Apathy

There are times that I wish the Earth would stop turning on its axis.

I go through such emotion. They wax and wane like the moon. The joy in my heart even on bad days has disappeared. I think I have lost my faith.

How does that happen?  It’s a rhetorical question. It sneaks up on you tearing away at who you thought you were and leaves such a dark vast emptiness.

Even even in the darkness, I still hear many people.  They try so hard to coax me from the desolation that has shredded my family and faith. Yet even as I turn from God, his infinite mercy and love are still there. I can feel it.

Life is still happening. The lives of those that are so dear to me slip from me and I am powerless to stop that clock from ticking. Normal and abnormal life and death seem to pervade every crevise of my soul.

I am still here. I am still fighting. I am not weak.  Phrases I tell myself over and over.  A chant that keeps the key wound  in my own clockwork.

When there is one alone, [I say,] I am with him. Raise
the stone, and there you will find me; cleave the wood, and there
I am.” Gospel of St Thomas

In my heart I do know I am not alone.  The people I have been blessed with are here to guide me and to help me unravel the rubble I stand in.  I am grateful.

 

 

 

 

Relocation Doesn’t Equal A New Start in Life

Moved to a new house in the same city I live in. Not quite sure how I feel about it.
The house is lovely as the neighborhood is.

Guess what happens when you leave the house your Daughter grew up in and died in to move to a new house. Nothing.
It is in my humble opinion that what one thinks may be a solution to suffering may not be all it is cracked up to be.

There is an environment of chaos. Self inflicted. Boxes, gear adrift that have not been touched in two weeks.

Packing up her room and all the random places we find reminders of her was hard.

Unpacking it and finding a place to put treasures and relinquish the remainder to some dark corner in the basement or closet is not working for me in my head.

I had so much help getting this move done. My children and their friends and significant other. My dearest friends Wendy and Tony (who are in the same club of Child Loss) were amazing in all things moving wise. Right down to the lunch they brought for the whole crew.

My best advice is if you don’t know what to do, do nothing. God will lead the way when you are ready to hear.

Today I will unpack one box of hers and clear off the fucking congestion I have been tripping on for the last two weeks.

The pain of being a Mother with a dead child never goes away. It doesn’t matter where you go. Your soul is branded until the day you die. It sucks to have to visit your kid at a cemetery and frankly I am still pissed off at God.

How can I get to Heaven to be with her if I curse his name daily? Haven’t figured out that part either. I guess today I just don’t care.

Musings

We have been packing up our home to move. This is the home we raised our children in. I nursed them when they were sick, celebrated birthdays, holidays.
Homes have so much love and warmth in them even bad things happen.
Our two of our older children moved out when it was time to leave the nest. That left our Mali virtually an only child. We adored her.
The thought of going through her things and packing them up was more then I could bear. My little girl died in her room. My heart raced and broke a thousand times today.
I called my close friend to help me. She too has been touched by her daughter completing Suicide. I couldn’t have gone through all of this without her support and love. We took our time. Many breaks and a couple of clonazepam later, it was over.
My darling Mali was now in 15 boxes. I let go as much as I could. Her Dad was in one of her other closets alone sorting through her piles and piles of teenager angst, clothing, stuffed animals. He separated her things into piles so we could go through it together.
How can a heart that is already broken break again?
The stitches that have held it together were stretched pretty tight today. Many broke and a few held strong.
Tim found some notes she had written in a notebook. She said why do my parents hate me? We were floored. I ruminated those words all day. We never hated her. We adored her. I can’t remember a time we could have caused her to feel that way. We can’t fix it now. It’s too late.
We are trying to move forward. This is not easy. So much guilt in the thought we are leaving her behind.
In my heart I know we’re not leaving her. She is coming with us. I just wish she was here to be excited about a new chapter.

Just Another Day

The last couple of months have slipped by.  The sharp sting of missing Mali has lessened. Don’t get me wrong it hurts. It’s just not the kind of hurt that leaves you agonizing displaced and unable to breathe.

This hurt is different. Always in the back of you head. Always in your heart and mind.

I wonder sometimes if this pain and I have somehow are learning to live with each other?

Instead of living in the last year I have found crawling up the ragged wall of rock that has been my prison a worthy task. Sometimes I stop, catch my breath, feel the pain and push on. There is light up there. A new life that beckons me up out of the grave I dug for myself.

Anger at this whole situation has not touched me. Waiting and wondering what it would be like has left me only uttering words of gratitude to Our Lady for sparing me that.

Why is it that it takes celebrities to complete Suicide that gets people all riled up. Good God, if one of the Kardashian’s offed themselves would the world stop?

Granted I know this is ridiculous. I am genuinely sorry for those poor souls and the hell there families are starting down. No one chooses this hell. If they do they are just plain Mad.

So I am here.  I’m still breathing. I still pray.  I can still love. Miss you Mals. More than the Sun and the Moon and all the stars in the sky.

A Homily

note:

this is a rough draft of her funeral homily. Grateful he shared it.

Two years ago Mali Famer came to Jesus Christ as a child of God. She was baptized at the age of 12.
Certainly it was a result of grace. As John says in one of His Epistles. We come to love of God…only because He loved us first. Yet of her own cognition, her own choice, with no prompting from her parents…Mali decided that she wanted to be baptized into the Catholic faith and live the sacramental life of the Catholic Church. SHE chose that for herself. She could see that there was something transformative about being a practicing Christian. Later that year…she makes her First Confession, and along with it, her First Communion. Of her own volition, with no prompting from mom or dad or anybody else. And from that day forward…she was faithful to both confession, and regular Sunday Mass…receiving Jesus in the Eucharist…His Body and Blood; and never afraid to confess her sins to the priest standing in for the Risen Lord.
This is the will of the one who sent me…that I should not lose anything of what the Father gave me…
I couldn’t find Mali’s baptismal or First Communion records. A few days after Mali’s tragic death, I wanted to look at her sacramental records…and I couldn’t find anything.
I asked Joe Rutten, our director of faith formation about it, and he went on the offensive as only Joe can do…to track it down.
It was recorded at St. Mary’s. That’s because Mali was baptized in the Mckennan Hospital chapel by Fr. Krogmanof St. Mary’s…during another tragic time in the family when TJ was seriously injured in a car accident. So, TJ’s accident is cause for Mali’s introspection, as she sees him lying in a hospital bed. She watches as her parents and her sister call upon faith in this desperate moment to ground them and keep them going. As she observes her mother with a new found joy in the practice of the Catholic faith, she decides, on her own…that she wants to own that joy too.
Joe came back from St. Mary’s and showed me therecords. “Here’s her First Communion record….
We look at each other for a moment and become silent. Fr. Lacey stops what he is doing at his desk and slowly turns his head toward us. We are all three thinking the same thing. Is this a sign from God? (She was baptized and had first communion almost to the day of her death) I should not lose anything of what He gave me?
Saints have written that when someone dies close to Holy Week and Easter, that God opens more doors, larger portals for entry into His Kingdom, as unworthy as we are, and as poor as our choices may be, because of His infinite mercy…like our Holy Door of Mercy, that was open for a year in our Cathedral at the bequest of Pope Francis and Bishop Swain, to pass through in order to comprehend that there is no sin that cannot be forgiven.
You know we see our existence very narrowly…onedimensional, maybe two dimensional, by an act of faith.
God sees it in a multi-dimensional fashion. Like a Polaroid picture, the ones that you took and you would have to wait for the image to develop, and you watched as it grew clearer, as it came more into focus, until finally, you really never knew, exactly when, the image was complete. You look at it and surmise, it must be complete now, but yet a picture is always incomplete when it comes to human realism…a picture can never show a person’s true feelings, their internal struggles, the big questions they are grappling with in life.
There is a line from The Little Prince that I think best expresses this analogy: One sees clearly only with the heart…Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.
That’s how it is with us as we mourn and question Mali’s death. The image is a blank right now. But it will slowly develop as life goes on…so that, maybe the question of “Why”? will never be answered, but we will experience healing…surrender…peace…even “good” that can come out of a tragedy…that God will have worked this outaccording to his plan. The scar will always remain; but the wound can be healed.
The hardest part is the void that Mali’s death has left us in the depths of our hearts. We will miss her.
We saw Mali a lot around here. She was server at 9:15 Mass. Celia taught confirmation class and is/was the chair of our Social Concerns committee. Mali’s family is larger than her immediate family – it is this parish; the O’Gorman community; her debate partners; her former classmates and many friends from Edison who have moved on to Lincoln; her softball teammates and coaches; her teachers at all the schools, and music and violin instructors; She had a large circle of family…thank you for gathering around her today.
What great solidarity and strength and friendship you are showing to one another by your presence here this morning; And what great support you offered each other last night at the Wake Service.
I believe you are giving Tim & Celia, Amanda & TJ and other family members, the strength to get through this.
When a person makes a decision to take their life, I don’t think they realize the positive impact they had on people. She obviously left a huge impact on us her extended family. Fr. and Deacon and I will miss her not being around at 9:15 Mass to serve, as well as the other servers she served with will miss her too.
I want to acknowledge the Avera family, Celia’s workplace; and Tim’s colleagues and peers – who have rallied around this family to help bring some comfort and hope at a horrible time in their lives.
Mali always belonged to Christ. She was a young woman of faith. She loved her family dearly; Her family loved her dearly. She believed in the commandments of God. She received the sacraments with great love and respect. She was a girl who loved her faith…and she loved this parish, she was always ready to serve and help out…though I’m sure Celia had to prod her once in awhile. So, as her pastor, I am mourning her as well. Our parish mourns her death. In honor of her contributions to the Cathedral parish, we are closing the offices today.
Now the hard part: There is not one person sitting here who is wondering what went wrong…why did she do this? On the outside, everything looked so good; but on the inside something was not right.
We know Mali was dealing with depression. Everybody who knew Mali knew that she could have not been in her right mind to do something like this. There wassomething wrong; and she didn’t want to bother anyone with it. (Teens…if something is bothering you…we – your parents, pastors, minister, teachers, friends…want to know about it, and want to help.
We can ask the question “why” until we are blue in the face…but it’s not going to get us anywhere. We can search for answers all we want. But there will be none.
I think if Mali could speak to us right now she would say to us: “I did a stupid thing. I did a selfish thing.”
But what is done is done. And so what we focus on today and everyday from here on out…is prayer and mercy.
And that’s why Paul tells us in 1 Thess. to “pray constantly and unceasingly.” Because when we make our lives a constant prayer, we are cooperating with grace…and it is grace helps us to overcome the temptation to make irrational choices; the only way we can get through this is through the help of grace.
God’s mercy is immensely larger than what we can ever conceive of it. This is the will of the one who sent me…that I should not lose anything of what the Father gave me.
Mali was a good girl. She was a fine young woman who made a bad choice. That doesn’t take away from the fine young woman that she was; nor does it delude the fact that she went to confession regularly, ate the Body & Blood of Christ knowing in her heart of hearts that she needed it to survive in this world…and the next.
Oh, the great wisdom of Catholic nuns, sisters…whether they be Presentations or Benedictines where Celia works…or the Adoration Sisters, here, who inhabit our Cathedral and know Celia & Mali.
When I told the sisters of Adoration about what happened, Sister RoseAlba spoke up right away and said, “Father, Jesus and Mary were with her. I know that for a fact. At the last moment Mali said she was sorry, that she didn’t want to do this. We trust she asked for forgiveness when she realized what was happening.”
I have all the faith in the world that that’s exactly what happened in those final moments of Mali’s life.
As I said last night, and at the O’Gorman Memorial Service for Mali – she was a very gentle and sensitive soul and sometimes gentle and sensitive souls suffer the most in here.
We are reminded today, that because of Adam & Eve, all of us…and I mean all of us…have the potential of doing something we thought we would never do.
Tim & Celia; TJ & Amanda…grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles…on behalf of Cathedral Parish, you have our heartfelt condolences and prayers at this tragic time. We pray that the presence of all these people – your friends and colleagues as well as Mali’s friends and colleagues – will help ease the sadness and pain of Mali’s death. It will never truly cease…but it will diminish.
In 2 Tim. 1, St. Paul prays for his deceased friend Onesiphorus. He says, to paraphrase, that his friend “always gave him a new heart, that he loved the faith and was at the service of the Church.” His prayer for his deceased friend goes like this: “May the Lord grant him to find mercy from the Lord on that day.”
That is our prayer today for Mali: We are praying her into heaven.
Mali, we forgive you. We are convinced that you did not know what you were doing.
Let the words of Jesus bring us consolation this morning:
“T his is the will of my Father, that I should lose nothing or no one that he has given me…but raise it up on the last day.”

Spring

There are good days  They are sporadic.  Bad days, a melted version of what was once me needs scraping off the floor, to be remolded into some semblance of once what was me. Good days I get out of bed, get to work and try to smile. That’s it.  Everything is bland and I notice very little around me.  At the very least, I am standing.  That is a victory.

The smell of her in her clothing, a song, the way the sky looks can totally wreck my day or make me grateful for the 14 years of pure love we shared.

She was the most gentle, compassionate person I ever knew, her love knew no boundaries.

I miss us.

A year and change has passed since we lost her.  We are buying a new home.  The process of preparing to leave the house she grew up in, laughed in, cried in and died in sucks.  A part of me feels like a traitor.

Every cupboard I clean out, the things I toss away remind me of her.  When I run across anything that was hers I set it aside.  I can’t bear to part with it.

I have not started on her rooms and closets  it’s too painful.  The future without her is painful.

Even though she left a letter for us, there will never be an explanation of why that wonderful creature is not here with us that I can accept.

So, here’s to an attempt to moving forward instead of standing in the quagmire that has swallowed us up.

Cheers.

 

 

Wakes and Funeral Masses

One year ago we were leaving the funeral home, post wake for our Mali, to prepare for her funeral Mass the next day.  I don’t remember that

Before the wake started I remember my sisters getting the funeral home ready for the wake. My children setting up photographs and a dvd.  My work family blowing up balloons to release during her wake service. So many balloons.  Hundreds.

I remember saying the Rosary led by Fr. Morgan. I remember the hundreds of peoples faces who came to her wake and hugging a lot of them. I remember Mali’s violin professor Stacey Sip and Lana playing violin and piano together but I don’t know what song it was. I remember Stacey weeping as she slid her bow across her violin.

I don’t remember how all these memories are tied together.  They were like flashes scattered in my brain

If Joe hadn’t taken pictures of the Funeral Mass I wouldn’t remember as much as I did of it. Ave Maria was being sung from the choir perch by a single voice. The homily given was so profound by Fr. Morgan I thought my heart would burst. The weeping of her class from O’Gorman HS on the Blessed Mother’s side of the Cathedral broke my already broken heart

I remember the casket to my left where my daughter lay and thinking how badly I wanted to crawl in there with her.

One year later the fog still settles in but I can breathe.

There are so many people who have walked into my life who have lost their children too. They have guided my path when the path was not obvious. My friends who carried me when I couldn’t walk.

Are things better now?  No is the only answer I have. I am trying to learn how to live without her and I hate every minute of it. I detest it. I want to wash it away like dirt from my hands.

God has plans for each of us. Learning to suffer with grace and not be bitter is a hard lesson and I have not passed that class yet. I have no idea what his plan is for me

I miss you Ducky. I don’t think the part of me that died with you is coming back. That’s fine with me as long as we’re together.

 

Untitled

The bitter emptiness that pervades my innermost core is unbearable most days.

A routine of getting up, dressed and off to work can persuade me into putting down this veil of darkness into the world of faked happiness of productivity for at least 10 hours of a day.

I mostly just long to be happy. I cannot muster up the courage to fit through that door today.

Endless time spent putting on this  masquerade for the benefit of whom? My family, work, trying to be social. Why do I have to be so emotional?  Why can’t ice and metal replace this aching heart of mine?

I can ruminate endlessly about this state I am constantly in. I can’t tell how much of it is self inflicted or the weight of the burden I carry.

 

363.5

This is it. We’re standing on the precipice of one year without you beautiful face, that smile, your laughter.

I miss those giant brown eyes and that sharp sense of humor comparable to any salty sailor that ever rode those grey ships on the oceans.

It seems like yesterday you were sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for me to come home. You bounding through the door straight to the fridge or pantry.  Your experiments all over the place in varying stages of completion.

I miss our Saturday’s together. Going to Mass together. Making up our own lyrics to music. Face diving into each other’s beds to crush each other.

I could go on and on about everything I love about you.

I could go on about the shattered heart, emptiness and ache. Sitting in a bedroom long deserted by its former occupant. Your things left just like they were the day you died. I think so much of me died with you.

Despair is my company now. Sometimes I wake up happy like before you died and then I remember you aren’t here and those shades of color dissipate.

I know now that I will never get over you. Thank you for the fourteen years we had together. Thank you for being my child. I loved being your Mama.  I will always love you. Everyday that passes is one day closer to being with you again.

Missed Signals

Another sleepless night. My thoughts are with Dad and Mali.

We went to Dad’s home today. We picked up things that were our kids, pictures and things they made for him. We also picked out some things from his home as we have to have the house cleaned out by the end of the month.

It was a somber day. I watched my poor sister, devastated and still in shock, We lost Dad to cancer not even a week ago. I am helpless to asuage her grief.  I didn’t think he would pass on so quickly.  Nobody did.

I felt like a vulture going through his things. I would trade his things to have him back. Like our Mali.

I listen to his voicemails and I cry.

I don’t get how God can keep piling deaths on this family who seems to keep getting smaller and smaller.

Reflecting back on Mali’s death, I am going to share a thought that has been sitting in the back of my mind for sometime now. I think I have always known this.

Many people have said she was bullied. They didn’t know our Mals the way our family did. She was strong and would not tolerated that behavior. She would have called that out. She would have defended herself and spoke to either her Dad or me about it

What I do think was the straw that broke the camels back was her need to do well at everything she tried.

She was smart. She did well in school, she was a great debator, Ran track with all her strength. She played her violin with passion. Her softball skills continually improved. Giving of her compassion to help the less fortunate. All this plus trying to get awesome grades.

I repeatedly stressed the importance of staying close to the top of her class so she would get scholarships for college. I stressed the importance of having God in her life. She didn’t believe he was answering her prayers.  I didn’t want her to end up like me. On the 15 year plan for finishing college and finally getting a good job.  I made her life about myself.  For that I will never forgive myself.

She strove to excel at everything. She was already looking at Stanford for university.

The immense pressure she felt to do everything right pushed her over the edge. She felt like a failure.

I sit back and think about the note she left. She was sorry for being a failure at everything. Being perfect fueled her depression and anxiety.

Why did I not see this as a parent? I mistook her appearance as a hard charger. I forgot she was a kid.  A teenager, with many fears about life, her future.  Instead of being a comfort to her, I encouraged her thought process of perfection.

I am so ashamed of myself.  Instead of noticing the warning signs, I cheered her on.

Can I change any of this?  No, it’s too late  I have to suffer the consequences of my inaction.  By the time I realized there was a problem it was too late

It took almost a year to come to this.  I am thick in the head  I only hope that she will forgive my shortcomings as her Mom.