's going to have to be enough.}}

Rena and I talked almost every day. And the day before, we also had a conversation. One I'd like to finish now.

Thursday, March 16:

Rena: I'm concerned, my BP is 90/64 today.

Me: Be careful getting up. Did you call the doctor? Is the nurse coming in today?
Rena: No, I go to the doctor tomorrow. My daughter told me to eat something. I want to take a shower.

Me: I'd eat something, then wait a bit, I'm not sure standing in the shower is a good idea at this point.

Rena: I have a seat. I'm out now, it's up to 97/62.

Me: Better. Maybe you should leave something beside your bed to eat in the morning before you get up.

Rena: That's a good idea. Some club crackers or something.

Me: One of those packets of peanut butter crackers might be a good idea.

Rena: I hate peanut butter. Don't like chocolate, coffee, or cheese.

Me: What? I was thinking peanut butter for a bit of protein. Maybe get a package of individually wrapped protein bars that don't have any pb or chocolate in them. My son has an oats and honey flavor, but there are many other flavors too, just be sure they are the protein ones.

Rene: Ha, ha, don't like oats either.

Me: Who ARE you? 

She didn't answer, of course. She wasn't meant to. But today I'm going to try to answer for her. 

Rena was a woman of passions, her family was first and foremost. 

Alzheimer's awareness was another. Rena and I both lost a parent to Alzheimer's, but she nurtured, protected, and took care of her mother for years as Alzheimer's progressed inch by inch. Awareness was so important to her that she started the blog The Diary of an Alzheimer's Caregiver. 

The third was her mission to empower women through helping them spotlight their voice. She started a business supporting people in maximizing and perfecting their vision for their blogs. But more than that, if you weren't a client and had a question, she answered. Period.

Rena often told me I was her closest friend on line, but (to myself) I laughed, betting she said that to many people. Because Rena's superpower was supporting, spreading warmth, sharing her love with everyone in her world.

She had a moral compass that was unwavering, was furious about the division in this country, the state of our politics. But most of all, she was offended by the bigotry, the hatred, the lies, the abuse of power, the moral degradation and manipulation. And she ranted against it. Loudly. Often.

Rena was a genuine person, she worked hard to overcome, but never to hide, a painful childhood and a life altering accident as an adult. Despite physical limitations and emotional trauma, she made the choice to be a person who spoke the truth, grew and changed, helped where she could, railed against injustice. She shared unabashedly, reached out when she knew she was in needed, and returned the favor without question.

I grappled with whether or not to include a recipe today. But Rena, who confessed to not being a cook (and having inherited that from her mom), had, over the past few years, started to embrace the kitchen. And the garden. She was growing her own fruits and vegetables, more every year, and had started to see the fun in playing with recipes.

So for today I did decide to develop a recipe. Lemon Blueberry Crinkles. They're bold and soft, sweet and tart, complex and simple. My tribute to a friend who was all that and so much more.

Lemon Blueberry Crinkles

 

The day Rena's daughter offered me her sympathies, I broke a little. But I also broke through. 

I now accept that I will always miss her, may never stop saying to myself "oh, I can't wait to hear what Rena has to say about this . . ." Like trump's indictment, oh, how she would have loved that! But in order for me to do justice to our time together, to the memories and to the friendship, I need to stop associating those thoughts with pain, and accept them as the results of the gift of her friendship.

So, who was Rena? 

She was an empath. She didn't feel FOR you, she felt WITH you. 

Rena was a woman who loved with all of her heart. 

And I would know, I can feel it still.

Lemon Blueberry Crinkles         

                                                                                      ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:
6 TBSP butter

1 box lemon cake mix

1/2 tsp lemon zest

1/4 tsp lemon extract

2 eggs

1/4 cup blueberry jam

1/3 cup powdered sugar

Directions:
*Melt the butter. Set aside to cool slightly. Mix together the cake mix, lemon zest, lemon extract, and eggs, then mix in the butter.

*Whisk the jam to loosen it a bit. Pour over the batter and, using a knife, cut in, just until barely incorporated into the dough. Don't completely mix in.

*Enclose the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for an hour.

*Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cover baking sheets with parchment paper. Pour the powdered sugar into a bowl.

*One by one, using wet hand as the dough will be sticky, form the dough into 30 balls about 3/4 inch in diameter. Roll around in the powdered sugar, and place onto the baking sheets. Leave room, the cookies will spread.

*Bake for 12 - 14 minutes, until the cookies have spread and are set. Allow to sit on the baking sheet for 2 minutes before removing to cool completely.

 

 

Tender Trappings in Tiny Totes: Use Your Words

 

 

Today’s post is a monthly writing challenge. If you’re new here, this is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once. All of the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the recipient will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
I'm using:  tote full of kittens ~ scale ~ towels ~ pictures ~ toilet paper
They were submitted by Sarah of The Crazy Mama Llama.

                          

I told Sarah, I think I tell her every time as a matter of fact, that I always love when her word prompts for this challenge come in, they make me laugh. What I don't tell her is that I also, in my head, hear Mr. T saying "I pity the fool . . ." Because her words are really fun and funny, but they're also challenging (which, I suppose, is the whole point of a writing challenge). But tote full of kittens? Really? Smh, what the hell am I going to do with that? 

 

I guess we're both about to find out.

Lillian was actually middle aged, but knew she looked much older that day as she walked out of the grocery store. Grief will do that to you, tear at your looks. She didn't care. She used to pride herself in her appearance. All the pictures around her home bore witness. Stylishly cut hair, long curly lashes, a hint of blush and lipstick, matching purse and shoes. Not any more. It was all meaningless now. Everything was meaningless now.

Truth is, the only reason she was food shopping is because she'd given away all the "well meaning" casseroles. It's not like she could eat a whole one herself, and she refused all attempts to join her, to engage her in any way. She wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to talk, wasn't ready to be around people whose lives still had joy in them. She probably never would be. Jonathan had been the love of her life and he was gone. In a split second. Heart attack.

So here she was, buying, she thought, foods for one. Sustenance, nothing more. Looking down at the cart she was pushing out the supermarket door she saw a few bags, but honestly had no idea what she'd just purchased.

She looked up from her cart just in time, she'd almost bumped right into him. He seemed to have appeared right in front of her from nowhere, this strange little cherub looking man, carrying some kind of tote. As she stopped short, he reached into his bag and brought out a kitten. "Last one," he said, looking at her. 

 

 

"No," she wasn't trying to be harsh, she just wanted to be left alone, get home. "Actually, I'm a dog person," she lamely added. "That's OK," he calmly told her, "the kitten won't mind." "No," she repeated, but as she maneuvered her cart around him, he gently placed the kitten inside and began walking away. "NO," she yelled this time, not caring about harsh. She started to chase him but she was pushing a cart full of food, bouncing and scaring the kitten.

 

Furious, Lillian removed some towels she had in her trunk, loaded the groceries inside, then settled the kitten on the towels in her front seat. As soon as she put the perishables in the fridge and freezer, she'd have to go to the animal shelter and drop off the kitten. She couldn't even take care of herself right now.

She placed the towels with the kitten inside on the floor of her kitchen and got the groceries onto the counter but that was as far as she got. She lost it, eased herself to the floor and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. Nothing new, she was doing that a lot lately.

What actually was new was the kitten curled up in her lap when she stopped. A kitten she'd been petting, it seemed. And the purring appears to be what had finally calmed her.

Lillian wasn't sure at what point she'd decided to keep Val. Maybe when she finally gave in and named her, or maybe even, subconsciously, that very first day. But at some point she visited a vet and bought some essentials, so despite not knowing when, it was clear that she had.

It wasn't easy, the adjustment, but Lillian soon realized that even the curtains she had to rehang and the toilet paper she had to re-roll served a purpose. Each minute she dealt with a mischievous kitten was one that she was concentrated on something besides being locked in grief. 

 

It was a long process, months and months, but she even eventually even started to cook again. For the first time in a long time, she stepped on the scale and the numbers had stopped going down.

 

Orange Chili Shrimp 

 

Grief is fluid, it comes in waves. Val was just the company she needed, no longer feeling so alone in the house, but even considering being around people again remained unthinkable. She would still sink to the floor and sob now and then without any warning.

But the day came. Close to a year after she'd lost Jonathan, and after considering it for months, she'd decided to join a widow/widowers' grief group. Not join, she told herself, just try it. Once. For so long she'd hated the word widow, cringed when it even crossed her mind, knew she did not have the strength to hear others' stories similar to hers, felt she had nothing to offer them, fought against being one of them. But she was. And she knew it. Now she'd face it. She would go.

 

The meetings were held once a month at the local community center. She stopped just outside the door, took a deep breath, and walked into the room. With a tote full of kittens. Maybe she had something to offer them after all.

Wishing you all a Valentine's Day full of love, in any and all of its forms.

Here are links to all the other Use Your Words posts:

On the Border 

Wandering Web Designer 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom 

Climaxed 

The Crazy Mama Llama 

Orange Chili Shrimp        

                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

 
Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1/2 cup Thai Sweet Chili Sauce

1/4 cup orange marmalade

2 TBSP orange juice

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/8 tsp dried red chili flakes

2# large shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 green onion, sliced

2 TBSP toasted sesame seeds

Directions:
*Whisk together the Thai Sweet Chili Sauce, orange marmalade, orange juice, minced garlic and red chili flakes. Set aside.

*Spray a large skillet with non stick cooking spray. Heat to medium. Add the shrimp. Cook the shrimp completely, until they are pink and no longer translucent. Drain.

 *Stir the sauce into the pan with the shrimp. Cook for 7 - 8 minutes, stirring now and then so all the shrimp is completely coated.

*Sprinkle with sliced green onion and toasted sesame seeds for serving.

In the Process of Losing

Loss is a subject often discussed. Losing is not.

Loss is a permanent state of depletion. Losing is a prolonged torture. 

I've written about loss before. I don't make any attempt to define it because words are just not enough. Especially when it's new, but even many years later thoughts still have the ability to rip our hearts. Grief, at some level, is never-ending.

There are many kinds of loss. Sudden, no matter when it happens is always too soon. Expected. no less painful. I don't claim that one is better than the other. It all sucks, leaves us changed, in some ways diminished.

When we have had a loss, friends, neighbors, even acquaintances cocoon us. There are social and religious conventions that kick in, they come to our homes, bring meals, join in religious rites, call, text, email, send cards. Our community place their hearts with our as we take those first steps into grief.

Jamaican-Style Grilled Chicken

Going through the process of losing is altogether different: the cancer that took my brother and the Alzheimer's that stole my father were traumatic. On a daily basis. Having to watch someone slip away is nothing short of torture. 

Because when you are in the process of losing, you are actively moving towards loss. You know how this story ends, that agony is ahead. Your brain and your heart scream at you "turn back, don't go there" but the thrust forward is completely out of your control. You cannot turn back. You cannot even stop and catch your breath. 

And during these long, drawn out, devastating times we are not cocooned, we are book-ended. When that prognosis is first delivered we hear words of compassion and encouragement from friends, neighbors, acquaintances. Then, when the journey ends in the eventual loss, we are supported by all of the societal and/or religious rituals of mourning. But in between we frequently walk alone. By alone I mean as a family, of course, but they are as emotionally and physically diminished by the unremitting assault as we are. 

I have a friend, one I've never met, whose young daughter recently went through a year long cancer regime. Let me just say now that this is not a story of losing (well, a lot actually was lost, but not a life), her daughter is currently back home and in remission. But there is a correlation to be made through this example, and it's what got me thinking on these terms to begin with. 

When her daughter was first diagnosed, her family was surrounded with warmth and good wishes, hopes and prayers. And through that lifetime-long year, whenever she posted pictures or updates on social media they were met with an outpouring of love. I am many miles away, but I checked in with her privately on a regular basis, not only to see how her daughter was doing but ask about how she herself was coping. You know what she told me at one point? She said that she appreciated my checking in on a personal level, that I was one of very few who still did. 

I was shocked.

I do understand that when those around us are going through a long term crisis it is hard to reach out to them for a multitude of reasons. First of all, we fear we don't know the right thing to say, or what it's OK to ask. We are afraid of bothering them, that it's not the right time, or that they don't want to be forced to talk about their pain. Second, it brings us absolute terror. We put ourselves in their place and for even that one minute we just cannot deal, even hypothetically.

In many cases it's much simpler. It's that our lives go on, they are hectic and complicated. It's not that we forget what they're going through, we just don't focus on how quickly time flies by for us. But minutes, for them, move at once both excruciatingly slowly and with unbearable speed.

I'm not saying that those suffering through a prolonged period of losing don't have any support outside the family at all, of course they do. But between the diagnosis and the loss, it's not constant and consistent, it's spotty at best. And during this time it is not some level of compassion that's needed, it's all of it.

I have a few other friends, also ones I've never met, who are currently in the process of losing. I am committed to making sure that they are not just book-ended.

Because I now realize that if we have enough of a connection with a family to reach out at the beginning, and we know them well enough to support them in the end, then we should consider making the ongoing effort to be there to help fill the middle.

Jamaican-Style Grilled Chicken

                                                              ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:
4 bone in chicken breasts
3 TBSP vegetable oil
2 TBSP Jamaican jerk marinade
2 cloves garlic
1 TBSP brown sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cumin
1 tsp paprika
1/4 tsp red pepper flakes

Directions:
*Rinse chicken and pat dry. Place chicken pieces into a gallon sized resealable bag.
*Mix together all of the remaining ingredients. Pour into the bag with the chicken and massage to be sure that all of the pieces of chicken are completely coated. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours and up to overnight, turning the bag now and then.
*Heat the grill to medium and grill the chicken, turning once, until the chicken is fully cooked and the juices run clear.

Daddy's Girl

 

I took each letter out of the mailbox noting who every one was from, which were junk, which were holiday cards. And then there was the one that jolted me. I stuck it on the bottom of the pile in my hand, but the whole way into the house I knew it was there. And I knew what it was.

After the cards were hung and the junk mail trashed, it sat on my counter. And it sat.

From an attorney in my home town. Not a surprise really, or at least it shouldn't have been. I had, after all, returned from a whirlwind trip there less than a week ago. Just a legal formality, I shouldn't have opened it. I wasn't ready. But I did. And there it was. Filled in on the line labeled "Estate of". My dad's name.

Relationships are fingerprints. No two are alike. 

People who have lost a parent say that they know how I feel, and to some degree they do. And to a large degree they do not. Because although my new normal is that I have a parent who's gone too, to a great degree my loss is just so completely different from theirs. The fingerprint of our history totally unique.

On the outside, my dad was a successful man. He owned his own business, had a beautiful home along the reservoir, a successful marriage, went on fun vacations.
 
What was on the outside was not what was on the inside.

Cherry Cola Cookies

Dad's core was shaped by his upbringing. He grew up poor, with a mother who was pushed to her limits and with no real male role model. From what I hear his father had diabetes, was diagnosed so late that he had gone blind from it. He spent his life on the couch feeling guilty for not providing for his family, for being a burden. He was a broken man.

My grandmother was resentful. She had to work at a time when women really did not. She also had 2 children to raise, a husband to care for and special meals were required. She had to be constantly exhausted, completely spent.

When his father died, my dad was in the service and on a boat to Europe. He was sent home where he arrived after the funeral.

Looking back, it seems to me that dad really sort of raised himself. Bonding wasn't something he learned to do, relationships were not his forte. Money was an issue, anxiety, a way of life.

Dad had help along the way, but he also helped himself. He joined the service, went to college at night while married and, with help, started his own CPA firm. He even, years later, while running a successful business, went back to get his Master's Degree in Taxation. He also was able to join with my uncle in real estate ventures. And he spent time serving his community as a member of the town Retirement Board, advocating for public retirees for over 30 years.

And, third time's the charm, married successfully. A marriage that saw him grow as a person in ways I would never have thought possible. 

My relationship with dad was close, not as most people would define close, but in the only way he was capable. He was defined by his personality but, I believe, severely limited by his upbringing. Money was always an issue. He was generous if it was on his terms, unsolicited. Like the day I came home with my brand new driver's license to find a car in the driveway. And not just any car, a convertible.

But, even though I'm not one to ask for help, whenever I did go to him he wouldn't say "no" but whatever I needed, I always got less.

We had ups and downs. There was so much I'd have loved to have talked out with him, so very much unresolved in my mind and heart. But dad wasn't one for emotion, baring souls, heartfelt conversation. I always thought "some day, maybe" until Alzheimer's robbed us of that possibility. By the time I knew that it would be too late, it already was.

But I was always "daddy's girl". Despite the limits of the relationship, that was never in doubt.

Weeks later it came. No fanfare, just a plain envelope. With a check inside. Not even an explanation, his name not mentioned. But I knew what it was, dispersion. The ledgers had been reconciled.

The fingerprint of this relationship remains on my heart, which also harbors ledgers that all the money in the world cannot reconcile. But where there remains unconditional love. 

Which I know was returned.

I miss you, Dad. I always will.

Cherry Cola Cookies

                                                                          ©www.BakingInATornado.com
 
Printable Recipe

 
Ingredients:
1 1/2 sticks margarine, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup cherry cola, room temperature
1 tsp juice from cherry jar
1 egg, room temperature
2 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
36 maraschino cherries

3/4 cup powdered sugar
2 TBSP plus 2 tsp cherry cola
1/2 tsp juice from cherry jar

Directions:
*Reserving 1 1/2 tsp of the juice, drain 36 cherries, gently pat them dry and allow them to sit on a paper towel.
*Beat softened margarine, sugar and brown sugar until smooth. Beat in 1/4 cup of cherry cola, 1 tsp of the reserved cherry juice, then the egg.
*Mix in flour and salt.
*Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate about an hour.
*Remove dough from the fridge. Dough will be sticky, so use wet hands to roll into 36 balls. Flatten each with your palm and carefully work a cherry into the center forming a ball again, with the cherry completely enclosed. Place back in the fridge for 1/2 hour.
*Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Cover two baking sheets with parchment paper.
*Bake for 22 minutes. Allow to sit on parchment paper ubtil cool.
*Whisk together the powdered sugar, other reserved 1/2 tsp of cherry juice and the 2 TBSP cherry cola. If needed, add more cola, 1 tsp at a time until you have a thick drizzle topping. Drizzle over completely cooled cookies. 
 

There is no Box

Family has become such a fascinating concept. Especially at this moment in history. There are all kinds of families, no limit to who we consider our family, they are a living, breathing, ever-changing entity. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mine is a bit complicated. It's had great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, sisters, spouses, children, all the usual cast of characters.

But mine has had a few more additions too. Subtractions as well. My home(s) have had walls, but also a bit of a swinging door.

My parents divorced when I was in my teens. Both remarried and were able to find the loves of their lives. It wasn't each other and that's OK. I'm just so grateful that they moved on to people who made them happy in the long run. I've had a step-father, step-mothers, step-brothers and a step-sister all come through that swinging door and into my life.

But for me that door has not just swung in, but also out.

After my parents divorced and before my dad married for life, there was a second marriage. Marla (not her real name) was young, brilliant, funny, scatter-brained, and full of life. She had a little orange 2-seater convertible and I still picture her zipping around in that thing with a big smile on her face. Marla had a little girl, Kathryn (not her real name either). Kathryn was sweet, very quiet and reserved. I lived with them over a summer and would take care of Kathryn while Dad and Marla were at work. I have fond memories of this time, even though it did end.

After the divorce I didn't have occasion to see Marla and Kathryn. There was no animosity, just everyone going their own way. I went off to college. Marla remarried, as did my dad. I ran into Marla once, many years later, at a mall. We stopped and chatted for quite a while. It was great to see her, to hear about Kathryn, to catch up.

Many, many, many years later, Kathryn and I both grown and married, we found each other on Facebook. I was so happy to see her, see pictures of her mom, her business, her husband, her life, how she had turned out. She was an outdoor girl, she'd summited Mt. Kilimanjaro! We had both moved from the East Coast to the middle of the country, one state apart. We spoke through Facebook status and also through private messages.

Until the day she disappeared. I knew her marriage was ending and I know a lot of people disappear from social media during tough times. I'd wait her out, she'd be back.

But well over a year passed and she wasn't. I thought about her, looked for her, worried about her. Her business has a website, I could have tried to contact her through it, but we were peripheral in each others lives so I didn't.

I didn't.

Regret is caustic.

The text came from my sister last week. She and Kathryn had friends in common so my sister got the news. Kathryn was gone.

I exploded in tears. So overcome I almost missed the rest of the message. Suicide.

Most of you know I lost my dad in December. The fallout has been enormous. There's not just the loss, there are all of those other pieces; coming to terms with the relationship, hurting for my step-mother who's alone now, so much to reconcile or to accept will never be reconciled. I could lose my mind, I really could.

In those moments when I just cannot take any more, I lovingly place that loss into a box. Not to forget it, not to refuse to deal with it, just to give myself a short break. It's self-preservation, really. I have just the box, the "generations before me" box. We lose generations before us, we don't dwell on it but we've always known it would happen. My great-grandmother, grandmothers, grandfather, step-father and now my dad. It's a well worn box. Filled with love and memories. Never completely closed because my memories often open it.

And there's the "cancer sucks" box. These days it seems we all have one. My step-brother Peter died way too young and just like any other loss, it provided me a way to deal in bits and pieces. An emotional time-out now and then.

But suicide. There is no box for this, not even an empty one. I cannot find a place to put this.

I do not know how things got that bad, I don't pretend to know Kathryn's demons. I do know that she had passions: the outdoors, her dogs, her business and volunteer work, hiking, biking and snowboarding. I wish they had been enough to sustain her through whatever she was going through. What little I know about suicide, it can be the result of so many things; mental illness, chemical imbalance, temporary or long term physical or emotional pain. It can seem, in moments of desperation, like the only escape from overwhelming despair. Suicide is an act of finality, a desolate act.

It is that desolation, the fact that someone I still picture as the little girl in pig-tails waving to the camera at the end of that long driveway was hurting to that degree, that is haunting me.

And even more than that, I am heartbroken for Marla. I mourn Kathryn's loss as a person, a former step-sister, someone who had meandered in and out of my life. All nothing compared to what I imagine Marla must feel. Every time I shut my eyes, every time I turn my head, every time I take a breath in, let one out, I put myself in Marla's place. I keep frantically trying to jerk myself away from that level of excruciation, but I can't. My eyes are swollen, my face is chapped, but I am unable to shut off this damn mom-empathy switch.

I just cannot.

So I am resigned to crafting a box, Kathryn. It is for you. It will be as beautiful as you were. I will take out the memories from time to time, this I promise. But I will also tell you now that it will be small. Because, so help me G-d, I cannot ever have to put another soul into the suicide box. Ever.

I am so sorry.

PS: If you are considering suicide, please reach out. There are people who love you, places where they know how to help you. You are not alone.

    If someone you know may be contemplating suicide, please reach out. You may not be able to impact the situation but try. After all, we are not responsible for the actions of others, but we are responsible for our own.