Tag: loss

Mary Did You Know

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Finally pregnant after years of frustration

Bursting with joy

Filled with dreams of who my baby would be

Who they would become….

Mary did you know you’d be told that you were having a baby

Did you wonder about the baby you would give birth to

Who he would be

Or were you just in shock

Terrified at the circumstances of your pregnancy

Frightened of what the future might hold…for both of you

Mary did you know how to raise a child

I didn’t…maybe that’s why humans start as babies

So, we have a chance to learn as we go

Were you amazed when he was born

I was…she was so small…so perfect

It was so scary and so wonderful

Mary did you ever feel like a failure

Like you weren’t equipped to raise another human

Did you worry that you were just a child…raising a child

That you were learning to be a parent while you were parenting

Figuring it out as you went along

Mary did you know what adolescents are like

I didn’t…I thought I did

There’s no knowing until you have one

Did your baby yell at you

Tell you he hated you

Did he disobey and challenge you on everything

Did you realize how little control you have over your children as they grow up

Were you overwhelmed…I was

Were you scared of who he might become.

That he might harm himself by the choices he made

Mary did you know the sacrifices you’d be asked to make

Sleepless nights with an infant

Sleepless nights with an adolescent

Wondering if they’d make it home safe

Prayers thrown out as a security net

But there is no security net

Mary did you know you would watch your baby die…I didn’t know

Did you know he would be so young…she was so young

That you’d be there for his last breath…I was there for hers

Did you know your heart could shatter in an instant…a million little pieces

Like mine

Did you know that prayers wouldn’t matter

He was going to die…she was dying

I couldn’t stop it

With all my heart I wanted to stop it

Did you know you would wake up every morning

And for an instant forget he was dead…I forget

And then reality knocks me on my ass…again

Mary did you know it’s impossible to let them go

I can’t let her go

I want another day…another hour…one more minute

Did you know there are no words to describe the pain…the loss

I have no words…no adequate words

Did you feel like you would drown in your despair…seems possible

Did you see a way past the heartache

I have never felt so sad

Did you get over his death…move on with your life…I didn’t think so

I can’t get over her death

It is impossible to just move on

You didn’t either did you…I know

He was your son

She was my daughter

Did you want to scream when he was mentioned using the past tense

Me too…she’s still my daughter

Mary did you know your grief would be overwhelming

Too enormous for one person to bear

The worst moment of your life

The worst moment of mine.

Mary, if you had known it all

Would you still have said yes…me too

I wouldn’t trade one moment with her

Not one memory

Did you think about all his “firsts”

I did…her first smile, her first step, first laugh, first words

Mary did you know the world could fall apart in an instant…and bury you

Did you learn it can’t be pieced back together…not like it was

The bottom drops out…and there you are groundless

Did you know your child can be fine and then be dead…actually dead

Children don’t die before their parents…ours did

I didn’t know

Did you know that people go on with their lives

Like nothing happened.

How can they

When I don’t recognize the world now…not my world

And I can’t see my life without her

Mary did you know you’d have to rebuild your life…without him

Me without her

Did you know how his siblings would hurt…and that you can’t fix it for them…or yourself

This cannot be fixed

Did you fear life would never be okay again…I do

Did your world stop with his “lasts”

His last touch, last look, last words…his last breath

Her last breath

Did your world crumble when he died…she died

Mine did

Mary did you know…I didn’t either

Mother Mary Came to Me

~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

I have been struggling to write anything since my daughter died. Maybe because I can’t focus long enough. Or because I don’t have the words…I’m not sure I have any words. And maybe it’s fear. Fear that if I’m vulnerable with my writing, I’ll cause myself, or others, even more pain…and I feel so raw already. It’s like I have a gaping chest wound that is continually ripped open…by a picture, a memory, a thought…anything really. Sometimes my tears are gentle…quiet. Sometimes not so much. I watched a video of Jessica and couldn’t stop crying. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this depth of grief before…grief isn’t a big enough word for how I feel. Anguish. I think that’s it…” a deep, intense state beyond simple sadness, involving helplessness, despair, and sometimes, agony, severe distress.” Those words come close to describing how I feel. When I think about Jessica being gone and not seeing her anymore, I want to scream and rip my hair out. I can’t cry hard enough to get the pain out. I want to wail and scream and break shit. It feels too big…too powerful…too consuming.

When my kids were babies, and when the grandkids were babies, I’d hold them when they were sleeping. There are few things as wonderful as holding a sleeping baby. I’d recline with them and they’d lay on my chest. We’d stay that way for however long they napped…both of us content…not needing anything. I treasure those memories. The day before Jessica died, I was with her in the hospital. She was agitated and restless. She couldn’t get comfortable. I stood by her bed talking to her and rubbing her back, but she just couldn’t be still. Then suddenly she sat up, tucked her hands next to her cheek and laid her head on my chest, and went to sleep…just like when she was a baby. It was a precious moment that I won’t ever forget. She didn’t rest long but I was grateful that for a few moments she was content…she was content with me. She needed her mom and I was there. She let me be there for her.

I was with my daughter when she died. She had been sleeping and was not opening her eyes anymore. So, I was surprised when she looked at me. We held each others gaze and I told her how much I loved her. Then her breathing changed dramatically and she died a couple minutes later. I think she opened her eyes to say goodbye…and opened her eyes so we could say “I love you.”

As I was trying to sleep that night, I found myself thinking “Mary would know how I feel.” Mary as in mother of Jesus Mary. Now if you’re surprised by that, I bet you aren’t as surprised as I was. I do not generally find myself thinking about Mary. The image that came to mind was the Pieta in St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City. Mary cradles the lifeless body of Jesus on her lap…I’m sure much like when he was a baby.

I was drawn to Mary because she was a mom and her baby died too. She knew what it felt like to see your child lifeless in front of you. She understood the urge to scream and yell and demand that they breathe again. The hope that what you see is not real. Because how can she be gone? And then the torture of leaving them because there is nothing more you can do…and you aren’t allowed in the morgue even if it’s just because you don’t want her to be alone.

Those were the worst moments of my life. I felt desperate to have my little girl back. Maybe in my hour of darkness, Mary came to stand beside me…to help me bear the unbearable. Maybe to be a witness because she understood…and I was desperate for someone who knew how I felt. And her words of wisdom? Perhaps that I wasn’t alone. And the anguish, the sadness, the despair…let it be.

My Beautiful Girl

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Wednesday was the funeral for my daughter Jessica. I wrote this letter o her and my grandson, Javon, heroically read it for me. It was impossible for me….

I don’t know how to write a eulogy for my daughter, so I thought I’d write her a letter.

Jessica, my beautiful girl,

No one ever prepared me for what to say if you died. Maybe because there aren’t any words…except all the bad ones…the F bomb being my favorite, as you were well aware. I can’t stop thinking that this is not how life is supposed to go. This was not supposed to happen. You were not allowed to die before me.

I’ve been thinking about a Brandie Carlile song called “You Without Me.” Before Christmas I was thinking about you and Amy and Ben and watching you all grow up and separate from me and become your own people…amazing and beautiful people I must say. Brandie Carlile wrote that song about watching that happen with her daughter who is now 10. She says,

“Was your smile always crooked? Was the freedom ever free?

Do you kick the rocks between your feet, after all this time with me?

You can listen to your own records now, decide what you believe

You can pray on stars and skip the gods like stones across the sea

But I would know you anywhere, I lost myself in you

Heavy are the hands that you are free to slip right through

Do what you have to do

There you are, my morning star, I wondered when you’d show

Give me just a quick thumbs up, a wink before you go

I never heard that voice before today, I remind myself to breathe

There you are, it’s just you without me.”

That’s how it should be Jessica…you without me…30 years from now. Not me without you. I’m not sure I know how to be me without you. I did lose myself in you, but I also found myself…as a mom…your mom.

I know that life was a struggle for you. I wanted so much to do or say something to help you realize how wonderful you are. You were so smart and so kind and so funny. Some of my favorite times were with you, Amy, and Ben all of us laughing until we cried.

My sweet girl, I know that this life was too hard and too scary for you. I’m glad you’re without fear now. We had some challenging times when you were growing up. You were still apologizing to me for your teenage antics throughout your 30’s. But I wouldn’t trade one moment of being your mom.

When you were born you didn’t cry like most babies. When the doctor handed you to me, you just opened those beautiful blue eyes and looked at me. No crying or fussing…just looking, as if to say, “it’s me mom….I’m finally here.”

Right before you died, you opened your eyes and looked at me. You hadn’t opened you eyes for over a day. You looked at me and held my gaze as if to say, “it’s me mom…I have to go now.” Your breathing immediately slowed and minutes later you were gone. I had the chance to tell you how much I love you. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of now and that it was okay for you to go…even though there was nothing okay about it. I stroked your cheek, kissed your forehead, and told you that I have loved every moment of being your mom. And then you were gone.

I was with you for your first breath and your last. Thank you for that.

I believe that you are in a peaceful place now. A place without fear. A place where Roro, Foddy, and Grandma Jojo were waiting for you…and where they will care for you now. And I know they will…I gave my parents a long lecture, with a lot of instructions, the day you died.

Now we try to rebuild a life without you in it. Me without you. All of us without you. I’m not sure how. I will miss you forever. I will be grateful for you forever. And I will love you forever…my beautiful girl. Rest well.

The Confusion of Grief or The Grief of Confusion

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, my parents ashes have been sitting on the bookcase in my living room since their deaths. It’s been a while. It became normal seeing them up there and I didn’t think about it too much. Last October we planned a boat ride, here in Florida, to spread their ashes in the gulf. Apparently, our plan was not acceptable, and my mom caused a hurricane. Her timing was perfect. Scary even. She shut down the state of Florida. We got the message.

Frightened by the events of last year, we developed a new plan and successfully implemented it last week…with no natural disasters…people of the world are relieved. My wife and I drove to New York to visit my sister, brother-in-law, nephews, their wives and children. We enjoyed the drive mostly because it was nine hours less than a drive to Colorado and we got to drive through lots of states I had never been in. Turns out there are many states to go through between Florida and New York…the obvious ones, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia…and then there were a bunch more, Maryland, Pennsylvania, DC, Delaware, and New Jersey. There are so many states crammed into a ridiculously small area.

My sister planned a beautiful memorial for my parents, including food, their favorite drinks, a tent to stay out of the sun and great people. She really did it all and I’m so grateful to her. My nephew created an amazing slide show along with a playlist of my parent’s favorite songs. Everything was perfect.

Listening to everyone’s stories all week, I felt like an outsider looking in…separate from the people who belonged, who really knew my parents. So, I watched and listened. I tried to figure out what I was feeling. Sad? Guilty? Relieved? Numb? I thought numb was the right one. I felt so confused. Aha…that’s the one. Confused. Confused not by how I felt but by how I didn’t feel. I didn’t seem to feel what everyone else felt…a deep sense of loss. I didn’t cry. I was just quietly befuddled.

My nephews and brother-in-law spoke beautifully and emotionally, about what my parents meant to them. They said they received unconditional love and support from my parents…really? My nephew said that in my parent’s eyes he could do no wrong…seriously? That was not my experience of my parents at all. I experienced love based on performance and my performance was never good enough. And in their eyes, I did everything wrong. They rarely seemed happy with me. I felt confused. Perplexed and defective somehow.

It turns out my parents, especially my mom, could love, just not me. Other people spoke about their unending love. That confused me…and hurt. Why couldn’t my parents love me? What was so wrong about me? Still, after all this time, I asked myself, why does it matter? Why am I stuck in this place…this place of believing I’m not enough. When I was in my 20’s, I told my mom that I felt like she was disappointed in me and in who I was as a person. Her response was, “You don’t need my approval.” I said everyone wants their mom to be proud of them. She didn’t say anything else. I was devastated by that conversation. I had prepared for months to talk to her and share my feelings…which took a shitload of courage to do. For most people, it may not be an act of bravery to have an honest discussion with your mother but for me it was. It was huge…HUGE!

She confirmed all my fears by her words and then her silence. She destroyed me. More accurately, I let her destroy me. I risked emotionally opening to her, and she used my vulnerability as a weapon against me. I sat in my bathroom and sobbed for hours after our conversation. Too bad I didn’t learn from that…or maybe it’s good I didn’t learn. I didn’t learn to harden and build walls to defend myself. I believe that what doesn’t kill us can make us kinder if we allow it to. I am committed to softening my edges, not reinforcing them. My mom once told me it would be hard to be mean to me because I’m so kind. That was nice…for a minute. That’s all it took for her to tell me she hated my fucking guts, that I wasn’t a mother because I got divorced and gave my kids away, that I was the bad seed…it went on and on. I mistakenly reminded her of her comment on my kindness…she said nothing. The weight of that silence was hard to bear.

After the memorial I talked with my cousin about her feelings when her dad died. She had a complicated relationship with him like I did with my mom. I guess I was checking to see if I was crazy for feeling confused. I wasn’t. I brought my sister into the conversation and told her what we were talking about. I said we were discussing not being the favorite child and she agreed and said I wasn’t…she was. I told her about feeling like nothing I did was ever good enough. She said that it was true, nothing I did was ever good enough. So, there’s that. I appreciated her honesty. It was helpful to know what I felt and perceived were real…not just something I made up in my head. The affirmation was helpful, and painful. It might have been difficult for my sister too…to confirm something that she knows is painful for me. But it helped. It’s always good to find out you aren’t crazy.

So, I’m confused. Duh huh? I don’t know how to feel about my parents and their deaths. I know what I think I should feel. I should be sad and grieving. I should feel what everyone else feels. But really, I think it’s more important for me to be able to feel my own feelings and to feel the words that I say. Seems obvious, and it may be, but it ain’t easy. It’s scary to admit confusion about your parent’s death. To admit you don’t feel as sad or miss them like everyone else does.

So, is it confusion about grief or is grief causing my confusion? I’m not sure it matters to anyone, except me. I’m confused by how strongly other people feel the loss of my parents…the loss of their love and the loss of the wonderful relationship they had with them. I don’t feel like that at all…and that’s confusing. I feel like I should and that I’m a bad daughter because I don’t. I feel guilty for not feeling the right things…not grieving the right way. Whatever the fuck that means. But here’s the thing, I grieved for my parents for 12 years. For12 years we had no contact, before they lived with me in Florida. I grieved the loss of them from my life, and I grieved for what I wanted from my parents that I never got. I grieved that nothing I did was good enough, not the schools I attended, the degrees I earned, or the jobs I held. None of that was good enough because I wasn’t good enough. I craved unconditional love, understanding, kindness, acceptance…and their pride in me. Just because I’m me. I got none of that.

So, maybe it’s not so confusing. Maybe I’m done grieving. Maybe not. Living with my parents stirred up a ton of shit. There might be more to grieve or just more to let go of. You can’t let go of something unless you know what you lost. Maybe that’s where I am, coming to terms with what I lost. Most of what I lost happened years ago. Although now I’ve lost any possibility of things turning out differently….a better outcome. Maybe a happily ever after. The memorial brought up some new feelings of loss…of being defective somehow. Still, they were my parents, and I longed for them to love me, and maybe even more, to like me. Really like me. But I don’t think they did.

None of that changes my foundational belief that in the end all that matters is how we love people. I really tried with my mom and dad. I did my best. My best may not have been good enough, but I tried. Rest in peace mom and dad…I did love you. I hope you knew.

Hurricane Milton…Or A Tiny Little Rose?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

While my parents were alive and living with my wife and I, we occasionally talked about their deaths and their last wishes. Neither of them wanted any kind of service or memorial. No wake. No funeral. No casket. They wanted to be cremated. I asked them what they wanted done with their ashes. My dad said, “Just throw them away.” And my mom, as only she could, said, “Just throw them on the ground and walk all over me like everyone has my whole life.” So, I told them both “I’m not doing that” and suggested that we put them in the Gulf. They agreed or gave me their version of “whatever.” I was happy to take that as a yes.

When my sister came for a visit, the topic came up again. That must be super annoying for people in their 80’s and 90’s, everyone always bringing up your death and pushing you to plan for it. I was thinking my plan is to avoid it as long as possible…as if it is up to me. My sister said that we could send the ashes to Switzerland and have them made into blue diamonds. And why you may wonder? So, we could have a crown and put the blue diamonds in it. And then as each person dies another stone gets added to the crown. I said, “Who’s gonna wear all the dead relatives on their head?” I don’t remember her response. Mine was, “It’s sure as shit isn’t gonna be me.” Then she said we could have them compressed and made into frisbees and send them flying out into the Gulf. I’ve got to admit that one sounded fun…probably only because I wouldn’t be one of the frisbees. We had some good laughs with my parents over both of those ideas. I know you can find all kinds of stuff on the internet but who searches for what to do with someone’s ashes…besides my sister, I’m not sure. My sister is super funny and a great storyteller…she had both covered here.

In the end, of course, it was up to us. We decided that Kathy, Rick (sister and brother-in-law), Gayle and I would go out on a boat together and spread their ashes into the Gulf of Mexico. We found a place in Dunedin that has daily boat trips called “Burial at Sea” that are specifically designed for spreading ashes. I guess “burial at sea” is hard to remember because my brother-in-law referred to it as “the death boat.” Naturally that’s the name that stuck.

Of course, as soon as we had a simple plan our adult children chimed in and wanted a seat on the boat…they were their grandparents after all. And since they all have children, all the great grandkids would be here too. So, we arranged for the death boat October 14th at 1:00. Fortunately, it’s a big boat because we went from 4 people to about 20. We finalized plans for places to stay and food for a meal together after the death boat. And then there was Milton.

One of the reasons we picked Clearwater for retirement is because Tampa hasn’t been hit by a major hurricane in 100 years…and we’re about 15 minutes from Tampa. Now Milton was threatening to end that streak. WTF?! Hurricane Helene had just devastated the big bend area of Florida. We waited and hoped that Milton would decide to go somewhere else. Although, you can’t really hope that the hurricane hits someone else. I was hoping it would just evaporate…. that would have been the most convenient outcome. Clearly, I missed my calling as a scientist.

If you saw any news at all you are aware that Milton did not just go away. It became a category 5 hurricane. It did shift south and so Tampa, and Clearwater were spared a direct hit, but it was crazy. We were on the outer edge of the eye of the hurricane. We didn’t get raindrops, not even big ones. We had walls of water falling…wall after wall of rain for hours. All the while, the wind raged. We had wind speeds up to 129 mph. Milton was a category 3 storm when it hit the Florida gulf coast.

I had panicked calls and texts from family and friends worried for my safety. My wife wanted me to go to Atlanta. It was not that simple. First, I was not under an evacuation order. More importantly, I had less than a quarter tank of gas. “90 miles,” said my car. Now I’m not good with geography but even I know you cannot get to Atlanta with 90 miles worth of gas. And in case you’re thinking, “Why would she not have filled the tank sooner?” “Poor planning.” That’s a little judgy of you. I did not fill my tank because there was no gas…as in none, nada, zip, zero. I went to numerous gas stations, and they all had the little yellow bags on the pumps, like they do when they’re broken, with the addition of plastic wrap. All the pumps were prepared for Milton…and all the gas was gone. That was Tuesday. I couldn’t get gas until Monday. By that time my car was finding a gas station for me.

That was the beginning of Milton. The serious warnings began Monday. They were amped up on Tuesday and included evacuation orders for zones A, B, C, and all mobile homes. We live in zone D. The airports closed Tuesday morning. Everything else closed Tuesday afternoon. So, the death boat plans were quickly sinking. We didn’t even know if the boat place would still exist on Sunday. Our outing seemed incredibly unlikely…even more so after the airport closed, and all the flights were cancelled. I’m pretty good at recognizing the obvious. No ashes were leaving my house that weekend.

When I was talking to my wife, during the hurricane, and sending her videos, I told her that I thought my mom was fucking with the weather. She said, “Your mom has no control over the weather.” I told her I wasn’t so sure. The next day I was talking to my sister, and she mentioned that Rick thought my mom was causing the hurricane because she doesn’t want to be in the water. My mother was afraid of water her whole life. I wonder why she agreed to a burial at sea. I’ll never know. I was texting my nephew, to give him an update on the death boat and Milton. He told me that he wondered if maybe Roro (that’s what all the grandkids called her) brought the hurricane. And finally, I was talking to my daughter, and she told me she thought the same thing. I don’t know if my mom can influence the weather, but me and the family believe she can and she did.

So, there will be no burial at sea. Florida can’t take another round of the “wrath of Rose.” We have an alternative plan. Their ashes will be spread in New York somewhere my parents loved. They spent a lot of time at my sisters. They’d visit for 3 or 4 weeks at a time. That’s where their final resting place should be. They were happy there, surrounded by the love of their grandkids and great grandkids…and of course Kathy and Rick.

I hope in the spring my side of the family can travel to New York and give my parents their final resting place…at last. A lot of love and planning went into our decisions for my parent’s ashes. I hope they could feel that. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. And they were loved…still are.

Where She Go?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

When our soon to be 13-year-old grandson, Anthony, was a toddler, and he couldn’t find something, he’d say, “Where she go?” It was funny and adorable and not usually about a person…just something missing. He’d put his arms out with his palms up and turn his head side to side, and look around quizzically as he said, “Where she go?” I’m not sure why it was all “she.” It might have been as simple as him having a lot of women in his life. His two grandmas took care of him every day, and he had two other grandmothers, as well as, two sisters, and of course his mom. There were a lot of “she” in his life.

Yesterday I was sending out letters telling banks and creditors that my mom died. I was looking at the death certificates for both of my parents and I felt panic…where she go? How can she be gone? It’s the panic a child feels when they wander away from their mom in a store and when they turn around, they don’t see her. Where she go? Where the fuck are my parents asks the lost child and the panicked adult? Now I’m not wondering if they’re in heaven or hell…I don’t actually believe in either. I mean how could they possibly have death certificates? Only dead people have those. Why can’t I find her? She’s definitely missing. 

I packed up my mom’s clothes and have them loaded up for a donation today. All that’s left is pictures and memories. I just typed that sentence and remembered Jim Croce had a song in the 70’s called “Photographs and Memories.” My sister always said I liked sad music. She might be right…I did like his music…and it is kind of sad. Pictures and memories are what I have left of my parents. They are what remains for me to remember them. It doesn’t feel like enough…at least not today.

I feel untethered. Set adrift to…I have no fucking idea where. That feels a little risky…not knowing where I’m going. I’m 63 years old. I have plans and goals. I have a family. We moved to Florida to retire. I know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m going with my parents…or my mom. There were years that I did not see my parents or talk to them, from 50 to 61, although I’m not sure why. I’m sure they had their reasons; I just don’t know what they were. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It seems that feeling untethered is a familiar feeling after all.

There were other times my parents and I didn’t communicate for a period of years, but the 50 to 61 period started on my 50th birthday. My mom remembered birthdays and she always called. Sometimes she’d send a card, but she always called…but on that day she didn’t call. No call and no card…I was in trouble. Why? No clue. I called my mom a week or two later, but she didn’t answer and didn’t return my call. That went on for several weeks…calling, no answer, leaving a message, no return call. And then I stopped calling. All I was doing was hurting myself by hoping she’d answer the phone…but she never did. And I quit trying. 

Maybe I should have persisted with my calls. I don’t know. I didn’t want to beg to be their daughter…and that’s how it felt. Like when your child comes up to you, usually while you’re on the phone, and pokes you repeatedly in the leg saying, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” Because all urgent matters take place while you’re on the phone. All my unanswered calls felt like me jumping around and poking her leg, and still getting nothing from her. I felt unwanted, or worse…like I didn’t exist. That’s when I felt like an orphan. From 50 to 61 I was an orphan. I was an abandoned child…although not exactly a child…not understanding where my parents went. They disappeared from my life.

For a long time, I thought there must really be something wrong with me because my own mom didn’t want me…didn’t love me. I felt like I must be defective somehow. Living on the island of misfit toys, or misfit daughters. What was so wrong with me that she didn’t want me? 

The difficulty with my mom was that I never knew where I stood with her. I would think things were fine and then she’d be mad at me and stop answering my calls. So, I’d call and call and call until finally she would answer the phone. She’d be cold as I ice, and I’d have to apologize and apologize some more until she’d finally let it go…but it was never gone. My mom remembered every detail of every time someone hurt her. She was easily angered or offended. And she kept score. The difficulty was I frequently didn’t know what I had done wrong. So, my mom would be mad until she wasn’t and then expect everything to go back to normal. If she was okay about something, I was expected to be okay too. Her feelings ruled.

The crazy thing in all of this is that if she had just told me that there was problem, we could have talked about it and hopefully resolved whatever the issue was. Instead, I tried to figure it out and when I couldn’t I stopped trying. It took me many years and lots of dollars in therapy to reach a place where I could see that I was not the cause of all of the problems in her life. She was the only one who could have changed anything…and she didn’t. I don’t know if she didn’t want to or if she didn’t know how…maybe she didn’t care enough to try. I don’t know and I’ll never know.

Now, let’s be real…what is my fucking point? I wish I knew. I still feel shocked that both of my parents are gone. All the years that I didn’t see them, I felt rejected. Like I didn’t matter enough for them to try. Try to see me or talk to me and tell me what was on their mind. Sometimes what I think I missed most about my parents during my 50’s was the “idea” of them. Perhaps more accurately, the “ideal” of them. Maybe that’s what I miss now too. The ideal of a mom…where she would love me just for being me. I felt the most loved when I graduated from law school. They both liked that for sure. I wanted to be loved just for being their daughter, not for an achievement. 

It’s easy to look back and question or wonder…second guess myself and my parents. I’m not sure how helpful that is. I don’t need to analyze my mom as much as I need to understand myself in relationship to her. Who was I with her and who am I without her? What habits or patterns did I develop in reaction to her? I frequently felt the need to protect myself when I was with her. How did that impact my relationship with her? How did it affect my relationships with other people? Does it still affect them? It all feels confusing right now. There’s a mountain of feelings and experiences to sort through. 

What I do know is that I can always love better. I’m guessing that my parents were hurt and I’m not sure how well I responded with love. And love isn’t all kisses and butterflies…it’s having hard conversations and being completely honest. It’s seriously clearing the air. Not allowing a lifetime of grievances to stack up so that even small things become a bigger deal than they need to be. 

What I know is that I tried. I did my best. I’m guessing they did too. What I’m left pondering is how I could have loved better? How could I have loved more honestly? More authentically and with more vulnerability? How could I have loved with less judgment? How can I stay grounded so that I can be my best most loving self all the time? 

I am grateful for the last couple weeks with my mom. While she was happy and relaxed, we loved each other. I know she loved me the best she could, and I loved her too. She knew I loved her. And in the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, we need to get busy loving people. Because love wins…every time.

I’m An Orphan…Right?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Can you be an orphan at 63? Well, 63 and ¾’s to be accurate. Personally, I’m not sure but my sister says that we’re orphans now. My mother died March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day. My sister and I think she did that on purpose. Now no one will ever forget the day she died and it’s a national holiday for us Irish folks. What more could you ask for…green beer and toasts to you all night…toasts lengthening with each Guinness consumed. Omg! She would be so pleased. I’m happy for her about that. We did many toasts Sunday. My favorite was, “May heaven know you’re dead a full half hour before the devil finds out.” She wouldn’t like that one for herself, but my dad was probably laughing his ass off. Hopefully I didn’t create a conflict there…I wouldn’t want them to fight on her first day in heaven.

My mother died peacefully in her sleep Sunday morning. The rehab center called to tell me. It was a call I had been expecting at any time, but I was still surprised when it came. My mother wanted to die. She was ready. In her good weeks, she told me she had a great life but that she had lived longer than she wanted to. She missed my dad. She had stopped eating and drinking. She curled up in bed and went to sleep. She stayed asleep several days before she died. My dad passed away exactly the same way. I’m sure after 70 years it was hard to be apart. 

My first phone call was to my sister. I told her and then we just stared at each other silently for a minute or two on FaceTime, and then she said, “Well we’re orphans now.” I would have been surprised by that except she had been practicing this idea on me with “We’re gonna be orphans soon” or “We’re gonna be orphans when mom dies” and “We’ll be orphans. That’s what it’s called when both of your parents are dead.” That’s what it’s called alright…kind of.

An orphan is defined as, “A child under the age of 18.” This definition made my sister super sad, so I told her I’ll adopt her, and then she won’t be an orphan. I can be her “sister mother” kind of like “sister wife” only legal…at least I think it would be legal…super creepy but legal. And I won’t make her wear a long dress and braids…well maybe braids. I’m thinking Pippi Longstocking’ish. I need some red hair dye.

When I hear the word “orphan” I think of “Little Orphan Annie” the title of which became “Annie” probably because you don’t address a child as a “little orphan” or any kind of orphan. It’s not a title. The movie “Annie” reminds me of, “It’s a hard knock life for us” and “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow….” And of course, Carol Burnett as Ms. Hannigan. She was some bitch.

For my sister’s sake, I also read that adults who have lost their parents can (and do) identify themselves as orphans. Merriam-Webster says, “A child whose parents have died, are unknown or have permanently abandoned them” are orphans. By that definition my mom was an orphan from a young age. Her father left my grandmother when my mom was 6, I believe. She told me that he was crazy about her and loved to take her places with him. She said that he loved her so much, but he still left, and she never saw him again. And she doesn’t know why. My mom was devastated by the loss of her dad. She had a double loss, her dad and being left with her mother, who she told us, never loved her. My grandmother’s brother, my Mom’s Uncle Mike, lived in the apartment with them. I’ve heard horror stories of how my grandma and great uncle would scare my mom and how they were mean to her. She was traumatized as a child. And I guess no one really cared. I know she felt abandoned and unloved.

It’s no surprise my mom had a lot of phobias…claustrophobia, acrophobia, and hydrophobia are the ones I remember. Not understanding why she was treated so harshly she came to believe that she was “bad” somehow and everything that happened was her fault. When children don’t understand what’s happening around them, they make up a story that solves the riddle for them. Our brains cannot manage the stress of not knowing or understanding what happened, so our brain creates a solution…even if the solution is hurtful to us…or untrue.

I was also an orphan, way before this St. Patrick’s Day. I was abandoned by my mother almost from birth. Not technically, not physically, but emotionally. My mom and I had a complicated relationship. I’m not sure exactly why.  I think many of our issues stemmed from her own childhood. They were hers but projected onto me, so what was hers became mine. Her mother favored her brother, 4 years younger than her, I believe. My mom used to say, as if she was joking, that her brother was “the sun, moon, and stars” to her mom and that “he could do no wrong.” She felt unloved and unwanted. I felt the same way. My mom and I had years that we were estranged from each other and that led to my estrangement from my dad, my sister, and all my extended family. I’m sorry for the lost years, at the time I was doing what I thought was best for me, and my own mental health. Would I do it differently now? I honestly don’t know.

I’ve used this blog to write about my mom and I will continue to write about her, probably a lot. I’m going to write about her because she was my mom. She was a very influential person in my life. The ways she loved and hated, was pleased or disappointed, what she accepted and what was just tolerated shaped who she was and who I am. Now with awareness, I want to choose my shape…I will shape who I will become…or am becoming. We are always becoming.

My mom had mental health issues. My primary caretaker had mental health issues. Issues that were never fully addressed and definitely not talked about. It was perhaps the biggest elephant in the room growing up…and there was a small herd. I’m going to free the poor elephant, actually, all the elephants. They’ve been chained up for too fucking long. I’m going to write about, and talk about, the issues in my family, with my mom, my dad, my parents (because they were different together than individually), maybe my sister, extended family…I’m gonna talk about patterns and habitual behaviors, familial and personal. I’m going to talk about the legacy of abuse, mental illness (in different forms), abandonment, grudges, withholding, and I’m going to talk about forgiveness, mental health, insight and change…I hope lots of change, for myself. I’ll leave other people to determine their own path through whatever life brings to them. Life brings a lot…a hell of a lot. 

If you’re reading this and you loved my mom, you might be offended when I talk about her…so this blog may not be for you. Remember though, I loved her too. I loved her and she was my model for motherhood and womanhood. I was sculpted out of my responses and reactions to her. In order to understand me I need to understand her. I need to develop my compassion for her. She was just a woman doing the best she could. It didn’t always feel that way. I’m sure it doesn’t always seem like I’m doing my best either. I’m gonna do my best with this. I’m gonna do my best for my wife, kids, and family. I’m gonna do my best for her and for me…so I keep moving forward.

Let’s be real…losing a parent is hard. Losing both in less than a year feels like a lot. That’s my official assessment of myself…it’s a lot. Sorting through baggage, that we’ve carried for years is hard work. The starting point is to put it down. Set the baggage down. It may feel like you can’t because it’s such a part of you and after all it’s part of a matched set. Do it anyway. Set it down and look around it. Finding a new perspective can get you started on a new path, and intentional path…a path for you and your health, both emotional and physical. I am choosing an intentional path. I am choosing my path. No one is making me do anything. I’m taking the path that leads me through all the shit I’ve been avoiding for such a long time. No more serpentining…constantly running in a zigzag line because I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop. What happens if I stop? If I stop and set down the baggage…I guess it’s time to find out.

So I’m headed on to a path of transformation. My transformation. I am way the fuck too old to be blaming my mom for anything. It’s time I take charge of my own life. My own life and my own behavior. In order to love someone, you have to know them. And to know them you have to listen, deeply. Its time for me to know, listen to, and understand myself. To give myself the same consideration I’d give a friend. And of course, it all starts with love. Love is the greatest gift we can give someone, including ourselves. I’m going to lead with love, in the world and with myself. I’m gonna try some tenderness. In the end, all that matters is how we love people, and that includes ourselves. I want love to win in my life, and in yours. Let’s be love warriors…starting now. I’ll go first….

Thoughts on PTSD

~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

I think most people are familiar with the term PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We’re familiar with the words but maybe not the meaning or a full understanding of what’s involved with that diagnosis. I have diagnosed myself, (because it saves time) with PTSD as a result of the traumatic fall I had November 10th.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD requires exposure to an event that involved the actual, or threat of death, violence, or serious injury. The disorder develops in some people who experience a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. Either you experienced the traumatic event, you witnessed it, someone close to you experienced the event, or you are repeatedly exposed to graphic details of traumatic events, for example, first responders. The National Center for PTSD estimates that out of 100 people, 6 will experience PTSD at some point.

As I was reading this week, I was reminded that my PTSD started before last November. When I was in my 30’s I started working for the Denver Department of Human Services as a child protection caseworker. I had a caseload of families with children who had been removed from their homes because of child abuse and/or neglect. One winter morning I had gone to a school staffing at 7:00 am about 45 minutes from where I worked. When I left the school, it was snowing…more like sleeting. I was driving very slowly because the highway was icy. All of a sudden, I saw a pickup truck lose control on the other side of the highway. The truck spun into the grass median and then flipped over and over toward me. I thought I was going to die. I thought the truck would end up on top of my car…and me. I tried to stop but my car slid on the ice. I hit the pickup truck when it stopped flipping and the car behind me hit me. As the truck was landing the driver was ejected from the front seat and went sliding down the highway. He looked like he was just sleeping as he slid by. I tried to steer away from him but couldn’t because of the ice. I thought I ran him over. 

When everything stopped moving, I was really shaken up. I understand now why an “excited utterance” is an exception to the hearsay rule in court. There’s no time or ability to lie about anything. I understand this because pretty much as soon as a state patrol officer said “hi” I blurted out everything that had happened, including thinking that I ran the driver over as he slid down the highway. The officer told me I did not run him over. The “him” was a 17-year-old, who stole his grandfather’s truck. He didn’t even have a drivers license. It was so sad because he died at the scene. The officer was gentle with me and told me several times that that young man’s death was not my fault. I think because the truck was flipping down the highway at me, I knew it wasn’t my fault. 

That accident gave me PTSD and I still have it. I cannot drive in the snow or ice…well, I physically can but emotionally it’s a bad idea. I am terrified of snowy or icy roads. And you may think, “well I don’t like them either, no one does.” True…but I’m afraid I’m going to be killed at any moment. I’m terrified that a car is going to flip over and smush me…and I’ll be dead. I literally cannot be in a car, riding or driving, in those conditions. That was almost 30 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I still feel the fear of dying and I still see that young man sliding down the highway. None of those images have faded in all these years.

It is natural to feel afraid during and after a traumatic event. A diagnosis of PTSD requires symptoms that last longer than a month and that significantly interfere with aspects of daily living, like work, or relationships. Symptoms must be unrelated to medication, substance abuse, or other illness. PTSD also requires: at least 1 re-experiencing symptom, such as flashbacks, distressing thoughts, recurring memories or dreams; at least 1 avoidance symptom, like avoiding thoughts or feelings, staying away from certain people, places, or events; at least 2 arousal and reactivity symptoms, such as hyper-vigilance, being easily startled or frightened, difficulty with sleep and concentration, feeling irritable or angry, self-destructive behavior; and at least 2 cognition or mood symptoms for example, difficulty remembering key parts of the traumatic event, ongoing feelings of fear, anger, shame, or guilt, loss of interest in activities you used to enjoy, feeling isolated, difficulty feeling positive emotions, and ongoing negative emotions.

There are so many reasons for PTSD personally, as communities, as a country, as a world…9/11, school shootings, as well as shootings in churches, synagogues, movie theaters, and LGBTQ+ nightclubs. There are murders, car accidents, bad falls, assaults, and fucking Covid. And I’m just stopping there but the list of trauma inducing events goes on and on…wildfires, tornadoes, hurricanes, floods…you see my point. I wonder if there’s anyone out there who doesn’t have PTSD. After 9/11 I walked around watching the sky and waiting for the next plane to crash and the next building to fall. After Pulse Nightclub I felt, and still feel, hunted, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. After the Columbine shooting, I questioned the wisdom of sending my kids to school. The pandemic made me want to put everyone I care about into plastic bubbles so they couldn’t get Covid…and couldn’t die.

I think we are a nation of collective PTSD, but we don’t know it. We don’t know because, instead of feeling all the pain and loss of those events, we shut down or we just get angry. It might be righteous anger but it’s still just one feeling, one reaction. It’s easier to feel anger than to feel afraid or confused, or loss, or sadness. There’s been tremendous loss and we should all feel sad, we should be heartbroken, but instead we just get angrier. We are a nation full of angry people…angry traumatized people. When we attempt to solve problems while we are angry our solutions can easily turn to violence…guns, tanks, bombs. We hurt and so we want them to hurt too…whoever “them” may be. They did this to us, so we’ll do this to them…upping the ante with every reaction. 

And we are just reacting. When we’re traumatized, when we’re scared, when we feel threatened, our reaction is fight or flight. I am either gonna beat the shit out of you or I am gonna run the fuck away and hide. Those are the physical reactions our bodies automatically produce. We have a physical reaction but what is our response? Are we able to stop a moment, take a breath, and make a decision of how we will respond? Make a conscious choice. When a traumatic event occurs, our reactions are immediate, and they need to be so that we protect ourselves. When recurring fears and feelings are stirred up because of PTSD we need to find a way to respond. We need to be able to choose an appropriate response when we aren’t in danger, but we’re triggered. When I was walking my dog and I tripped, I was not in danger. Nothing happened to me. I was safe. But for example, if my reaction was to decide to never leave my house again, that might be a bit extreme. When triggered my reactions are not to actual danger but rather a perceived danger. I see danger everywhere because the world hurt me. The beach broke me, a car flipped in front of me, a dead body slid past me on the road…I was minding my own business, and the world got me. How did it get me? It reminded me that I am not in control. I’m not in control of the world or of people or even myself sometimes. Shit happens because I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it because I can’t control it…”it” being literally everything. Well fuck. People fall, cars crash, people die…life happens. Sometimes life feels a bit relentless. 

So, let’s be real…I have physically been put back together from the fall but mentally and emotionally, I feel guarded…maybe tentative is a better word. I feel tentative in my interactions with the world around me. So, what is a lover of the beach to do, especially since I’m scared now. I’m not exactly sure but I know one thing, sitting and being still with myself can only help. Sitting as in meditation or prayer or whatever reason causes you to sit alone and in silence. So, I’m gonna sit. Then, I’ll sit…and finally, I’ll sit some more. Because in a world that feels out of control, I can control that. I can control sitting myself down and meditating…or just closing my eyes and being still. Quiet, still, and by myself. 

So that’s my plan. To sit. Yep, that’s the whole plan. Call it meditation, call it relaxing, or call it laziness.  It doesn’t matter what you call it, it matters that you do it. So, I’ll sit 20 minutes a day…maybe only 10 to start. I’m not sure what to do with all these feelings. So, I’m gonna sit. I’m going to allow my much-feared feelings to arise as they want to and I’m going to sit with them. I’m going to stay with them. I am not going to interact with them, at least not now. I’m going to notice them in my mind, recognize them, notice them in my body, and then let them go. I’m going to notice, touch, and let go. And they will go…if I let go. I’m going to allow these feelings to come to me instead of trying to orchestrate how I’ll fix them without feeling them. Nothing needs to be fixed. All I need is to be aware.

Before I end here, I want to say that I am not writing this as a mental health expert or an expert in PTSD. I am writing as a fellow traveler on this journey with trauma. I’m reading and learning and sharing. This is not intended to take the place of any therapy. Only you know if you need therapy. If you think you might then you should. Therapy can be very helpful. 

If you are going to hurt yourself, call 911. If you have suicidal thoughts, get help right away. Reach out to a friend, a spiritual advisor, or someone you trust. Make an appointment with your doctor or therapist. You can contact the Suicide Crisis Lifeline 24 hours a day. Text 988 with any message you want and have a conversation with a counselor through text or chat. You can also call 1-800-suicide 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Please reach out and get the help you need.

As a person who has experienced trauma, in relationships with people who have experienced trauma, in a nation that has experienced trauma, and as part of a massively traumatized world, be kind. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to other people. Lead with love in all your interactions. Because we need love to win. We need love to win everywhere. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, lead with love. Love is always the place to begin.

I Am Fucking Exhausted…The 6th Stage of Grief

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I did a 5-part blog and podcast on grief last year. I’m sure you know the stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I think there should be a 6th stage of grief…EXHAUSTION. Because grief is fucking exhausting! 

My whole body hurts with how exhausted it is from pain. This 6th stage is for any loss, any grief. I’ve written about chronic pain because I know chronic pain…and it is exhausting. I’m exhausted. I woke up this morning because I was in pain, and after a full night’s sleep I am still exhausted. Every ounce of me is exhausted. 

My dad died two months ago, and I’m exhausted. Exhausted and frustrated because I don’t think I’ve even begun to grieve his loss because I don’t have the time or the energy. I boxed up all of his clothes and donated them to hospice. It’s strange packing up someone’s life and giving it away. I don’t want all traces of him to be gone. My sister and I kept things that were important to us and things we thought would be meaningful to our kids. I had a dream that my dad’s baseball cap, which has been hanging on the kitchen chair for the past year, had moved to another chair. In the dream that was my dad letting me know he’s still around. And so, his hat hangs on the kitchen chair, waiting for him to move it. I’m really tired.

My mom has dementia and lives in a skilled nursing facility. She has good days and bad days – and they are either REALLY good or REALLY bad. Today is bad. I am the enemy she fights against. She says mean and hateful things to me. She hangs up on me several times a day…and, although it’s pitiful, I’ve tried to beat her to hanging up…although I won’t just hang up on her. I try and end a negative conversation first but she’s always faster than I am. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of trying to calm her and placate her. It’s exhausting. She’s exhausting. I found myself on the couch crying and telling my wife that I try to do everything for her but it’s never enough and it’s never right. I’m so fucking exhausted. I can’t even touch any of the grief I feel about her or my dad. It would require way more energy than I have – maybe more than I’m willing to give at this moment.

This week I found out that besides a separated AC joint in my shoulder I also have a torn rotator cuff. That helped explain the length of time it’s taking for my shoulder to heal and the amount of pain I’m still experiencing. I packed up my dad’s clothes, as I mentioned, and am in the middle of taking care of the financial stuff for both of them. We’ve also been trying to move my mom to a different facility where she would have more people she could interact with. I had the move all set up until the administrator, of the current facility, decided he knew what was best for my mom and told her she should go to assisted living. Of course, he didn’t tell her she can’t afford it and he didn’t consider her safety or needs because he doesn’t know her. He won’t do the paperwork for the transfer and now she only wants to go to assisted living. So, I’m having a pointless fight with this administrator, who is overstepping his position, and my mom is refusing to move…so that’s all fucked. I don’t really know what to do, what I do know is I’m exhausted. 

I think exhaustion is the 6th stage of grief. If you’ve ever experienced grief, it’s obvious, right? Exhaustion is the overlooked stage. Maybe exhaustion is the last stage coming after acceptance…you’ve come to terms with the loss but are so wiped out. You probably didn’t even realize how exhausted you were. I think exhaustion is woven in between all the other stages. There’s denial, exhaustion, anger, exhaustion, bargaining, exhaustion, depression, exhaustion, acceptance, exhaustion. It’s exhausting just reading all of that. And all those stages come and go as they please. I’m not sure how long it takes to feel like you are on the other side of grief…maybe there is no other side. Maybe we just adapt to the loss, and it becomes incorporated into who we are.

I am learning that exhaustion does not go away just because I accept a situation. Accepting chronic pain doesn’t stop me from waking up in pain. It doesn’t end the days where I am in so much pain, I’m afraid to take a step, because I’m scared of falling. It doesn’t stop the frustration of not being able to lift one leg to step into shorts because it’s agony…the lifting and the standing on one leg. It’s relentless. Its fucking exhausting. 

Accepting that my dad died doesn’t end the work that needs to be done. There are details to take care of…I didn’t realize how many details. And acceptance doesn’t help me deal with my mom’s emotions and grief. She was exhausting before my dad died. And accepting my mom’s dementia doesn’t stop the constant phone calls and complaints. It’s 10 am and I have already been hung up on 3 times. Acceptance doesn’t change that. I am exhausted. And in that exhaustion, I am trying to do the right thing all the time. But I don’t even know the right thing all the time. I am doing the best I can, although it never seems to be quite good enough. There’s always more – more to do, more to fix, more to appease, more to be responsible for…even if I’m not.

So, I’m exhausted, big damn deal. You may even be thinking, “Go take a nap!” This is not exhaustion that a nap helps or resolves. This is exhaustion in every cell of my being. Exhaustion to the bone. Now my natural reaction to all of this is to shut down emotionally…pull myself up by the bootstraps and march on. I don’t even own boots, but on I march. I’ll keep going because I don’t feel like I have any other choice. I’ll be responsible and keep moving forward…that’s what I do. As I write this I realize, I have totally shut down my emotions. I haven’t been feeling much of anything except pain and pressure. Pain in my body and pressure to keep doing…whatever needs doing.

I shut down inadvertently. I didn’t even realize it until now, writing about grief. A grief that I know I have not even touched…yet. So, what does shutting down do for me? It definitely does not end the exhaustion. It might even add to it because I waste so much energy trying not to feel. It cuts me off from myself and from caring for myself. I can’t care for what I refuse to see or feel. It creates a barrier between me and the people I love. It keeps them at a distance so that even if they could help, I’m not allowing them to. It causes doubts and confusion. It makes problems seem bigger than they are…it can make grief seem bigger than it is…or maybe more unmanageable is a better way to put it. I am fighting what already is…everything I’ve written about is already reality. I waste my time and energy longing for things to be different than they are. Now that’s exhausting…a waste of energy and exhausting.

So, let’s be real…sometimes I feel hopeless. I look out in front of me and fear that I’ll always feel as exhausted, sad, confused, and in the same pain as I am right now. But here’s the thing, I have no idea what the future holds…not 10 years from now, not even 10 minutes from now. There’s a line in the Indigo Girls song, “Closer to Fine,” that says, “And the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.” I long for things to be stable and solid…something I can hang on to, solid ground to steady myself. But everything is changing all the time. If I can release this longing. Release this need for certainty. If I can lean into what scares me, then I can allow what is to be…as it already is…without all the kicking, screaming, and fighting. And I am closer to fine.

If I can stop looking for an answer, stop thinking I need an answer to save me…stop looking for the definitive…then I am fine. I am fine because I am here in this moment, just being in this moment, and I’m fine. When I try to change the past or arrange the future, then I’m really fucked. I’m fucked because I can’t but I’m still trying to convince myself that I can. I think maybe the answer is that there is no answer. There’s not one definite answer that works for the world. One answer that everyone is looking for. I don’t need an answer. I need a moment-to-moment strategy to live my life. And here it is…Stay. Just stay. Stay where I am. Stay with whatever feeling or situation I have in that moment. Just be where I am. Just be who I am. Just fucking stay. 

I need to release myself from the idea that I can take care of everything and everyone…I actually try to do that. Release myself and stay with whatever is there. I might feel scared or relieved, possibly pissed off, frustrated, discouraged, envious, abandoned, used, manipulated…you name it and stay with it…right where you are. Acknowledge whatever is there and stay with it. Look at it. Be curious about it. Be prepared to learn from it. We learn when we stay. We learn because we stay. Stay until you don’t need to anymore. And then, as Dharma used to say on “Dharma and Greg,” put it in a bubble and blow it away. Let go.

There you have it…my 2 strategies for life…Stay and Let Go. I knew I could be brief…too bad I didn’t start here; you could have been done in one minute. Seriously, it’s not bad advice. I’m learning to follow it myself. And behind the staying and letting go, always be guided by love…and some gentleness. It takes time to learn, and grow, and change. Love yourself through it. Love those close to you through it. Love those you’re not that crazy about through it. And people you don’t know or don’t think you care about…love them too. The only thing that will change the world is love. So, get to it. The world needs love. Desperately. 

Love must win…always.

A Letter to My Dad

~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

Eulogy…that’s such a funny sounding word. Merriam-Webster says it comes from the Greek and means literally “good speech” and it is a “speech or piece of writing that praises someone highly, typically someone who has just died.” So that would be my dad. My dad died Friday, August 4th at 10:25 pm. It’s interesting that 10/25 was also his birthday. I’m not sure it means anything but it’s interesting.

My dad died. He died. I keep using that word, died, because the words we usually use, “passed away,” “gone,” “lost,” seem to understate what happened. Although I have to say, I used “gone” when I told my mom. Dads gone. That’s all that needed to be said. We use those other words as a way to somehow soften the impact of death or serpentine around reality. Now I’m a serpentiner (I feel certain that’s a word) for sure. I try to be gentle with people when I’m sharing difficult information.

My sister, my wife, and I had a meeting with my dad’s hospice nurse a few weeks ago. After we finished talking the nurse suggested that we tell my dad what we had been talking about, even though we were right next to his bed. He’d always close his eyes when we were talking as if that made him invisible. So, I started telling him that we were talking about how we needed more help caring for him and that things were progressing so nurses would be coming every day and…I don’t know what else. I was stumbling around. I stopped talking and my dad’s nurse looked at him and said, “You’re coming to the end of your life. It won’t be much longer now.” Or there’s that. Sometimes direct is better…shorter for sure. There is no good way to tell someone they’re about to die. It was hard to discuss my dad’s death with him. I felt like I would offend him by thinking he was going to die. As if dying was a sign of weakness.

I feel as though I am still in shock, or maybe denial, and that my dad’s death hasn’t really sunk in for me yet. That seems weird since I was with him when he died…can’t be much more real than that. Now my dad wanted no funeral or memorial service. He wanted to be cremated and then he said he didn’t care what we did with the ashes, we could just throw them away. I told him that I would follow his wishes but that I was going to spread his ashes in the ocean. I would never just throw his ashes away. I could make some inappropriate jokes now, and my dad would laugh his ass off, but I won’t.

So then does he need a eulogy? No service so no need for a speech, right? I don’t know. Writing always helps me and my eulogy to my dad could help me face life without him now…at least that’s what I think.

Now in a eulogy, the giver of the eulogy, usually talks about the person who died, but instead of talking about my dad, I’d rather talk to him. So, instead of a eulogy, I’m writing my last letter to my dad.

Dad,

I can’t believe you’re gone. The apartment seems empty without you. I still expect to sit in the family room with you and watch old movies. I kept a list of the movies we watched and ones I still wanted to watch with you. When I’m in bed, I swear I still hear you breathing in the next room. When I wake up during the night, I have to stop myself from going to check on you. For the last couple weeks, I was always checking to see if you were breathing. I knew at some point you wouldn’t be but I’m still not sure I was ready. Maybe I was as ready as I could be. Thinking about death is a lot different than experiencing it.

You were the person I went to when I needed help. You seemed to handle any news in stride. Remember when I hurt my knee and needed surgery? I called you from college to tell you. Now I told you and I expected you to tell mom. That’s how this was supposed to work. I wanted you to tell her because she did not take news as calmly as you. My system failed because although I expected you to tell mom…sometimes you did and sometimes not so much. This time fell under the “not so much” category and boy did the shit hit the fan then…holy hell. I’m smiling at the memory now, but I sure wasn’t then.

It’s funny now to think that I went to you for help or with difficult information because I was always afraid of you growing up. In my memory you were usually pretty laid back and easy going but when you got mad watch out. You got MAD! Scary mad. Remember when you ripped a post out of the desk in our kitchen in Wisconsin? You were so tall and had such a big voice. It was intimidating. You were intimidating. As you were dying your voice became really soft and for the last week or so you couldn’t talk at all. It took too much energy, or maybe you had said everything you wanted to say. The last words I heard you say were “toast and coffee,” which you said every night when you went to bed. Only we can’t meet in the morning for toast and coffee anymore.

I think you wanted us to be afraid of you. The old school thinking of “if you’re afraid of me then you respect me.” Now pardon me but you know I have to tell you that’s total bullshit. I didn’t respect you when you scared me, I avoided you. I got mad at you, and I held on to that anger for a long time. It’s hard to share yourself or be vulnerable with someone you’re afraid of or angry at. You told Gayle, (my wife), that you had Kathy (my sister) and I bring you the brush or belt when you were going to spank us to “humiliate” us. She was pretty shocked by that, and I was too. It worked. I was humiliated and unfortunately that created an almost insurmountable distance between us. I say almost because I think we managed to bridge the gap, especially this past year in Florida.

You would never say you were sorry for anything. You’d say that stupid ass line from the movie “Love Story,” like it was ideal advice. “Love means you never have to say you’re sorry.” What kind of bullshit was that? I think there are a lot of things and relationships that would have been easier if you had never seen that movie. Even though you softened as you got older, I don’t remember you ever apologizing. A couple weeks before you died you wanted to watch “Brian’s Song” with Gayle an I. You said we could watch together and cry together. And we did.

As we’ve moved through this past year, mom’s dementia got worse. She has horrible mood swings. It was hard to listen to all her angry words and accusations. Sometimes I think she says stuff that she knows will hurt me, like something about our relationship. I think she was jealous of our relationship. She told me that you always called me the “bad seed.” I wish I had asked you if that was true, but I thought there’d be no good answer, so I didn’t. I guess I didn’t really want to know. That would be soul crushing if you did. Who wants their soul crushed? I don’t think we would have gotten along as well as we did if you thought that of me. 

I remember growing up that if mom was mad at you, she was automatically mad at me too, even if I had no idea what was going on. I think she assumed I’d take your side. Maybe that was true. I don’t really know. I think that’s part of the reason I’ve had a hard relationship with her. She was unpredictable and I was always trying to figure out what I did wrong. Usually, I couldn’t come up with anything and I believe that’s because I didn’t do anything. You know I’m still trying to figure her out. Even as an adult if she was mad at you, she was mad at me. Made for some tense times here in Florida. We were frequently in the doghouse on the island of “what the fuck did we do now?” It’s very stormy on that island…the weather changes very quickly.

I think your sense of humor was my favorite thing about you. I will always remember how much you loved to tell jokes. You told them all the time. I was going through your wallet the other day and found the notes you had made to remember all the jokes you wanted to tell. I even recognized a couple of them. You seemed the happiest when you were telling a joke and getting lots of laughs. And you made yourself laugh too. I loved listening to you and Amy (my daughter) tell jokes to each other. You two cracked each other up. There was nothing better than listening to the two of you laughing uncontrollably. It made me laugh too. I think that’s how you liked things, lighthearted and lots of laughter.

I think I get my sense of humor from you. I think Kathy does too. We’re funny people. Seriously…funny. I used to love to make you and mom laugh. Remember when I used to pretend I was a balloon? This all happened in your bedroom when you were trying to get Kathy and I to leave and go to bed. We were teenagers then. There was a comedian on tv, at the time, that did this act and I loved it. I’d put my thumb in my mouth to blow myself up. Then I’d float around the room gently bumping into things that changed my direction. The main thing was I couldn’t get out the door. When I tried, I just bounced off and floated around the room. I remember laughing really hard at that. That and Kathy and I singing “Sisters” from “White Christmas” or “Let’s Just Kiss and Say Goodbye” by The Manhattans. Sometimes it was easier to make you laugh than mom. She did not always appreciate how hysterical we are…or were. I think we’ll still be funny…or I’ll still be funny, in the future. Although I don’t know, you might be telling jokes right now wherever you are.

Mom always says that you didn’t know how to love because you were raised in a house without love. I’m not sure if that’s accurate or not. Your parents died right before I turned 8 so I have limited memories of them and their relationship. I think mom was raised in the same kind of environment. She says all the time that grandma hated her and only loved her brother. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s certainly true to her. Maybe that’s why you found each other; you were trying to heal the same wounds. Although you can’t give someone what you don’t have, and I’m not sure how much either of you had to give.

You were never big on displays of affection. An “I love you dad” received the anticipated response of “back at ya.” It’s funny now. I’m not sure about growing up. I frequently felt like you were disappointed in me, not for anything specific, just me in general. That’s sad to me. I heard you talking to Michael (my nephew) on the phone one night this past year. You were talking about his new job and when you hung up you told him you loved him. I asked you why he got the “I love you” and not “back at ya.” You said because he earned it with the new job. That also makes me sad. I’m guessing you learned that from your parents, probably your dad. Maybe that’s why I felt you were disappointed because I was never earning the I love you. 

As you were getting closer to your death, I think you’d forget, and an “I love you too” would slip out in response to being told you were loved. It was like a game wondering what your response would be. When mom fell, shortly after we moved here, and I took her to urgent care because I was worried about the lump on her head, she ended up going to the hospital by ambulance. When I called to tell you, you told me you loved me. You said it like it was a prize on a game show. You told me I did good getting her medical help and you said, “So here, I love you.” I earned it.

Mom has told me that if you guys hadn’t moved to Florida you’d still be here. I don’t think that’s true. You told me if you hadn’t come to Florida one of you would have been dead. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m glad you came to Florida with us. I really treasure this past year with you both. I’ve reached a point in my life where my focus has become not having any regrets..any regrets about my relationship with you or my relationship with mom. And I don’t have any, especially with you. I got to spend a year with you living in the same home. I really enjoyed living with you, as long as we stayed far, far away from politics. Right!? I got to take care of you. Hopefully you could feel my love for you in all of those moments. I was happy to take care of you. Happy to be here for you, because you have been here for me, especially this past year. I know you’ve tried to intervene with mom when she’s being mean to me. And you paid an emotional price for defending me. I appreciated it more than you know. And you would ask me if I was okay and try to make sure I wasn’t taking what she said personally, but that was hard. It felt, and still feels, very personal. You understood that. 

One day when mom was yelling at you, you said, “Do you ever wonder how I feel?” I think that may be the only time I ever heard you use the word “feel” especially in reference to yourself. It’s sad to me to think of that and how much emotional pain you were in. I asked you, respectfully, one day if you ever thought about leaving mom over all these years. And you said no, and I especially remember this part…when I asked you why not you said, “because she always comes back.” You saw something at the core of her that you loved regardless of how she was treating you in a specific moment. Some core that always reappeared. That you always loved. I guess you did know how to love. It’s hard to recognize if you haven’t had it.

I was thinking about you telling me how you had changed my diapers as a baby and now I was changing yours and how you felt that was wrong. I wish I would have said the first thing that popped into my head at the time which was, “You never changed my diaper. That’s some bullshit dad.” We would have gotten a good laugh out of that, especially because I would have used the word shit.

Now dad, let’s be real…you gave me many things that are invaluable to me…my sense of humor is one of the best. My love of school and learning, always expanding my mind. To be true to my word and do the things I say I’ll do. To live without regrets, although I think you and I each take a different path to get to that point. I’m stubborn. One day mom told me I was stubborn, and I said, “how could I not be? I was born to stubborn and stubborner.” It’s in my blood. I’m a glass half full person just like you. You seemed to find the positive in situations and that was your focus.

Now some of what you gave me may have been unintentional, such as, my ability to apologize, especially to my children. The fact that I feel compelled to apologize when I have hurt someone. And I say “I love you” pretty freely. I always want people to know how much I care about them. I would never try to humiliate anyone. I care about other people’s thoughts, feelings, and opinions, including children. Children have feelings and they need to be heard. I learned to push my feelings down and appease people, so that they feel okay…regardless of how I feel or felt. I guess you seemed sort of impenetrable when I was young. I’m not sure it occurred to me that you had feelings…except anger and laughter…laughter isn’t a feeling, so maybe happiness, I’m not sure.

One of my favorite quotes is, “We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.” Buddha said that. In my experience that’s really true. I think you’d agree. I think I took things more personally when I was young than I do now. I can see now that a lot of things people say or do are about them not me. Even if they say it’s my fault. Just because someone says something doesn’t make it true. Even if that someone is your parent. I cannot be responsible for everyone’s feelings. I have enough trouble with my own. Maybe you know that. 

Ultimately, I knew you loved me. I knew without the words, but the words were nice too. I loved spending the last year with you, and I know you know I love you. I hope mom knows too. There’s still time for me to work on that and I’m afraid it will take a lot of work. But I know that in the end, all that matters is how we love people. I miss you dad.