Thanks to everyone who left prayers for Dad on my Facebook page yesterday, and thanks to my sister-in-law Robin for dropping everything to watch the kids so Erin and I could go to the hospital last night.
Mood music:
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Dad had emergency surgery last night for a malfunctioning heart. In the end, it turned out the heart was pumping fine, but that the blood has nowhere to go. All but one artery is blocked, as it was explained to me. There’s not much they can do about that because of his overall health right now, so once he’s up and about the doctors will manage it as best they can with medication.
Dad’s a stubborn one, and I can see how it’s rubbed off on me over the years. He’ll overdo an activity when his doctors tell him to take it easy. He’ll eat things he knows he shouldn’t eat. He’ll get schemes in his head and won’t listen to anyone once he sets his mind on something. Like father, like son.
When you’ve had two or more strokes like he has, that behavior is all the riskier.
As infuriating as it can be, I have to give the man credit: He’s not willing to let physical disabilities keep him down. He keeps pushing, and that’s admirable.
With everyone’s continued prayers and good vibes, I think he’ll be back on his feet before long.
I felt very loved yesterday as we celebrated my 42nd birthday. Erin and the kids got me a guitar and practice amp, and we had an afternoon of grilling and enjoying the sun with some of my closest friends. My father was there too, but he wasn’t looking well.
Mood music:
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Dad sat on the deck with his eyes mostly closed and kept dropping his water glass. When I was helping him out of his seat, he almost fell back. This morning my sister and stepmom called to tell me he’s now in the cardiac care unit of a hospital in Boston, with lungs filled with fluid and a heart with beat way out of tune from where it should be.
This is life in one’s 40s. You’re still young enough to lap up all the life around you, but you also have to watch your parents turn into the constantly sick people your grandparents were.
That’s not the universal way of things, obviously. But when I talk to other friends who are now in their 40s, you hear a lot of the same stories.
I don’t see it as something to be pitied for. It’s a part of life. My father hasn’t always taken taken care of himself, and he had a couple vicious strokes last year, which means life is spinning a little faster and more erratically these days.
I think Dad will come out of this all right, and frankly I think this is better than if he’d had a stroke. Dad has worked hard to regain his ability to walk, see and swallow, and he has made significant progress. Another stroke could have wiped out all that work.
I think he’s simply been pushing himself too hard. He doesn’t like sitting around at home all the time — a trait I inherited — so he’s been pushing himself into projects that require more energy than he has many days.
It sucked seeing him that way. But I’m glad he was here for my birthday. He got to see his grandkids and get a break from the monotony of therapy and limited movement. As shitty as he felt, I think that was good for his soul.
Thank you all for the birthday wishes yesterday. It was a real ego boost, which we all need from time to time.
As sad as it made me to see my father hurting, it was a very good day.
The headline is a bit misleading. The kids had the summer off, but Erin and I were as busy with work as ever. Still, we did a lot of summery stuff and, with the kids back in school next week, I thought a recap of our experiences and what I learned from them might be useful.
Mood music:
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We escaped to the coast three times for camping, using one of my father-in-law’s campers. We started local, in Salisbury, Mass., then went to Old Orchard Beach in Maine twice.
Camping was a learning experience for me. I wouldn’t have done it six years ago, when everything scared me, and I’d freak out over every mosquito bite and every speck of dirt. There’s a lot of dirt on your average campground. It turned out well, though. I described the mental health lessons in “Camping? Don’t Let Fear and Anxiety Ruin It for You.”
Duncan broke his arm — again. He and Sean were horsing around on my bed and, as the saying goes, shit happened. The damage was less than his previous break, and he was out of the cast after three weeks.
The day I took Duncan to get the cast off, we were told that because of a scheduling snafu he had to come back the next day. I talked them into doing it that day anyway, but we had to go from Waltham to Boston to get it done. The route was jammed with traffic. That would have melted my brain and sent me into a fit of rage in the past, but instead I kept calm, turned up the rock ’n’ roll and got it done.
Sean went away to Boy Scouts camp for a week, which was a mind-bending experience for all of us. It was weird having only Duncan around, but we made the best of it, and Sean had a good time at camp. We could tell because of the dirt on his legs, the debris in his hair and the smell wafting from his sleeping bag. A few years ago I would have been a panicked mess, worrying about him getting injured or worse when I wasn’t with him. But thanks to years of therapy and the boost provided by a couple of antidepressants, I got through the week just fine, and got some great one-on-one time with Duncan in the process.
Erin got a few days off here and there, but her writing and editing business kept humming along. She’s got a much better handle on the work-life balance than she had in the beginning, thanks in part to a great therapist, and we’re very proud of her.
Erin and I got in some good quality time this summer, too, seeing a couple plays and getting some alone time in Newburyport, Portsmouth and Gloucester. We’ve also been religious about taking evening walks together, which has become one of my favorite parts of the day. After 14 years of marriage, we decided earlier in the year to take stock in where we were at and improve upon the things that needed improving. Like any marriage, ours is a work in progress. But, boy, do I love the work.
As for me, I had an eventful trip to Las Vegas for a hacker conference, struggled a bit with my recovery program and got a renewed hunger for making music. Despite getting badgered by my addictive impulses, I’d say it’s been a good couple of months. I made it through Vegas without binging, and have at least realized that I have to get over my rebellious feelings toward OA and get back with the program.
Life will always have its ups and downs, but if you can learn from it and change for the better, it’s well worth it.
The wedding I wrote about a few days ago has come to pass, and it was a great night. Everyone got along, which isn’t always easy in this family, and it was great to see the newlyweds look so happy. It was also a night where a few people defied my expectations.
Mood music:
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Two people I was certain wouldn’t talk to me came up and greeted me warmly. Another couple we haven’t seen in six years greeted us warmly, too. One person, probably the oldest family member in the room, snubbed me, which was a surprise based on our last encounter.
Just goes to show that people are rarely predictable.
It sucks that some of the relationships in the room are damaged. Nobody ever wants it to be that way, but sometimes perfectly good individuals find it impossible to talk to each other without fireworks going off. What looks like something normal or positive to one person comes off as selfish and malicious to the other person.
To some of the bystanders in the room, it just doesn’t make sense. Like Rodney King during the L.A. riots 20 years ago, they ask aloud, “Can’t we all just get along?”
If only life were that sensible.
In the end, though, it’s good to see that people can defy expectations. Whether the outcome is pleasant or not, it goes to show that the future is never set in stone and family discord doesn’t have to last.
It’s been said that with love all things are possible. It’s true.
It’s also true that all things are possible when people who don’t get along make it through an event without coming to verbal or physical blows.
I’ll admit it: I’m something of a black sheep in my family. There’s a large chunk of family I have little to no communication with. But sometimes big events require us to be together in the same space, like a wedding this coming Saturday. What to do?
Mood music:
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I’m thinking about this because the family member I’m most estranged from sent me a Facebook friend request yesterday. Since she unfriended and blocked me a few months ago, pissed to the gills over this blog and some of the memories I’ve shared here, I decided to decline the invitation. I really don’t need to hear the same old bullshit about how this person is the victim and how my recollections are distorted.
But Erin, the kids and I still have to share the same space with this person on Saturday, so I’m thinking a lot about how we should conduct ourselves. In the process, a survival guide is forming in my head. It is in no way scientific. It may not even work. But it’s what I’ve got so far.
Smile and say hello. Sure you can give your estranged loved one an icy stare and cold shoulder, but all that will do is throw tension in the air for everyone to bathe in. That wouldn’t be fair. I despise people who let their selfishness wreck someone else’s special occasion. Just smile and say hello. You don’t have to have a conversation. Just be cordial when face to face. My extended family deserves some credit on this score, because at a wedding over the summer everyone behaved. I think it’ll be the same this time.
Don’t stare. If there’s one thing I hate at family gatherings, it’s when people stare at you. I’ve been stared at during all kinds of family events involving all sides of my clan. It leaves me wondering if I have potato salad in my beard or a hole in my pants. I can’t stop people from staring, but I’ve decided not to stare back. Staring contests never end well.
Find a buddy. No matter how many people you’re not getting along with, you can always count on finding a few people you are getting along with. Instead of staring at others, find the family and friends you get on well with and spend your the time talking to them.
Don’t linger if you’re uncomfortable. Some would say it’s rude and selfish to be the family member who leaves the event early. I disagree. If you linger and your comfort level is stuck in the low setting the whole time, it’ll show in your body language and the people around you will feel it. Why do that to them? When that’s the case, gracefully remove yourself from the scene.
Yesterday I watched the “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” documentary, which focused heavily on how his addictions maimed him and his family over four decades. Though my addictive behavior pales by comparison, it still struck a chord.
Mood music:
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What hit me deepest is how Ozzy finally decided to get real sobriety after his son Jack had kicked drugs and alcohol. It took his son to show him the light.
There’s a similar plot in the recent comeback of Van Halen. Armed with the knowledge that he’d be able to make music with his son if he cleaned up, Edward Van Halen finally got sober a few years ago.
The son showing dad the light theme is an old one. It’s the whole “Luke Skywalker helping Darth Vader find his good side again” story. Only in the real life examples, the fathers get to live after having their epiphany.
In the documentary, we see Ozzy changing into a different, crazy person who continuously brings heartbreak to his family — especially his children. The daughter from his first marriage is asked point-blank if he was a good Dad. Her answer is a simple “No.” We learn — though it’s not really a surprise, given how incoherent he was in all the episodes — how his alcoholism was at its worst during the run of “The Osbournes” and how his youngest kids started using in that period. Finally, we see his son Jack deciding to clean up, inspiring his father to do the same.
Like I said, my addictive personality didn’t come close to the levels of Ozzy Osbourne or Edward Van Halen. But it was bad enough that I can relate to things like being useless on the couch when my kids needed me. I was never that way all the time, and I’ve been a pretty active Dad more often than not. But I am guilty of those bad moments.
But what I relate to most is how it took becoming a parent to drive home the need for me to be a better man and reign in my demons — the OCD and addictive behavior that was a byproduct of constant fear, anxiety and exhaustion.
It wasn’t an instant thing — Sean was almost 4 and Duncan was was barely 2 when I realized things were not right in my head — but the cattle prod was definitely my hunger to be a better parent.
So yeah, I have to say I’m inspired by these rock n’ roll stories.
There’s a saying on Facebook that depression isn’t a sign of weakness, but simply the result of being strong for too long. Somewhat true — though weakness does feed the beast.
Mood music:
I’m feeling it this morning.
I’ve always taken a certain level of satisfaction from my ability to stay standing in the face of death, illness, family dysfunction, depression and addiction. Sometimes, I get an over-inflated sense of survivor’s pride.
People love to tell you how awesome you are when you emerge from adversity stronger than before. The victor is placed on a 10-foot pedestal and life looks hunky-dory from up there. But it’s only a matter of time before the person on top loses balance and crashes to the ground.
I’ve fallen from that pedestal a bunch of times, and my ass is really starting to hurt from all those slips off the edge.
All this has me asking the question: How much can you blame depression on being strong too long when many times it comes back because the victim has been weak?
I don’t think there’s a precise answer. I only know this: I feel like I’ve been trying like a motherfucker to be strong 24-7. But I don’t seem to have the fortitude to maintain it, and I give in to weakness.
In the past, that weakness would involve indulging in food, alcohol and tobacco until I was too sick to function.
Today, the weakness involves getting angry and self-defensive and distant at the drop of a hat.
For all the progress I’ve made in managing my OCD, there are still moments where I go weak, put the blinders on and do some stupid things.
It’s the compulsion to keep staring at the laptop screen when one or both kids need me to look up and give them some attention.
It’s stopping in the middle of a conversation with my wife because the cellphone is ringing or someone has pinged me online.
It’s spending too much money on food and entertainment for the kids because it’s easier to me at the time than cooking the food myself and playing a board game with them instead.
I’ve been working double-time at bringing my compulsive tendencies to heel, going through some intensified therapy. The short-term result is that I’m an angrier person than I normally am.
My therapist made note of that anger at our last meeting. The trigger in the room was him taking me back to my younger years in search of clues to present-day debacles. I thought I was done with sessions like that five years ago.
But I’m learning that the road to mental wellness is not linear. It goes in a circle. It’s like driving to the same place every day for work. The drive to work and back is a loop of the same landmarks, the same traffic patterns and the same behind-the-wheel thinking sessions.
I’m learning that managing my issues is going to involve frequent trips back and forth from the past to the present. This pisses me off. But I know I have to keep at it.
I guess I’ll always have my weak moments because of the events that shaped me. But you can still be strong throughout it, learning to regain your footing more quickly and being better at the kind of discussion with loved ones that prevents endless miscommunication from adding up to a mountain of pain.
I don’t know when I’ll truly reach that level of strength. But for now I’m leaning hard on all my coping tools, including the music and the praying.
Today is Sean’s 11th birthday, and we’re all very proud of him. In honor of this special day, I share with you some of my favorite Sean-isms.
Mood music:
–Heard in the bathroom: Sean singing to no one in particular, “Your butt’s too big to be real…”
–Me: “I missed you Sean. I love you.” Sean, staring intently at the drawing he’s working on as I tell him this: “Dad, go get me a pencil”
–Sean, grousing about his loose pants: “This is ridiculous. If Eve didn’t eat that stupid apple, I wouldn’t have to worry about pants!”
–Sean, explaining The Prodigal Son to Duncan: “If there were a third brother, he would have just sat there chilling out, taking it all in.”
–Sean-ism of the morning: I learned Australian in second grade. It’s my second language.
–Sean, exasperated that Duncan is running around sans pants: “For Pete’s sake, Duncan! You’re a lot of work.”
–Sept. 23, 2010: I feel a strange sense of satisfaction for a Dad who was just informed by his oldest that “You are ruining my life.”
–Sean: “Babies come out the you-know-what” Duncan: “Gross. Why’s that?” Sean: “That’s just the way life works.”
–Sean, in response to me telling him and Duncan to do a chore: “Dad, if you’re trying to annoy us, it’s not working.”
–Me to Sean: “You’re so stinkin’ cute.” Sean to me: “You’re so stinkin’ ugly. No offense.”
–Sean, noticing the Greek Orthodox church we were driving past: “Gee Whiz! I didn’t even know Greek Mythology was still around!”
–Sean, trying to coach Duncan through a Star Wars game online: “Oh, for crying out loud Duncan… USE THE FORCE! USE THE FORCE!”
–The Sean-Duncan Star Wars feud takes a dark, stinky turn: Duncan says Sean keeps calling him Sen. Poopatine and he wants me to punish him.
–Bathtub chatter: Sean: “Cheese is your favorite food, right Duncan?” Duncan: “Of course.” Sean: “I read they’re gonna stop making it soon.”
–Sean’s take on his grandfather (my father): “I’ll tell you what, Duncan. There is nothing we can’t get him to do.”
–Sean, growing impatient with the DC-to-Boston drive: “What state are we in besides a state of confusion?”
–Sean: “Can I have more computer time?” Me: “No.” Sean: “Wow. That was unexpected.”
–I have a ZZTop concert streaming on the laptop while I work. Sean takes a look and asks if the guitar player is “that @jack_Daniel guy.” (Jack is a heavyweight in the security industry who looks a lot like Billy Gibbons from ZZTop)
–Sean’s Lament: “My workbook project calls for a mural about compassion. Much to my dismay, it makes me want to barf.”
–Sean just proclaimed that my iced coffee looks like cow manure with ice cubes on top.
–Sean: “One of the things I really love about Gramma and Grandpa is that they’re so disorganized.”
–Sean just kicked my ass at 3 games of checkers. Now he’s trash-talking me. My revenge will come later, and it will be spectacular.
–Sean-ism of the day: “Thank God for Dunkin Donuts. There’s always one along the road when you really need to use the bathroom.”
–Bad Sean joke #452 … Sean:”Why did the cop wrap the crook in tinfoil?” Me: “I dunno. Why?” Sean: “Because he wanted to foil the crime.”
–Sean: “I’m looking forward to seeing the White House tonight. Good food there.” Me: “We’re there for a tour, not dinner.” Sean: “Oh well.”
–Sez Sean, because I didn’t look at his computer game fast enough: “C’mon Dad, what’s more important, your son or your Blackberry?”
–Sean, fighting with Duncan: “My life was pretty good till you came along.”
–Sean scolded me for killing an ant cause “They’re God’s creatures.” Then he found one on his Lego sets, and now he wants all ants dead.
–Sean’s description of Duncan’s breath: “Like a cat climbed in your mouth, peed, pooped and died.” His breath was just as bad.
–Sean hasn’t stopped laughing since I told him Bun Bun — the Whites’ dwarf hamster — got caught in Sam’s closet and crapped everywhere.
“You are the picture of evil.” Sean, after I made them do homework on their snow day.
Sean, pretending to be a clone trooper from Star Wars: “I hate this job. I don’t get MLK Day off. Crap, I didn’t even get Christmas off!”
Me to Sean: “I have a thought.” Sean: “There’s a 50-50 chance I’m gonna protest it.”
Sean: “Duncan, how many kids do you plan to have?” Duncan: “20: 10 girls, 10 boys.” Sean: “I can’t watch all those kids. Scale it back.”
Sean’s 9-year-old reaction to news that Uncle Brian is getting married: “Oh yeah? Whatever.”
Duncanism of the day: If the inside of my head was empty, I’d be light-headed.
Sean’s reaction to the Duncanism of the day: “Duncan, you infuriate me.”
“Good luck. You’re gonna need it.” Sean, wishing one of Erin’s friends well in an important business venture
“Get out of the way, Lando! For crying out loud!” Sean, temper flaring, during a particularly difficult Wii game of “Star Wars: The Complete Saga.”
–Said Sean, matter-of-fact-like: “If you don’t want your butt to get burned, don’t live in a frying pan.”
A friend is reeling from the death of a grandparent. Outliving your older family members is considered part of the natural order, especially if it’s a grandparent. But if it’s your first taste of death, it’s got to be pretty devastating.
I got my first taste of death the hard way, losing my brother Michael when I was 13. I knew of family deaths before him, but I was far removed from them. My grandfather — who I was named for — died some nine months before I was born. My parents wanted to name a child in his honor, and so here I am.
Losing a brother was not the natural order of things, obviously. The grief from my parents wasn’t the normal grief I later came to expect with the passing of grandparents and 70-something uncles. It created dysfunction that haunts the family to this day.
So when my great-grandmother died in 1994 — a few hours shy of my 24th birthday — I thought it would be easier to deal. It was, but it still sucked. Two years later, my other grandfather was gone, followed less than two years after that by my paternal grandmother. By maternal grandmother was gone a few years later. In between all that, my best friend died, followed a few years later my another friend.
I’ve learned a few things from all that death. I hope the following takeaways will be helpful to my friend:
1.) Let it suck. Don’t be a hero. If you’re feeling the pain from losing your grandmother, let it out. You don’t have to do it in front of people. Go in a room by yourself and let the waterworks flow if you have to. Don’t worry about trying to keep a manly face around people. You don’t have to pretend you’re A-OK for the sake of others in the room.
2. Don’t forget the gratitude. When someone dies, it’s easy to get lost in your own grief. There’s even a self pity reflex that kicks in. Try to take the time to remember how awesome your loved one was. Share the most amusing memories and have some laughs. The deceased would love that. And you’ll feel more at peace when you remember a life that was lived well.
3.Take a moment to appreciate what’s STILL around you. Your girlfriend. Your friends. If the death you just suffered should teach you anything, it’s that you never know how long the other loves of your life will be around. Don’t waste the time you have with them, and, for goodness sake:
4. Don’t sit around looking at people you love and worrying yourself into an anxiety attack over the fact that God could take them from you at any moment. God holds all the cards, so it’s pointless to even think about it. Just be there for people, and let them be there for you.
5. Take care of yourself. You can comfort yourself with all the drugs, alcohol, sex and food there is to have. But take it from me, giving in to addictions is nothing but slow suicide. You can’t move past grief and see the beauty of what’s left if you’re too busy trying to kill yourself. True, I learned a ton about the beauty of life from having been an addict, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever wish that experience on others. If there’s a better way to cope, do that instead.
6. Embrace things that are bigger than you. Nothing has helped me get past grief more than doing service to others. It sounds like so much bullshit, but it’s not. When I’m helping out in the church food pantry or going to Overeater’s Anonymous meetings and guiding addicts who ask for my help, I’m always reminded that my own life could be much worse. Or, to put it another way, I’m reminded how my own life is so much better than I realize or deserve.
This isn’t a science.
It’s just what I’ve learned from my own walk through the valley of darkness.
I’ve learned that life is a gift to be cherished and used wisely.
I’m leaving my weekly therapy sessions with a headache these days, because I’m working through another deeply embedded flaw in my soul.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/louQ7s1ZkGU
It’s not nearly as bad as the therapy I had in 2004-2006, when I had to endlessly churn the sewage of my childhood memories in search of clues on what was wrong with me and how I got that way. Back then, I didn’t know myself very well. Now I do.
Knowing myself as I do, I’ve started to zero in on the ongoing flaws that hold me back and hurt loved ones. That apparently requires a few more trips to the sewer.
I’ll give you a fuller account further along in this process. For now, let’s just say I have a wall I tend to hide behind when the going gets tough. This wouldn’t be much of a problem if not for the fact that life is ALWAYS tough. Not just for me, but for everyone. We all have our Crosses to carry and difficulties to endure. In my case, it’s a lot harder with a wall in the way.
So here we are again. Back in the mental sewer. I know my way around now, but the stench can still be too much to take.
The first question from the therapist was if I had talked to my mother lately. No, I told him. I thought Mom and I were making progress in December, but she couldn’t handle this blog and went off the deep end. I won’t defend myself. She’s entitled to her point of view. But let’s just say I was hoping to be writing posts by now about how we were reconciling.
“You’re starting to see the pattern?” the therapist asked.
Yeah. When the going gets tough, I disconnect. The bigger events caused that self-defense mechanism to take root all those years ago. But it kicks in during life’s more routine challenges. And when the wall goes up, my anger level kicks up a few decibels. I don’t do what I did in my teens and 20s: Throwing furniture through walls and plotting endless ways to find those who hurt me so I could hurt them back.
I’m not THAT guy anymore. But I do still get angry. When I do, I turn in on myself and brood.
But I knew that already.
Now the question is, what to I do about it?
I love my life now, and I’m blessed beyond measure. But the better my life gets, the more of an eyesore the wall becomes. It’s got to go.
My therapist has seen this stuff before. He knows the wall is rooted in the memory sewer.
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