You Are My Friend

I haven't posted in this space in quite a while. I'm here to share feelings about the death of a friend, HM.

This is just me writing through my emotions because I'm really in unfamiliar emotional territory. I found out the other day and I haven't been sad, just numb and unsure of how best to express my feelings. So I am here doing what I have done so often in place of talking it out with someone, which is to write to see if in that process I come to any resolutions or maybe find a little peace.

In high school, we had been great friends. Close. More than friends, but not in that way (almost though). But I've had a lot of weird, undefined just-friends (male) over the years. He was the first. We lost touch after I graduated and went away to college, but Facebook allowed us to reconnect some 20 years later. We may have been connected via email before social media. And for a time, we had that as a superficial means to stay in touch; however, he stopped using the platform so our interactions became the once a year kind--birthday postings from me, and maybe the occasional like of something I posted.

Even though we hadn't spoken directly in years, I thought of him recently in connection to the big High School Farewell celebrations that took place a month ago. A friend posted some pictures of him from the last school play he starred in, Hello Dolly, which was the year after I graduated. I never knew about this production, but I was away at college, making more just-friends. I had been meaning to discuss the play with the woman who posted the pictures, so I definitely will in the coming days. For whatever reason, I didn't even consider to message him because I assumed he no longer used the platform. And now I can't.

That is how we met, in a school play. When I met him he was a freshman and I was a sophomore, and the play was West Side Story. But now I can't remember which part he had. I wasn't in the play that year, but I helped out on the technical side. I don't even recall how we became friends, but we did. He went on to star in Dreamgirls, which is the play we performed my junior year. He stole the show as Jimmy Early, and then the following year as Conway Twitty in Bye, Bye Birdie. 

Even though we were just-friends, when he began dating one of my friends I got jealous. This was to be the first of many times I would repeat this pattern with a just-friend, but not always with me being jealous, but me feeling possessive and proprietary (because he was my friend first, bitch). I did it again with the next girlfriend...so maybe now I understand how we lost touch. 

I loved him though. At one point I thought it was more than platonic, but because I had other romantic interests, I moved on and there is another reason why we might have lost touch. Feelings complicate things, and adolescent feelings are by their nature complicated. And since he wasn't the only fish in the pond, I'm sure I was doing the most and unconsciously leaning into what I would call my that bitch Ayanna persona...and, whew was I ever! (I will need to explain her one day.)

One of those other romantic interests from my high school days passed away almost year ago and I had these same weird feelings of not knowing how to respond. We dated briefly and remained friendly, just not in constant contact. His Mom worked with mine and his sister went to Spelman (and we've interacted professionally through the years), but I only connected with him on Facebook. So when I learned of his death, I didn't really know how to describe our past friendship either. Yet, I cared about him and mourned his passing.

Such is the nature of friendship. It ebbs and flows like the tide. In the virtual space, we are connected, but unless we actually interact in some substantive real world way, then most of those people are just folks we know. Or folks we once knew enough to care about their present lives, even in a fleeting way. I care when I see updates, good and bad, from people that I used to know. For example, one acquaintance from high school is on a reality TV show, and having just spoken to her at that last tour of the school, I am actually tuning in to watch the show. Another just-friend from high school was tagged in some news that appears to warrant condolences, and I have been debating whether I should personally reach out, or just post a note on his page.

Even as I lament the hollow nature of friendship in virtual space, having that virtual connection meant that his sister saw that I had posted on his page back in January. And it meant enough to her to do me the courtesy of personally informing me of his passing. So to the extent that connections online can be tangible, I won't denounce them. Because in this same virtual world, I have renewed or established relationships. Some folks that I merely knew in passing once upon a time are real friends now. Perhaps it is the algorithm, but it has been a blessing in this phase of my life to find kindred spirits. It is hard to make friends, especially at this midlife phase of adulting that has all of us spinning in every direction. 

I wish I had been more attuned to the signs that the Spirit was sending me. HM had been on my mind, not heavily, but as a passing thought and in fond recollections. I thought of him as I toured the high school last month, in the familiar places that looked exactly as they had 30 years ago. I should have reached out, but I had assumed that it would have dissipated into cyberspace. Not because we had fallen out, but I figured that instead of documenting his life on Facebook, he was out living it. Now that he is gone, I do hope that his life was full. I hope that he knew how much he was loved, and how much he will be missed. 

I hope that I get a chance to let his sister know how much her brother meant to me all of those years ago. He befriended an awkward, insecure girl and inspired her to be her authentic self. He encouraged me to write, mostly poetry and he claimed to liked it. I am sure that if I dig through some stuff, I might find some of what I wrote back then and it might not be too brooding or cringey. 

So if I could tell him anything about my life now, it would be that I kept writing. And through that, I have found some measure of peace, past the regrets of having been that bitch Ayanna when we lost touch. It is a truism that people are in our lives for a season and a reason. True friendship doesn't end, it fades like a picture exposed to sunlight, but the outlines are still visible. Things happen as they are meant, and even if we weren't meant to be lifelong ride or die friends, his presence had a profound impact on my life. I have another reason to give to his (and now our) alma mater, in his memory. I can look back on high school and not be so bitter and angry. He was my friend, and I will be forever grateful for that.

More Than Enough

I need to write to remind myself of an important point, lest I drift backwards into self-doubt and depression: I am okay. I am doing my best, and on some days, I need to take comfort in the fact that my best is much better than those who do nothing but complain. And I'm giving myself this pep talk because I got flustered one evening last week in a true Charlie Foxtrot moment. By the end of the night, I had let a lot of that anxiety go, but I decided to write about it anyway so that I can have this to reread whenever I want to crawl back into a shell of self-loathing.

I am doing more than enough.

Instead of providing a turn-by-turn account of the events of the evening prior to that moment when I was running back and forth between answering the front door, helping my Mom in the bathroom, and giving my kid a bath...I will simply say there was a lot going on. And I was by myself with my 70 year old mother and my 2 year old daughter. Even if my choices at any given moment are questionable, at the end of the night I can at least say that I did something other than complain.

I hit the wall at the beginning of this year with my emotions, and I know that the stress of my mother's illness has been difficult for everyone. Chronic illness can devastate lives in so many ways. It ruins relationships and it can have reverberations for years. I have been stressed to the breaking point trying to manage caregiving and parenting, so much so that I essentially dropped out of a lot of activities and commitments. I don't lament the need to take such a drastic step, but I have been frustrated that it came to this point.

Attempts to address some of our issues as a family of caregivers unearthed a lot of resentment and unexpressed feelings. It also made things worse...but perhaps the only way to address an issue is to expose its ugliness. I am still open to the possibility of making peace, but I have accepted that it might not happen. Therefore, for anyone else who might be going through a similar situation or who might have to face the unforeseen chaos of chronic illness, here is a quick list of some of what I have learned these past eight years:

1. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. And communication is not just about telling folks your positions or how you feel about the situation. It is also about how you listen. I spent a great deal of time communicating information that was not being processed or that was being ignored, or perhaps most importantly was not what folks wanted to know. I honestly do not have any tips about how to get others to listen, but if folks are not speaking to each other, listening to what is being said, or accepting the truth of what is being expressed, then you will have misunderstandings and chaos.

2. Caregiving is a 24-hour job and it involves everyone in the family. Everyone can contribute and no contribution is too small. However, if there is no contribution then that is a problem. When there is a need for an outside caregiver, it does not absolve anyone else of having to take part. It might diminish certain duties, but family care is still vital.

3. Offering criticism is not the same as offering assistance. As far as I am concerned, it is the same as doing nothing. Opinions are assholes...everybody has one.

4. Most non-immediate family and friends have no idea how to offer help or to even express support. So I don't hold that against them. I actually appreciate the benign gestures of just checking in because it helps to know that folks are thinking about us even when they can't do anything specific.

5. Caregivers often will not ask for help. Although that statement applies specifically to my family, I suspect it is true of most families. The vast majority of the time I will not tell outsiders what is really going on with my Mom, for any number of reasons. Thus, whenever people tell me to let them know if I need anything, I file that away with point #4 in mind. It isn't personal nor is it pride, but it is usually a case of not wanting to include too many people in our inner circle. Too many cooks spoil the broth. However, whenever we do ask for assistance, it is because we truly need something.

6. Caregivers have been thrust into an unexpected scenario, which ultimately becomes a perpetual series of unexpected scenarios. Thus, mistakes are bound to happen, and I have felt guilty about every single one. Yet, I rarely have time to lick my wounds, so yes, I am ultra-sensitive to criticism (#3) especially when I am the person who has to make the hard choices. If you would do the job better, then by all means...

7. Compromise. No caregiving situation is ideal. And when there are several people involved in the process, there are that many opinions and ways of doing things. Each person means well, and choosing not to take every suggestion is not personal--often it is a matter of feasibility. You do not lose if you don't get everything you want, but you get nothing if you walk away.

8. Children should not be shielded from the scenario. I decided that if my daughter was going to  know her only living grandparents, she will know them as they are at every stage of her life. She also needs to be prepared for the future. I was exposed to the illness of my grandparents and had to actively participate in their care, which I believe prepared me for dealing with this very situation. God forbid if my daughter has to care for me or her father, but at the very least she will have had a blueprint.

9. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Not just a song, but a reality, especially when dealing with your adult siblings, your even older parents and their siblings, and the outside paid caregivers. All of your family dynamics will be impacted by the illness, and all of your family issues will resurface as well. Respect is making the choice to put the needs of others above your need to be right.

10. Caregivers need support. We need friends. We need family. We need breaks. We need someone to recognize when the situation has gotten too overwhelming and we're in too deep to notice. We need someone to make that benign statement about showing up whenever needed and actually doing so without being asked. We need someone else to remind us that we have to live as well because the last thing anyone needs is an additional chronic illness to manage.

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Men and Shoes

I was tempted to write this on the BBW blog, and I might post it there later if I think the topic warrants more debate...

It seems ironic to me that in the so-called post-racial Age of Obama, the more we try to avoid discussions of race, the more we discuss race.  The third rail of intra-racial discussions is inter-racial relationships, with the first rail currently being occupied by natural hair and the second rail dominated by homosexuality (gay marriage, the down-low, Bishop Eddie Long, etc).  I could probably swap one of those issues for the continued relevancy of hip hop, but that does not get debated endlessly anymore since we all know that hip hop is dead.

So, I stick with my original choices.  And on the subject of interracial relationships (IRR), these conversations are the most volatile and explosive because unlike discussions of homosexuality (which tend to boil down to old vs. young attitudes about tolerance) and natural hair (which tend to reflect personal preferences) the opinions of IRR are all over the map.  Even IR friendships between women can be polarizing.  At least gay couples are visible on TV and a black woman can rock a 'fro and not be regarded as crazy.  But just mention IR dating and everybody has an opinion.

A recent article in the Wall Street Journal rehashes a lot of the same facts about the plight of single black women--over-educated, over-achieving and over-represented in the spinster pool.  The author's fix is for black women to diversify their dating portfolios as opposed to over-investing in one shrinking asset group of men.  The husband, who happens to be Puerto Rican, has been saying this to me for years, as if I have a platform from which to broadcast his advice to my single sistren...  Of course, I don't totally disagree that IR dating would at the very least, provide some women with more options.

But marriage is not really a numbers game.  It is about choices, and the problem is not just the number of options one has, but also the quality of the choices one makes.  Or put another way, there are a range of choices when buying shoes from Payless, Zappos, DSW and Lord & Taylor (or any upscale department store), but the best choice will depend on what you think you'll need.  Payless is good for shoes in a pinch (no long-term commitment); Zappos is good for unlimited on-demand options (internet dating); DSW is good for just looking and maybe finding a cute shoe or two (casual dating with benefits); and L&T is good for finding exactly what you need but at a higher price (long-term investment).  There is nothing wrong with shopping at Payless in a pinch, and it is not always practical to shop at the high-end department store.  You might find exactly what you wanted on Zappos or you might find an unexpected surprise at DSW.  Or you might not find anything...that day.

This is just my married woman advice...that women need to approach dating like shoe shopping.  Too bad my words of wisdom do not have the same traction in the real world as the advice offered by a thrice-married male comedian, a male college professor, and the disgruntled blue-collar brothers who vent in the comments sections of online articles.  In a sense, we are all saying the same thing--that women need to exercise more options.  Single women who want to increase the odds of finding Mr. Right need to shop at a variety of different stores to try on more shoes.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

(I had been trying to finish this post for days...now a few weeks later...)

The other night the husband announces that one of our neighbors had recently passed away.  This was news to me, since I thought I saw her just a few days ago mowing her lawn (apparently not).  He found out by asking another neighbor about some recent movement at her house that suggested she had moved or that someone had moved in.

Anyway, what irked me was the manner in which the husband made the announcement--as if he was telling me something very random, like the trash needing to go out.  How could we live across the street from someone for years and not know that she was sick?  Or worse, how did we not notice that we had not seen her in weeks?  We must be the worst neighbors in the world.

(Actually, I know that we are not...a recent story was released about the death of a former Playboy playmate whose mummified remains were found by a neighbor after a year!)

One of the great secrets about our neighborhood is that we look like the typical suburban haven often pictured on TV.  It offers the real deal of well-manicured lawns, attractive families, walkable sidewalks, racial and ethnic diversity, and the cherry on top of it all is that this all exists within the city limits! 

The problem is that like many city folks, we do not actually know our neighbors as well as we should.  We know them well enough to speak and wave, and we pay attention enough to know when someone buys a new car, but our interactions tend to be limited to whatever can fit in the space between locking the door of the house to the unlocking of the car door.  And despite the fact that I work from home, most of these people have no idea what it is I actually do for a living.  In fact, it was just a few months ago that I had an in-depth conversation with one of the neighbors across the street who went to school with me...

So I feel bad about not making much of an effort to know the neighbor who passed away.  Of course, a part of me knows that relationships are a two-way street.  Maybe she was not all that interested in us.  Perhaps she was a private person who kept to herself for a good reason. 

I still feel bad.  While we were dealing with my mother in law's illness, I cannot help but to think that my neighbor was dying and I was too busy to notice. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today, I spoke to the people who moved into her house and talk about awkward.  My mind went totally blank and I scurried into the house to keep from looking even more ridiculous.  And then an hour or so later, her daughter drove up as I was on my way back out of the house, and essentially the entire scene repeated itself in reverse.

So now I feel like a loser...clearly the look on my face suggested that I know something...but I did not say anything!  Argh!  I am thinking that if I could rewind time, I might have come up with the appropriate response.  And that brings me back, full circle in a way to the initial issue--death is unfair.  It robs us of the chance to do or say the things we need to when the time is right or even when the time is wrong.  I am sitting here wracked with guilt because I never said anything more than hello to someone who lived across the street from me for close to nine years. 

And there is no solution to this, except I can hope that the next time I get a chance to say something, it will be more than just an awkward hello.  I am going to write a note of condolence to the family and while it will be several weeks after the fact, my hope is that the gesture will bring some small measure of comfort--even if it is coming several weeks after the fact.  As for my other neighbors, I will continue to speak and hopefully, they will attempt the same.

As the World Turns

So in the time since I last wrote, Barack Obama was elected, inaugurated, feted, and damn near crowned King of the World. His life has changed.

Mine, alas, has not.

I am here because I had no where else to turn. I had a big fight with someone close to me and it has been days since we last spoke. I was okay until today when the reality of everything hit me like a ton of bricks. In my initial anger, I assumed that I would simply take a time out for a few weeks and then slowly work things out. Now in my despair, I am beginning to realize that I must not be even worth the effort to this person, that it might be just fine never to speak to me again. And that upsets me because I would like to think that I am not that disposable.

(By the way, I am being vague on purpose. I know that no one reads this blog, but in an abundance of caution it is best to keep things as generic as possible).

I thought to write about my feelings after I saw a blog post by someone else who seemed to be writing from inside my head. Certain relationships are complicated, and apparently I am not alone. Inside my heart though, I am alone and it hurts worse than anything I have ever felt. To make a long story short, I will say that I am not at fault, it is over something very silly, and I could just take a dive on this one to make everybody happy again. Well, maybe not happy, but civil.

But then nothing ever gets resolved when one person always throws in the towel. (I can't even come up with an appropriate metaphor to explain this...I am just so tired and demoralized.)

So now for the dramatic cliffhanger: This only makes the depression I've been suffering from even worse. If I don't fix my life soon...

Feel free to write your own conclusion.