Late-Night Thoughts on Grief

I've let my sleep cycles get utterly topsy-turvy these holidays, and consequently it's 1am and I'm not even sleepy . . . despite the fact that I only got 5 hours' sleep last night, and put in a full day's work at school getting ready for next term. I have to wake up at 7am, which is when my alarm will go off to get Mat out to uni on time. I have to be up and moving at 8 anyway to go to a blood donor appointment so I might as well get up when Mat does. But do you think my mind and body will let me shut down and get some sleep? Nuh-uh.

So I've been lying there thinking about this and that. One thing that came to mind were thoughts about a conversation I had with the mother of one of my students at the end of last term. Her son is bright but highly-strung, emotionally unstable, socially inept, has a victim complex, and this year in our class has been a chronic under-performer. When his mother came in to see his work at our open afternoon, she freaked out at the fact that he hadn't finished a lot of his set work, tore strips off him in public then started in on us, saying this had never been a problem before and she didn't understand why no one had told her (we tried: getting her in for a meeting about her son's extreme reactions took a term and a half, nevermind his academic status). This went round and round as we tried to explain to her tactfully that her son had plenty of time to do his work, but his knife-edge emotional state meant that he spent most of the day complaining about being stressed by his workload, overreacting to other students, whinging about the change of teachers that happened at the start of the year, and reciting a litany of 'woe is me' misfortunes. His mother wanted to know why we didn't simply confine her son in isolation consistently so he could work (!!). We responded that any attempt to isolate him resulted in abusive language and a hysterical meltdown. Which got us back to "why wasn't she told?!" (*sigh*). We also tried to explain that we understood her son, and it was okay, and he did what he could and we expected no more of him, because Montessori schools teach the actual child in front of them not some ideal model, and if he can't finish all of his work because of his personality, so be it. That's alright. He'll catch up on the academics when his social and emotional problems are sorted out.

What we carefully didn't mention, after other staff found it would cause an almighty blow-up, was that she and her husband divorced last year. While her son was highly-strung and socially awkward before that, it's no wonder he's walking an emotional tightrope at the moment. The principal of the school has learned through bitter experience that this mother will hysterically deny that the divorce could be having any effect on her children. I think deep down she realises that they need support and more help than she can provide, but she's in denial about it. And will spread blame for her son's fragile state around with a spade on to anyone nearby.

Remembering all this got me to thinking about my own parents' divorce, and the experience of children in general when a family breaks up. I don't think it's something you can truly appreciate unless you've been through it, and for our generation, whose grandparents mostly stayed together, we've been exposed to escalating levels of divorce by parents who never experienced divorce during their own childhoods, and can't imagine quite what it's like.

For adults who are divorcing, the pain is horrible and real, but they can also see it as a part of the flow of life. They can remember a time before they were married, and can picture a time after they are no longer married. They have a sense of the overall timeline of their life, and an understanding that relationships move in and out of that timeline.

Children whose parents are divorcing cannot see it that way. They have no reference point of 'before Mum and Dad married' to look back on; they have never known anything else. This makes the dissolution of the immediate family a far more dramatic event. Literally everything they know is taken apart down to the bedrock. Not only is the present an utterly new and bewildering thing, but it changes the past, too. My experience of this was a sort of 'splitting': I idealised my life before my parents split up, imagining it to be a far more idyllic life than it actually was, while simultaneously suspecting that the whole thing had been a lie, a front, a show put on by my parents. I remember my mother's bewilderment as I tried to express this to her. She didn't understand why I would think that a happy picnic that happened when I was 10 was an act of fakery because she left my father 3 years later. But that's how it seemed to me. I couldn't grasp the way change had entered the continuity of my life. It seemed that if this was how things were now, then it must have been how they always were - secretly. A strange, childish perspective, but very real to me at the time.

A child whose parents are divorcing has had the solid ground ripped out from under them, and they spend time - often a lot of time - reeling and stumbling and trying to work out which bits of the new ground level are safe to stand on. The long-established meanings of things like 'home' and 'safety' and 'family' have been deleted, and the child has to re-learn them. Their knowledge about these up to this point has to be discarded, and they have to learn again what home and family look like, sound like, feel like, smell like, even taste like (to this day there are certain recipes from my childhood that I crave, but which both Mum and Dad flatly refuse to make, each certain that the recipe came from the other and is therefore off-limits. *sigh*). The child's entire frame of reference has shifted in a way that no adult experiences, because for the adult there is always a 'before'. The child doesn't have that.

One of the unmet needs that drives me to dance ridiculous relationship dances is the need for security, and knowing where 'home' is. Up to the point when Mum left Dad, I knew what home looked like, sounded like, smelled like, felt like, tasted like. After that point, I had no idea, but craved it so desperately that I would sob and call out for it for hours in my teens - long bouts of hysteria in which I would beg my bewildered (and insulted) mother to let me go home, when I was lying in my own bed. Superficially I think they understood it to mean that I wanted to go back to our old house and our old suburb, but that wasn't it. I wanted them to put it all back together again, and knew it couldn't happen, and the hysteria that returned every few months was my only way of letting out that desperate feeling of being adrift in the world with no idea what home or family meant any more.

I've been craving it and searching for it ever since, and it has left me very vulnerable to being used and abused by those who saw that desperation and harnessed it as a very effective way of making me let them control me. Boyfriends, friends, bosses . . . I've been a magnet for people who can see that kind of opportunity and exploit it. I've lived in a crazy topsy-turvy world of chaos because my house was never quite home and nothing could make it so. Emotionally, I spent longer not knowing which way was up than I spent living with married parents. Crazy.

It's now well over 15 years since that day in January when Mum told me, as gently as she could, that she was leaving my Dad. I still crave a home I can't quite define, but I'm learning to rein in that need and put it away where it belongs, in the 'grieve and let go' pile with my other issues. I'm learning to teach my senses to recognise home as something else, something less tangible and more sustainable, and wholly mine, that I can take with me wherever I go. That aching, roaring need isn't calling the shots any more, along with the other unmet childhood needs that are also banned from making my decisions for me. Life is starting to shape up. This week I finally sorted the last box of jumbled junk, an unsavoury mix of random possessions, old unopened mail and bits of paper, that I've been carting around with me since I packed up my possessions in Sydney at the end of 2005. It's a huge triumph, both physically, over the incredible mess I'd been carting around in packing boxes, and symbolically, over the crazy dysfunctional way I've lived my life for so many years. Finally having the willpower to get myself completely unpacked and sorted may mean that I have finally accepted that I am home - here or wherever else I happen to be. I can unpack and put everything away, because I'm home.

The mother of that boy in my class has finally, after much persuasion (our principal) and accusation (her), agreed to let us employ a psychologist to work with her son. If he is feeling even a fraction of the dislocation I felt when my parents separated, and more so a year later when we sold the family home, then he's going to need a lot of help. And it's no wonder that he never gets his English grammar done. I hope his mother can come around to see that denial, bitterness and blame-shifting just won't cut it as a stategy. She needs to show her son how to grasp that changing continuity of life and understand that home is right there inside you . . . if you know how to look for it.

Stupid advert anyway . . .

There are two adverts on TV right now which bring tears to my eyes every time I watch them. Predictably, they're to do with children and families. One is for McDonald's, one is for Kinder Surprise. I am getting SO tired of tearing up every time I watch them. MD laughs at me for it, but I can't help it.

This is the first one.

Every time I see the older brother say "coming, Sam?" (around the 50 second mark) . . . cue blurry eyes.

The other one I can't find on the internet, but the gist of it is that a father leaves the office early in order to surprise his young son by picking him up from school (he then of course treats him to a Kinder Surprise, but that's not the point lol). It's clearly originally in another language (Australian boys don't call their fathers "Papa" for a start!) but it still gets me every time. Damnit.

Frustration, Dreams and Lack of Choice

We had a big family gathering today to celebrate my eldest aunt's 60th birthday. My grandparents and immediate maternal family were there, along with a good portion of the
aunts, uncles and cousins, including my cousin's month-old baby son.

I sat with two female cousins and their husbands, along with MD and a youngish friend of the family. The two cousins (one of them the mother of the aforementioned baby) are both a little younger than me and we were very close throughout our childhood, though we haven't been in recent years.

It was difficult, oh so difficult, listening to them talking to and about their husbands, talking about the baby, talking about the houses they're building and the houses they're selling, talking about the lives they're getting on with so capably. As always, I had to sit with the uncomfortable feeling that our comparative ages and achievements represent a failure on my part, and with the frustration that my life isn't there yet. Intellectually I know I've just taken a different road, and had more demons to defeat in getting there, and that my life will get there eventually. But instinctively I felt a great rushing impatience for my life to just get on with it. I wanted to be sitting there talking about my wedding and my house and my baby . . . etc.

I've been reflecting on it this afternoon (out on the back porch enjoying a rare warm winter day, while my dear love snores on the couch, replete on the kind of huge lunch my family does for parties, and not entirely well). I've come to the realisation that what really bugs me about it is my lack of choice at the moment. My debts are crippling, and while I'm finally getting on top of them and working on a plan to get rid of them for good, right now I'm quite simply stuck. I just don't have the disposable income available to do anything other than maintain the current status quo. I can't change anything without upsetting the balance and ending up back in the financial deep end.

And that puts a stop to any immediate dreams of my life progressing in these areas. Even if MD and I were ready to get engaged, his student budget won't stretch to an engagement ring. Even if we were ready to get married, we can't possibly afford a wedding for a couple of years. Even if we were ready to have kids, I can't afford to stop work. Until the money situation comes good, we're in limbo. That's where the core of my frustration is coming from. I want to buy a house. I want to be in a position to get married. I want to make decisions about my life that make no reference to banks. Hell, I want to get through a week without saying "I can't afford it" to ordinary, everyday expenses! But it won't happen for a couple of years yet. I have to pay off the debts first.

It's not unfair, that's not the issue. I got myself into this situation, first stupidly and then in denial and at the end, consciously because I had no choice. It's a problem of my own making, and it's a painful but well-learned lesson in managing money. It's just maddening because I now know what I need to do to get out of it. I'm taking responsibility and paying it back as promptly and efficiently as possible. In a couple of years I'll be just about in the clear and ready to get on with my life. But I'd like it to be NOW. Because in every other part of my life I'm just about ready. And I resent the enforced delay.

Been a while . . .

I've been sick a lot and busy a lot over the last few weeks, and haven't had much time or energy for blogging, but I'm fine now :)

Life is normal: school varies between great and difficult, MD and I are fine, housemate and I are fine, Jemima is fine, money is tight but manageable, and the holidays are creeping ever closer! There's babies everywhere, moreso since my cousin had her son at 3:30am today - the first great-grandchild for my grandparents. I'm coping with it. I've gone a bit baby-name nuts recently, and what-I-want-at-my-wedding nuts, but I'm coping.

Not much else to say . . . life is ok :)

Sick again :(

The kids were rowdy today, but perhaps I would have settled them with aplomb had not my head been spinning. After lunch was just crazy today. One of the underwires in the bra I was wearing snapped, so I had to go into the bathroom and try to tape it so that it'd hold and not stab me too much, which was mighty uncomfortable. Then my lungs started getting all constrictive and my head started to spin and feel heavy and my stomach started grumbling unpleasantly. And I'm still nursing a pulled shoulder or neck muscle from yesterday which is making turning my head difficult. I held it together until the kids went home, but I am SO not going to school tomorrow. I'm coughing more as the evening goes on (cold air) and feeling very ordinary indeed. MD is coming from his place by public transport to look after me, thankfully, though it means I'll have to drive him to the station in the morning so he can get to Prac. But that's worth it for the comfort of having him with me.

Speaking of MD, he met most of my extended family on Mum's side yesterday, and did rather admirably :) My cousin's husband (who of course had the experience of joining the family in much the same way) made an obvious effort to get chatting to MD and they found quite a lot in common, so he fitted in nicely. The family were all very friendly. Late in the afternoon we sat in front of my aunt and uncle's data projector screen and video-skyped my aunt and uncle and their few-weeks-old baby Josie, which was awesome; and my aunt introduced MD to them as a new member of the family :) Successful integration FTW!

Now if only my head was sure which way was up ...

Another revelation

The realisation I had last week about Mr S Bananahead's cheating ways was perhaps the second-last niggling question I had about the relationship. The last was the incomprehensible question that kept me tied up in knots for a long time until I learned to consign it to the "don't know, don't care" bin. The question went something like this: "He bought a ring. He was sure enough that he wanted to marry me that he bought a ring. Why would he buy a ring if he wasn't sure? You don't buy a ring if you're not sure. Why would he buy a ring then sabotage the relationship for no apparent reason and move a new girlfriend into his house in the process? Who DOES that? What went wrong when up until that point he was sure enough to buy a ring?"

Suddenly, yet another GPYP post made me realise that there does not have to be any logic to it. He was a liar and a cheater. He was illogical and wrong-headed. A sensible and emotionally stable person wouldn't buy a ring unless they were sure. But Mr S Bananahead was neither of those things. Possibly he was sure and then changed his mind; that can happen even to emotionally stable people. But with Mr S Bananahead's track record for honesty and stability there's no reason to assume that his thought processes followed any sort of earth logic. A sensible and emotionally stable person wouldn't buy an engagement ring he never intended to use. But Mr S Bananahead wasn't sensible or emotionally stable. There's simply no way of knowing what his motivations were, but the initial confusion was invalid. "You don't buy a ring if you're not sure". If you're a bananahead, maybe you do. And that's all I need to know.

Barring unexpected triggers, that's the last of my baggage from that relationship. Good feeling :)

Stop the room, I want to get off ...

I've been nursing a slight cold for a few days, and it decided to get a bit worse today, during music - one second I'm singing, next second I'm coughing up a lung. By the time I got home I had a headache and a tight throat as well, so I thought I'd take a couple of cold & flu tablets (paracetamol, codeine and pseudoephedrine, basically) to knock it on the head.

Ironically, that knocked ME on the head. Half an hour after I took the tablets the room went kind of odd and the bits of the room in my peripheral vision started spinning if I moved too quickly. YUCK.

I've managed to make dinner - without burning anything - but I feel woozy in the head and generally off-colour. And the dizziness has transformed the righteous ire I felt when I got home (MORE parent-generated crap at school today) into a tired depressed funk. I'm sick of dealing with political crap and just want to get on with teaching. Or just chuck it all in and have a baby. I'm so sick of it!

MD is meeting Mum, Stepdad, 13yosister and 11yobrother on Saturday night for dinner, ahead of a family lunch for my grandmother's birthday on Sunday. Fingers crossed they all get along . . . everyone is pretty nervous!

*woozes*