Remember to Breathe

I have about half a dozen drafts prepared, all with various messages that I think should be heard, read and paid attention to.  And today, it just doesn't feel right to post any of them .  .  .

Lately, I've shared my story with several new friends, many of them have been on a parallel path in the world of mental health.  

I'm thankful for these people.  I'm thankful that we are united through our struggles and frustrations.  And, I'm thankful that we can continue to support each other as we work through our various set of circumstances.

Whereas it is easy to focus on all that has gone wrong, we must remember that there is a lot that has also, gone right.  

We need to take stock of the unexpected blessings that have come our way through an unconventional path.

We need to give ourselves grace as we move forward and transcend through our own personal tragedy.   

We need to understand how our tragedies have changed who we are as individuals.  

We need to hold those we love and thank those who have provided support.

We need to channel our anger and use it for good.  

We need to share, listen and learn.

We need to pray, pray and then pray some more.

And then, we need to breathe .  .  . deeply .  .  .  very, very deeply.

A Disparaging Decision

In some previous posts, I have alluded to pending lawsuits related to my late husband’s death.  One of these suits is against the Champaign County Sherriff’s Office and the Illinois State Police.

To summarize, my husband did NOT have a valid FOID (Firearm Owner’s Identification Card); he had a very public history of mental illness in our community; he was labeled a mental prohibitor by the State of Illinois and he had an arsenal of weapons and ammunition. 

I had an order of protection against him, informed authorities about his gun collection, repeatedly asked for help getting the guns out of the house and was repeatedly denied.

A suit was filed on my behalf in federal court on the basis of sex discrimination.  Just to clarify, I have always considered myself a conservative and have never ridden on the coattails of any kind of discriminatory status.  However, this suit was brought forth based on the fact that law enforcement stated that I was “crying wolf” when requesting help, that law enforcement refused to remove the weapons stating that “as long as my husband’s name was on the title the house they would do nothing,” among other things.  These accusations are further validated by an affidavit from a now retired Illinois State Police officer who I reached out to for assistance.

We received a very favorable ruling at the district level that this case had merit and could proceed.  The State of Illinois then filed an Interlocutory Appeal at the 7^th Circuit Appellate Court claiming that there were no legal grounds for the case to be brought forward.  Last September, each side was allotted 15 minutes to present their respective argument as to why the case should or should not go forth.

Earlier this week, we received a ruling . . . almost one year afterwards.  We lost at the 7^th Circuit.

To further magnify the gravity of this outcome, it should be known that Illinois has some of the strictest gun laws in the country; Illinois (namely Chicago) has some of the highest gun violence stats in the country; and more specifically and in my particular case, when authorities are made aware of an illegal gun collection they turn their backs and aren’t held accountable.

What happened to my family was a travesty.  And now I feel as if our lives are so insignificant; we really don’t matter and we are left to be nothing more than a casualty of the system. I’m still trying to process this outcome and Judge Easterbrook’s decision and summary.

We have a very, very serious societal problem.  Until law enforcement, the judiciary system, mental health providers, and caregivers have a productive dialogue and work together toward change, we will continue to pick up the pieces from tragic shootings, unnecessary deaths and insurmountable grief.  

Yes, more Gabby Gifford’s, more Sandy Hooks, more Aurora Colorado’s and more Stephanie Bond’s.

Wake Up America!

http://www.appellate.net/briefs/Bond_Answering_Brief.pdf

http://media.ca7.uscourts.gov/cgi-bin/rssExec.pl?Submit=Display&Path=Y2013/D08-26/C:11-3275:J:Easterbrook:aut:T:fnOp:N:1192770:S:0

Club W

I remember the first time that I had to write out the word WIDOW.  I was lying in the hospital filling out paper work. This was an identity that I couldn’t even imagine embracing.  The reality of my new status made me ill, and I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t finish the task at hand. 

Sometime shortly afterwards, I received a very touching note from a cousin who had lost her husband several years before I did.  It spoke to me like nothing else and I have never forgotten how meaningful those simple words of compassion were to me at the time.

“I continue to pray for you.  You are part of a club now that I was in (being a widow).  Regardless, of how you got there, it still is something that takes a lot of adjustment.  You have more to deal with than I can ever imagine, but the best thing you can do  . . . is take care of you, be patient and let God take charge.  I may not see you often, but think of you and your family.  I love you.  If you ever need anything or just want to talk, please give me a call.”

Over the past several years, I have come to know other members of this club and appreciate how very precious each and every one of us are.  We were all initiated by a different set of circumstances, and yet there are astounding similarities in how we try to adapt and live with our new situation. 

Publicly, we can be bold and brave and we look as if we totally have it together. Privately, we still cry, grieve and crumble. 

Publicly, we speak of God, love, faith and hope; privately we beg for companionship, hurt from loneliness and exist in a state of disbelief that our this is how our lives turned out.  We leave the TV on all night because then we don’t have deal with the sound of nothing next to us when the lights are turned off. 

We all joined at different times – some have been in for 2 years, some for 5 years and some for 10 but for all of those in Club W, we share a number of commonalities.

• Membership came at a very high price.
• People always tell us how strong we are and yet most fail to see the fragility of our very existence.
• For those of that are too young to have gone through initiation, it can be socially awkward, as we don’t really “fit” in like we used to - when we were married with a spouse.
• Our faith ultimately carries us through. 
• Yet, we are far from leading perfect lives; we often times fail to walk the straight and narrow because we are guided by grief and pain.
• Our children took care of us when we were in the depths of grief. They shouldn’t have had to but they did because we couldn’t take care of ourselves. Because of this, their innocence was lost and they were forced to grow up in a way that is simply unfair.
• Our parents took care of us and they shouldn’t have had to do this either. They raised us to be strong independent women and they should now be enjoying the fruits of their labor. They grieved for us and they too suffered through their worry and pain for us.
• Healing isn’t a linear path and our friends and families have a hard time understanding this sometimes.
• And most significantly, we will never, never, never, ever be the same as we were before.

Why Being Alive Means You Have Purpose - Super Soul Sunday - Oprah Winfr...

A Life's Purpose

Yesterday was my first day back to work after a brief vacation.  It was tough.  After enjoying the freedom of being home with my kids for the better part of week, I found myself broken and torn about going back to the job that I was at one time so thankful for and really enjoyed. 

I work for a mid-sized public accounting firm that specializes in business and partnership taxation.  Our clients are complex with multiple entities.  This work is challenging and I have enjoyed the sense of accomplishment that comes with working at a higher bandwidth.  However, the rigidity of my supervisors, the lack of flexibility within my work place and the demands of long hours during tax season have been brutal and very hard on my family.  We are about to start our 2^nd “tax season” of the year as the firm extends approximately 80% of their workload.  With deadlines of September 15 and October 15 looming, I have to start preparing for 70-80 hour work weeks once again.

I had a somewhat lengthy conversation with a colleague that left me disheartened and perplexed.    One of the points of discussion was that of one’s purpose in life.  I’ve thought about this so much and am still trying to discover what this might be for me.  I do however know that my purpose is NOT that of preparing tax returns for the next 25 years . . . 

Throughout various stages of my recovery, I have often posed the question of why I lived.  My story could have turned out so differently and, I don’t for one minute believe that our family tragedy and the road to recovery were for naught. However, I can’t seem to figure out how to turn this into a something meaningful.  Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of ideas, but the problem is that of execution. 

Some of these ideas are as follows:

§  To be an advocate for the extended family members of those with mental health issues;

§  To assist caregivers in providing resources that would assist them in navigating the mental health system;

§  To work on fostering collaborative efforts between mental health professionals and law enforcement in an effort to reduce and hopefully prevent more tragedies;

§  To share my story in a positive way that brings support, encouragement and hope to those who have faced a horrific tragedy in their own life.

And, what if there was a foundation that could support all of the issues addressed above and through fundraising efforts, provide the resources necessary to assist in research and development with respect to drug therapy.  It’s true that mental health awareness has greatly improved over the last several years but we there is so much work yet to be done. 

One of my dearest friends has counseled me on patience.  She tells me that in due time and once the dust settles, I will figure out how to organize my thoughts and I will figure out a plan of execution.  Perhaps this tiny blog is the first step in that process and the beginning of a journey to discover my life’s purpose . . .

Life – Part 2

There have been several “life changes” for me and my children since my last posting .  .  .

My oldest just finished his first year as a freshman at the University of Kentucky and I am happy to say that his grades were such that he gets to go back in the fall!  My second son continues to live with my parents in Southern Illinois and completed a very successful junior year in high school.  His football team made it to the state semi-finals, his grades were excellent and he just returned from a one week trip to the Dominican Republic with his high school Spanish class.  I moved to Dallas, Texas with the two younger children.  Hunter just finished his sixth grade year in all honor’s classes, takes piano, plays bass in the school orchestra and has discovered the sport of lacrosse.  Katherine also excelled academically, plays piano, continues with tumbling and trampoline and just finished competing in the national competition.  I started working again in public accounting last January and am so blessed to be affiliated with my current employer.  We have an adorable little house, live in a very friendly neighborhood, attend a wonderful church, have made many great friends and we have an incredibly supportive family.

From the outside looking in, we are all doing remarkably well.  We have moved on and moved forward and we are doing our best to embrace our “new normal.”

Nevertheless and despite all the successes, there is still a lot of heartache and sadness that prevails – and often times very unexpectedly and without a predictable trigger.

I’m not prepared to know how to handle these situations.  There is no “how-to” manual providing guidance on how to counsel my children when they have a “mental / emotional hiccup.”    And each child’s struggle manifests itself in different ways.  There is no “one size” fits all method when it comes to helping them deal with their respective issues.  This is hard . . . harder than I ever imagined it would be.  As a mother, I want to ease their pain; I want to fix it for them; and sometimes I just want to erase all the “bad” from their minds.  Sometimes I want to pretend for us all that it has always just been the 5 of us and by doing so I don’t have to acknowledge that our family unit was tragically broken.  Yes, denial is sometimes the only way to get through the day. 

My prayer each and every day is that we make it through with minimal stress and minimal sadness.  Most of the time we do but invariably we have another “hiccup” and when that happens, I pray that I have the wisdom and guidance to get us through . . .

May 9, 2012

Today, Gabe would have been 54 years old.  I really don’t know how to process this.  He has been gone now just over two years now and those two years have seemed like a lifetime.

The estate is unwinding – properties are being sold, debts are being paid and before long, this too, shall be no more.  I have been working day and night trying to hold on to everything and to keep the business in tact.  But I think that it is now time to let go. 

Grief manifests itself in many different forms and managing it is a challenge in and of itself.  I grieved for the death of my husband; I grieved for my injured body; I grieved for my traumatized children and now I grieve for the business that we started together will be no more.

Recently a dear friend asked me if I spend time alone.  My response was a resounding ABSOLUTELY NOT! I fear being alone because I might actually have to deal with emotions, memories and feelings that have been buried.  Work has been an escape, a distraction and in my mind, a better use of my time.  I’ve had no time to sit and enjoy a personal pity party and I have tried to avoid this at all costs.  But it looks like I will finally get my invitation and the party will commence.  I dread this “party for one” and its eventual arrival. But I have come to the realization that this too, is part of grieving and one has to simply go through it to become whole again.

As the buildings are sold and new management companies come in to the picture, my work here will end.  When it ends, I will have a great deal of time alone.  The thought of this is traumatizing and paralyzing to say the least.  What will I do?  How will I cope? 

I’ve never been alone.  This is unchartered territory and I pray that I figure out how to navigate.