Among my favorite movies of all time is the 1939 classic The Wizard of Oz. Of all the characters in the story I’ve always understood the Cowardly Lion the best. Despite being told that I was courageous for going into architecture without knowing how to draft, completing college as a single parent or not losing my mind after Gus’ passing, in my heart I’ve always felt like a coward. It never occurred to me that any of these accomplishments required any courage on my part; I was sure I could figure out how to draw lines; being in a bad marriage seemed a waste of my time and I had no choice but to accept Gus’ loss. To me courage meant only one thing – facing my greatest fear – insecurity.
For most of my life I tended to shy away from anything that made me feel vulnerable. While I can be perceived as a loud mouth, I don’t like speaking in public. Expressing my opinions makes me anxious because I am afraid of being disliked. I refrain from asking for help because I don’t like to feel indebted and above all I hate to be dependent on anyone for anything including my husband.
I always balked at the idea that losing one’s child is somehow different from losing one’s parent, spouse, sibling or friend. I maintained that a loss was a loss. It occurs to me now that I was likely saying this to remove attention from myself and the implied sense of awe that I was surviving our loss. Losing one’s child is different however, not just because it defies a sense of the natural order of life but because it exposes the limits of our ability to perform the most basic duty of parenting – protecting our children. We work so hard to nurture and provide for them that it feels like the universe’s greatest betrayal to snatch them away from us in ways that seem unconscionable. The only blessing in this kind of grief is that it makes all other fears appear small and insignificant.
In the last five years, I’ve been chipping away at my insecurities one by one. I’ve spoken in public on a few occasions; expressed my thoughts on politics and church law, and allowed myself to be helped by my family and friends. This year it was time to tackle my biggest fear yet – allowing myself to become dependent on my wonderful husband.
For the last twenty-two years I have been a full-time employee at the same place. While I’ve enjoyed the work, there were many times I considered quitting to be a full-time mom but did not because I was terrified of being fully dependent on my husband. What if the economy turned? What if despite all evidence to the contrary he suddenly decided not to work? What if we didn’t work out? What if we didn’t save enough for college? The “what ifs” were interminable not to mention that it was empowering to contribute to our household finances. It must seem counter intuitive to change my working conditions now that I have no children to look after but this is no longer about being an at home mom – that ship sailed long ago. This is another step (if not the final one) in learning to let go – to trust that my husband and by extension the universe will always take care of me. So as of this week I am no longer a full time employee….. I am part-time. WHAT? I said I was a coward…..but I am starting to get better. LIVE – LAUGH – LOVE!
Do not be fooled by my cheery disposition or attempts at connecting with the universe through positive talk and action, at the core I am damaged beyond repair. I run out of the room silently cursing under my breath during childhood cancer awareness commercials in May – yes thank you I am very aware; I blink back tears when asked if I want to donate to St. Jude’s research hospital anywhere I shop during the month of November – of course yes just add it to my bill; and I turn on the radio and pretend to sing along when my brain wants to replay Gus’ last twenty-four hours on the anniversary of his passing in June. Every single day I am at odds with myself, one side going about her business in a state of peaceful acceptance the other saying over and over again that the happiness is false, a tenuous coping mechanism at best that will eventually crumble – just you wait and see. I loathe this persistent emotional conflict, it has turned me into what I never wanted to be – sentimental.
On June 24th, after that day’s yearly routine of early morning mass, visiting Gus’ niche and breakfast we drove to Broken Art Tattoo in Silverlake, a place my sister suggested if only because it sounded like “broken heart”. I was nervous, unsure if it would hurt too much or just turn out badly. After sizing it on the inside of my left wrist and selecting the colors, the inking began. I could feel the tiny little stabs as my tattoo artist (I now had one) traced around the heart and Gus’ name but it did not hurt and when it was done I realized it was better than I could have ever imagined. There is a comic book quality to the colors and shading that remind me of the emblem of a superhero (Gus), the bottom tip of the heart points to the main artery that goes to my heart and having placed it on the inside of wrist gives me the ability to either conceal it or flash it – like Spider-Man throwing his web or Wonder Woman blocking bullets. It is at once irrational and overly emotional, much more like Jim Kirk’s approach to a crisis than Mr. Spock’s. I suspect this was part of Gus’ mission, to force me to narrow the distance between myself and those I love. Is there space for me to still channel Mr. Spock? I certainly hope so, until I find out may you – LIVE LONG & PROSPER….
Live Laugh Love 