Tag Archives: Failure

I See that you’re suffering; let me provide relief

“When all is said and done, killing my mother came easily. Dementia, as it descends, has a way of revealing the core of the person affected by it. My mother’s core was rotten like the brackish water at the bottom of the weeks-old vase of flowers. She had been beautiful when my father met her and still capable of love when I became their late-in-life child, but by the time she gazed up at me that day, none of this mattered.”

The first paragraph in Alice Sebold’s novel, The Almost Moon, hit me in the gut. A frustrated daughter relieves her mother’s suffering while also setting herself free from the pressures of caring for someone who no longer recognized her as her daughter.

But this is a novel. This is not real life. As soon as I finished the book, I sighed and silently asked the unthinkable, “When will we see a headline about a daughter ‘relieving’ her mother of suffering?”

And then this article appeared. Is that what this is about? When we see a mother-daughter murder-suicide in the news, alarm bells ring. I discussed this with Dak and these are our thoughts in his words:

 

It’s just one case, right? It’s not like this is happening all over the place. This is not an epidemic. It’s just a weird thing is what it is. It’s an isolated incident, that’s all.

And yet, there is a whole lot of mystery to this that opens out into many possible worlds. This story offers very little detail. The authors won’t speculate. This one will.

I can imagine reasons for this happening from many angles.

The mother had a dread disease and no one would listen to her except the daughter who decided to act to alleviate her mother’s pain and then couldn’t live with herself.

The tyrannical mother finally became weak enough for the abused daughter to overpower and kill. Then killed herself.

Sorrow at loss of being useful.
Sorrow for being a burden.
Without hope.
Interior demons hide in the dark and they look like competence to everyone else.
Despair. So many reasons for despair.
Why did she choose a gun?
A belief that there is a better afterlife.
The weight of living is too heavy.
Too much of a burden on the ones you love.
Too much of a burden on the country you love.
Loss of community to death, to convenience, to entertainment and long distance.

What are the solutions here? How do we feel when we read a story like this? I feel my mind reach out to try to comprehend what happened, but why? Do I think I might become a woman whose mother is still alive and have to face this situation myself? No. But I can imagine how it could have felt and I think it would have felt pretty bad. No matter what the story behind the people is, at least one of them was suffering and had no relief in life. We can moralize about her choice, but that doesn’t seem like a solution to me. I feel that it’s wrong to kill, but happy people have no reason to kill. A satisfied society is a safe society.

So these two…hey one of them lived to be 93. That’s some persisting. I don’t think people live to be 93 without figuring a few things out and my feeling is that she had a good way of coping with stress, one that worked. Her daughter made it to 60 and that’s saying a lot as well. (I know we’re not supposed to be impressed with how long we live now compared to the entirety of our previous existence, but I’ve been watching “Cosmos.”)

She was suffering and we were in no position to offer relief. I think the fear is that one day we will be suffering in such a way that we need help for relief and it doesn’t come, or it’s slow to come. What kind of help?

We seem divided from our heritage. We have social media instead of being social, and I think many of us are fooled into thinking that the two are equivalent. There will always be suffering, but what if we were so kind to each other and considered ourselves together as a body rather than individual and separated pieces that we all shared the suffering so it ceased being so awful to any one of us?

I think it’s easy to forget that there are solutions to our problems and they are going to be found whenever two or more of us gather together. Remember who told us to do that? Again here it is easy to get hooked into the story, but the story is alive in us. We are telling the story of ourselves right now. I know I’m not alone in preferring kindness to suffering.

Dak Gustal is a freelance writer and poet living in Randoph, VT. You may contact him at st.augustus@gmail.com

Not gonna be a Christmas Angel this year

Happy b-day Kari and Jesus003 - Version 2

1982 and my cake read “Happy Birthday Kari and Jesus”

It’s the holiday time. Oh goodie. Time to gather the family. Whether you like each other or not is irrelevant. We get together because we’re supposed to. Ads on TV and pictures in magazines of smiling, beautiful families (cast in the most traditional roles) surround us, and even though I yearn to be a part of those pictures, that is not my reality.

I worried at family gatherings that my mom would drink too much. I fretted that my sister would say something that would cause mom to cry. I brooded over the fact that, even though it was my birthday on December 25th, this day was not about me. Instead of birthday presents, I received Merry Birthday combination gifts. And they were never more special than what everyone else received.

Those feelings and memories seem so trivial when I consider what I have been given. But to a young girl, those memories created the limiting beliefs I now embody: “Everything will be alright if I don’t make a fuss or say what I want. My job is to monitor how others are feeling, to consider what, if anything, I need to do for them, and put my needs aside. (How selfish to consider my needs when there are so many other needs out there.) And my endless confusion over wanting special gifts but feeling that wish is selfish at the same time.” I’ve always figured I’ll deal with what I want later.

Later rarely comes when you’re taking care of other people’s feelings before yours. I scan a room and take the temperature of how others are doing. I then decide how I need to feel based on the feelings of others. Just writing this makes me realize how crazy this is!

So I’m stuck in stage one of “Emotional Slavery”: believing I’m responsible for the feelings of others. As I dig deeper into the work of Marshall Rosenberg on Nonviolent Communication, I begin to put more intelligent words to the feelings I’ve carried for years. If others aren’t happy or don’t appear happy, I am compelled to do something. To fix the situation at the cost of ignoring my needs.

This is what I learned being a child of an alcoholic mother. I learned to enter a room cautiously, to look for potential danger (generally disguised as a thermal glass that smelled of pine needles), and to either tiptoe past the room or engage in cheerful conversation about mindless things or cut myself down in an attempt to raise her self-esteem. As if I could.

I continue doing this today. Only now I do so with my partner. I measure his mood before I either share news of my day or stumble through an uncomfortable conversation because I’m not stating what I need; rather I’m attempting to “make him feel good.” Whatever that means.

This is a crazy making! And after doing this for nearly 50 years, this way of life feels so normal that even thinking of making a change scares the hell out of me. If I speak my truth, I will hurt others and will cause pain and will be a bad girl. So I skirt around my truth. I say, “I don’t know,” when I really do know what I want. If I am honest, people will think poorly of me, “How could she be so selfish?” I clumsily try to take care of myself, but more often than not I slip backwards into this dysfunctional normalcy that makes sense and feels familiar.

And why does this all have to come to a head at the holidays? Is it the darkness that draws me naturally to examine my interior? Is it the body memories of a sour stomach every December 25th as my mom, sister, and grandma reprimanded me for feeling sorry for myself? No doubt it’s that and knowing that once again, I enter the holidays with too little money, too little work, and an unsettled feeling about my role in the world. And I feel ashamed of feeling these thoughts. It’s the holidays, for criminy sakes; cheer up!

We have a placard on our fridge that reads, “Notice! The beatings will continue until attitudes improve.” Seems to fit with the ridiculous pressure many of us embrace in the journey to becoming “a better person.” I see the issues that need attending in my life. I uncover ugliness about myself. I read about healthy communication tools, which I clearly lack in my attempts to express myself. Instead, I understand expressing my needs as selfish. And once again I want to run away from the burden of being a conflicted “Christmas Angel” (as my mother named me) and go off to some deserted island and forage for my holiday dinner. At least that way, I wouldn’t put anyone in the awkward position of having to do something for my birthday.

Having struggled with these feelings for much of my life, I often feel that people are just plain sick of Kari’s issues. “Get over yourself!” I hear people say, even though their mouths aren’t moving. And if I could find that magic eraser to remove the etchings in my bones, I would have already cleared out the messages and moved on. But that is not where I am. I am, once again, facing a past that is messing with my present and clouding any future dreams.

I even played Jesus in clown worship.

I even played Jesus in clown worship.

It’s the holiday time. Whoopi. Even my attempts to decorate the house fall short of my expectations. I’m trying to embody advice from others (and advice I’ve been known to dole out): Be gentle. Be kind. Be real. Whether or not you choose to spend holidays with your family or feel you have no choice, be present to what is. I can recognize reality and not have to like it. Reality is what it is. And for this Christmas Angel, reality is that I am unsettled, restless, and searching. I don’t like it, but it’s where I find myself.

How about we not fight with ourselves this holiday season? Huh? I’m going to try to be present in the moments, accept and love myself as I am, and create pockets of time to meditate, do yoga, and hike outside in the cold. The best gift I can give my family, friends, and the world is to be healthy. Instead of being an angel this year, I will strive to be as real as I can, with as much kindness as I can muster.

Woman Dies While Nurse Calls 911

The lead sentence in a California online news source read: “A nurse’s refusal to give CPR to a dying 87-year-old woman at a California independent-living home despite desperate pleas from a 911 dispatcher has prompted outrage and spawned a criminal investigation.”

This is a tragedy. We need to dig deeper, however, to understand how this can happen. Did the independent living community have a medical arrangement with her? Read more »

We All Need Support On Our Caregiving Journey

I can’t take it any more!
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I feel like a failure!

Statements like these are what I routinely hear from family caregivers. We are not trained to do this job and yet we think we “should” be able to do it on our own. When we get frustrated and don’t know what to do, who do we turn to?

I’ve been developing the Unexpected Caregiver Support groups—so that family caregivers can meet once a week and understand that they’re not alone. In these peer-to-peer run groups, I have seen family caregivers let out huge sighs of relief and gratefulness, knowing that they share this journey with many others. That their feelings aren’t unusual or crazy. And in these groups they can speak their feelings and trust that what is said in the group, stays with the group. We have built little communities of trust.

When you’re giving care to a family member, it’s not uncommon for your past issues to resurface. All those unresolved issues of childhood come bubbling up to present day and you are stuck with an overload of emotions. What do you do with the feelings? Who will understand?

Caregiver support is crucial. You can receive one-on-one support from me or I can help you start a support group. Contact me. I’m here to help.