Sunny Sings The Blues on PNN

Updated: 24 Feb 20:37

Monsters, Venti Double-Shot Iced Vanilla Lattes, & the Curse of Inattention

14 Feb 01:09

After Roman died I returned to work almost immediately. It wasn't that I felt particularly ready to return, I just did not know what else to do with myself. Plus I figured, if I stayed home alone every day, with my mom back up in Washington and my friends busy with full-time jobs of their own, that I was likely to lose my mind; or at the very least, become agoraphobic, or obese, or a hard core gasoline huffer. And while those three options sounded tempting, given my recently incurred psychological concussion, I decided it was most productive to simply return to the daily grind. So off to work I went.

Immediately once I returned, I noticed that my mind was not functioning as it had been only two weeks prior, when Roman was still alive. Waking up in the morning became a battle unlike anything I had known before. Sure, mornings and I were never BFF's. Still, I always managed to wake when the tiny voice in my head noticed the alarm and shouted, "Hey! Yo! Get the F up, lazy!" But somehow that obnoxious voice that I had attempted to tune out so many mornings before, was notably absent. Like it went out for drinks one night and just never came back. And I don't drink, so I couldn't imagine where it might have gone. Of course, now I know...it fell victim to that cognitive concussion I mentioned. Only then, so soon after my emotional injuries, I didn't know I had said concussion at all.

Once I eventually dragged myself out of bed, I made a B-line to my new Breville espresso maker that I recently purchased the previous April. Being a long time coffee addict, I was giddy with excitement when I brought home this smooth crema extracting, stainless steel, espresso dripping, machine of the Gods. It looked beautiful in my kitchen and it provided rich caffeinated deliciousness any time I wanted. What's more, back in those days, I liked to cook, and considered my espresso brewing to be something of an extension of my newly acquired culinary venture. And oh, how I enjoyed trying new gourmet blends from Whole Foods and mixing them with various flavors of Torani syrup; but ultimately, it was the simple vanilla flavor that won me over. It made for a cup of Joe that was akin to a giant cup of love, welcoming me into its nurturing arms each morning. And that was all before Roman died. So after he died, my morning brews became a creature comfort that I enjoyed more than ever. It was warm, comforting, and yummy - but more importantly, it was HIGH OCTANE.

It would have been fantastic if I would have had time to enjoy my coffee in the mornings, but after my string of losses, I struggled so much waking up, that I was almost always running late for my morning IEP meetings. Further, these meetings often began at 7:30 am and they took me about an hour to drive to, because I lived so far away from my workplace. So my mornings usually amounted to gulping down my coffee, taking the world's fastest shower, slapping on some make up, putting my hair in a styleless, half-loop pony tail, getting dressed and then rushing out the door like a tornado.

By the time I arrived at work, I was mostly awake, but still lagging. I did my best to labor through my meetings and not to show others how tired I was. It's not as though I needed to hide it back then though. I mean, everyone was surprised that I returned to work so soon after Romans death. Even with none of my colleagues having the slightest idea about Roman's lies and his cheating, most people were more than willing to help me out at that time, just on the knowledge that I had lost my husband. And their outpouring of support was not lost on me - I really appreciated it. But as I said, I couldn't stay home by myself all day, so I felt I had no choice other than to chug right along and get back to normal in an effort to get over all of the trauma. Likewise, at least at work I had a purpose and could interact with people, so as not to get totally lost in my grief. I was certain that while work was a challenge, it was the best thing for me.

Looking back now, I still feel that my choice to return was right. I do think that staying home alone was a recipe for disaster. Although, work too, was not without it's setbacks. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say that a couple of my coworkers at that time, were the exception to the rule, and had little regard for my loss. They were just as demanding and entitled as ever. In fact, I might even go so far as to say they were worse, but that could just be because they were demanding at a time when I had less to give.

One of them used to come to my office door every morning during her planning period, and just stand there without speaking. I could see her out of my peripheral vision as I sat working (as much as I could) on reports. As soon as I saw her it was like a big wet sorry blanket had been rudely cast over me, because she never failed to open her daily greeting with something droll like, "Shoot me," or "Welcome to my world," once I acknowledged her standing there. Yeah, it was neat. She was a delightful ray of sunshine.

Now, I know what you are thinking, readers...You're thinking, hellz yessssssss...coworkers like that are super awesome! I have energy to spare...hey, sign me up!!

But wait, before you get too excited - there's more.

The other light of my life at that time, was a teacher who was so displeased with my less energized, grief induced, job performance after returning to work, that she complained about me to the District more than once that year.

Her complaint?

I didn't come into her class enough to help her manage her students.

Which, you know, always struck me as a laugh riot, since I'm not a teacher and she had both aides and parent volunteers in there to help. This was back before budget cuts, when teachers and psychologists alike had help. Even so, she was an entitled one and she was not having this whole 'boo hoo, my husband died and now I'm sad' excuse for not helping make her life easier.

I actually ended up writing her a letter of recommendation so that she would leave the District (and it worked...she did leave at the end of the 2007 school year), because the sound of her voice nearly sent me into a seizure. All I had to hear was her snap my name, "SunnY!!" like I was one of her students, before I tuned her out like a grown up in those old Charley Brown cartoons. Her voice was shrill, her face was sour, and her cheeks, nose, and neck were always red - like she did nothing but grunt 24/7. She was okay to work with before Roman died, but after, was nearly intolerable for me on a daily basis. Though, thankfully, as I stated earlier, most people were really nice. It was just those two soul suckers who made getting back into the swing of things difficult. And I have since noticed, that while energy parasites are an unfortunate fact of life even on a good day - on a bad day, they can drain me of my last remaining ounce of life. Which is telling, because usually these personalities comprise, say 10% of the people that I work with, yet they seem to take up 90% of my time and already diminished energy; leaving me a mere 10% or so for me to give to myself and to the non-zombies. Not exactly the kind of boost a person needs when they are trying to regain normalcy in their life.

So, while I did my best to put on my productive hat and my happy functional face after returning to work, I usually found it near impossible to maintain my stamina past ten o'clock in the morning.

My solution?

Moooooooore coffeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

I frequented the local Starbucks near my work on a daily basis that year. Each time, I ordered a large iced vanilla latte with an extra shot. Mind you, that was in addition to the double shot beverage I chugged down after rolling out of bed, still half asleep. But no matter, I had to do what I had to do - and good old Starbucks helped me do it. Plus, I liked those big honkin' coffees. They were tastilicious. And as far as I could see, it was a win-win...for a little while at least.

Inevitably, the coffee fix peaked after a couple of hours, so I ingested another pick me up at lunchtime - a large Monster energy drink. And unfortunately it wasn't just sleepiness getting in my way - concentration was also a battle. Maintaining my focus was a constant struggle for which caffeine was of little help...

Most days amounted to me struggling to focus on anything long enough to be considered productive. My mind wasn't necessarily elsewhere, or thinking about Roman, per se, and it wasn't particularly distracted by any one thing; it just couldn't stay put on anything. I describe it now as being much like a clock radio that can't dial into a frequency for long before it has to be adjusted again. Or similar to an infant whose neck muscles have not yet developed, so its little head just sort of rolls around in place while the baby unsuccessfully attempts cranial liftoff.

My ability to focus was not phased by my will or desire to be productive. It also did not improve when faced with negative consequences like seizure inducing, wet blanket tossing zombies, or having to bring bring an ass-load of work home with me each day. My attention span, like the voice in my head that I once relied on for years to get me out of bed in the morning, was just not there anymore. Poof...just like many of the other constants in my life at that time - it was just gone. And since it vacated my mental premises, it caused simple tasks, like writing a sentence in an assessment report, to take eons at times. Moreover, this unwelcomed change in my executive functioning sucked big time, because my daily happenings at work are dictated by strict state and federal education laws, which require that I get my work done according to legal timelines. Timelines that couldn't care less about my concentration's willingness to cooperate - let alone my grief, or my efforts to return to normal.

So after Roman died, from the end of November, until the end of June, I started my day with a double shot espresso, had another double shot espresso around 10:00, and rounded off my turbo charged, caffeinated day, with a large Monster energy drink at lunch. All to perform at a minimum level of proficiency due to inattention, while also contending with two delightful, aura zapping colleagues, in addition to the regular day to day contentions that come with the territory. Sure, the caffeine helped keep me from falling asleep on the job, but it was no magic fix.

Needless to say, by the end of that 2006-2007 school year, I had lost my zeal for the almighty coffee bean. And that summer, when I was on break, I kicked the habit cold turkey. I cut back to taking my caffeine by way of Diet Coke, simply because it felt icky being so hopped up on that much caffeine all the time - plus I eventually became desperately ill over the taste of coffee. I didn't drink coffee again for a couple years after that, because over time I began to associate it with such a difficult point in my life. A time, which thankfully, is behind me.

While my attention span has improved from that first year following Roman's death, it is still very much impaired. Frankly, I am amazed that I was able to write those ten parts of my back story here on my blog - because since Roman died, I have found it hard to do anything in sequence, let alone tackle my memories of the events that left me with this inattention problem in the first place. I have used whatever tools I have had at my disposal, which also included yoga and ADHD medications. I didn't take to yoga very well because it made me more tired and I always wanted to giggle during the poses. Meds helped me survive the curse of inattention at work for the past four years, but they also caused spikes in my blood pressure and in my anxiety, causing headaches and countless other attention robbers. They are a quick fix that have their place when combined with other treatments, but as I have said before - grief and all the joy that accompanies it, is inconvenient. Grief will not take a back seat for long until it demands to be heard and dealt with.

Now, I am taking a leave of absence from work because the demands have doubled in the wake of unprecedented budget cuts. My district lost six psychologists to cuts since Roman died, making an already challenging job too much for me when coupled with my bouts of depression, and ongoing anxiety, inattention and chronic sleepiness. After a while, there was not enough Starbucks, Monster energy drinks, Paxil, Zoloft, Concerta, Effexor, Buspar, Wellbutrin, Adderrall, Pristiq, Paxil, Ritalin, Wake Up On Time, Up Your Gas (oh yes, it's an energy thing..and you bet, I tried it), or B vitamins in the world to help me get over that mountain. So eventually, I just had to call time out. And I am grateful that I have a job that allows me to do that. Because when I needed a break most, I actually got it. Go figure. Maybe somethings do have a way of working out after all.

And Now For Something Completely Different

11 Feb 22:26

</td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1981. Me, my mom, my friend, Ginny, and the car that would eventually become my very own</td></tr></tbody></table>

I started a new blog for posts like this, that are not directly related to grieving - because sometimes I just don't feel like singing the blues. Follow the direct link to this post is here:

http://www.idylltoast.blogspot.com

Eternal Sunshine

09 Feb 21:40

Image via Wikipedia

I mentioned in my bio that I chose the pen-name, Sunny, because it is symbolic. Now that I have finished telling about my loss, I decided that this is a good time to explain my choice of pseudonym. It comes from the film "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." It's a movie I liked when it came out, but did not think much of, until I saw it again this summer. If you haven't seen it, here's IMDb's synopsis: (Sure, I could have written a summary of my own. But why reinvent the wheel?)

"A man, Joel Barish, heartbroken that his girlfriend Clementine underwent a procedure to erase him from her memory, decides to do the same. However, as he watches his memories of her fade away, he realizes that he still loves her, and may be too late to correct his mistake."

Watching it again this summer, I saw it in a whole new light and I became slightly captivated by the possibility of it. For a long time, I felt damaged by loss. I felt damaged by the constant reminders....damaged by the sting of my memories. I did my best to avoid them, but I never quite avoided enough of them. Then, I saw this movie again and thought, "what if...what if I could erase my memories from those three horrible weeks? Would I no longer feel damaged, burdened, and exhausted?" It seemed like a pipe dream come true.

And then, one day in the shower, I had an epiphany. (I often have creative ideas in the shower and in the car...I don't know why.) I needed to remove as many reminders as I could.

So with that idea, I finally donated the rest of Roman's clothes to a local thrift store, I donated his books to the local library, and I took down a framed print that he always liked. No surprise, it was not the answer I was searching for. I had already done similar rituals, so I don't know why I thought this would be the magical one that would finally set me free.

Then, in October, I had another epiphany. No wonder it didn't work...I am a trigger...I live with constant triggers...as long as I am living and breathing, I will always come face to face with triggers. They cannot be eliminated. All I can do is learn to live with them so that I can take more control to diminish their power over me.

Then I got to thinking again about the movie...maybe those memories can be used to transform others and me alike. Maybe, by embracing my past, I can help others somehow. Maybe. What if, by releasing my memories to the world, I can give a gift to someone else? Something they can take with them, to help them deal with their own struggles. What if I can shed some light on this nightmare of grief, which like it or not, I am involved with intimately.

From those questions, Sunny was born. Sunny started singing the blues in an effort to acknowledge the past, learn from it, and turn it into something useful; something "plucky." Like a flower that people can pick and take home and put in water for it to bring something beautiful into their lives. Hopefully, I have given that to some of you. For me, the name Sunny represents my own plucky bloom, owning my experiences, and transforming them into something meaningful. Sunny represents the rebirth that can come from grief - if it is allowed to bloom.

The Grief About Grief, Part 10: In the Aftermath, I laugh more often now - I cry more often now - I am more me...

08 Feb 04:09

On the Threshold of Eternity. Image via Wikipedia

Like so many in attendance at the funeral, Scott told me to let him know if I ever needed anything. Though, I don't think he, nor I expected to actually take him up on his offer. Calling him for help was incredibly difficult and humbling, but I truly had no one else to turn to. And before I picked up the phone to call, I actually tried to talk myself out of it by telling myself that it would make me look too desperate. But then I thought, "Who am I kidding?? I am desperate!" So I swallowed my pride, made the call, and explained my dilemma of having spoken to Roman's girlfriend who told me he knew the whole story - and I told Scott about Roman not having other friends for me to turn to.

"Didn't he have any friends?"

"No, not really.."

"Yeah, I was wondering that at the funeral." Scott confessed...

Scott then told me how he noticed Roman and Erica getting cozy at work. When he finally asked Roman what was going on, his suspicions were confirmed. Scott mentioned that he did not consider her to be a particularly nice person. In fact, "cold" is actually the adjective he used in describing her. I also got the impression that she wasn't particularly attractive to Scott in general, but he never said that outright. It was just my take on how he spoke...or maybe even my projection. More specifically related to me, Scott confirmed that Roman rarely spoke about me at work, but he stated that when Roman did talk about me, he highlighted my accomplishments and my being "highly educated." When I brought up the cold reception I received from their colleagues at Roman's funeral, Scott's response was that they were "clique-ish sometimes." The conversation was awkward and uncomfortable for both of us, but I was forlorn, and Scott was nice enough to give me some answers, in spite of his personal hesitation. In hindsight, I know we talked for about 20 minutes, but beyond what I just shared here, I don't remember much. My memory and my mind's relationship with time really started to change around this point in my life. I think it was all just too much for my brain to comprehend. I think I blew a mental fuse.

Thanksgiving rolled around about week after I spoke to Scott. As one might expect, that holiday season was particularly emotional for me. In recent years, I had become something of a gourmet home chef, so Thanksgiving was a big to do for Roman and me. The year before he died, I planned a very elaborate spread for the two of us, to which Roman would say with childlike enthusiasm, "This is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever!!!" whenever my menu plans came up. My cooking brought out the best in him, so Thanksgiving was one of those times when he was particularly warm. Though that said, he still never wanted to include family or friends on the feast. We always saw my family on Thanksgiving, but if I ever brought up seeing his family too, he would stop me short by saying something like, "ah, my family doesn't do that stuff..."

The year he died, I did not cook for myself, but instead went alone to my aunt's house for dinner with my family. Still very distraught, my family was powerless to help when they saw that I was not enjoying myself. In several instances, I found myself reassuring them on Thanksgiving and in the days that followed, that it was okay not to know how to help. I didn't know how to get over what I had gone through; how could I expect them to have the map? I couldn't, so that year was hard for everyone. And when I got home early from my aunt's house that Thanksgiving night, I found myself missing Roman terribly. Even after the mess he put me through - I missed him. So once again, I reluctantly called Scott.

The conversation was no less awkward than the first, especially since he was spending Thanksgiving with his girlfriend. Hopefully she understood my dilemma, but I did not have the energy to think about that. I felt like a big enough jackass calling him in the first place. But I needed to talk to someone who knew Roman well - and Scott did. As we overcame our initial clumsiness, we got to reminiscing and laughing about Roman's constant inappropriate razzing of Scott around the office.

"Roman was such-an-asshole!" Scott said as he chuckled.

His candor was comforting and refreshing. Not merely because he called Roman an asshole at a time when I happened to be very hurt by him, but because he was honest. Roman often was an asshole, but since he died, suddenly it was taboo to call a spade a spade. It was as if, since he was gone, we had to make him out to be some kind of God fearing saint. But he wasn't...not in the least. If he was, I suppose this blog would look very different right now.

Around that same period, two of my oldest and dearest friends took turns coming over to keep me company. I had not spent much time alone with either friend in recent years because life had gotten so hectic, but having them there with me again was like no time had passed at all. We bonded over funny movies and guacamole, we talked about my losses with Roman, and caught up on the details in our lives over the last couple years. So much had happened in my life in just three weeks that I could barely comprehend it all. Though my friends were instrumental in helping me make some sense of it at the time. And in an indirect way, both of my friends could relate to aspects of my losses due to their own experiences; one with a string of health issues and the other with a cheating husband of her own. While neither friend had experienced the death of a loved one, they both had nonetheless known circumstances that arose from beyond their control. They too had suffered their own losses and had been dealing with their own forms of grief as a result, as they attempted to cope with how their lives had changed. This was when I first really began to recognize how grief operates in areas that do not relate specifically to death.

As is typical with grief, bouts of anger and sadness fluctuated wildly and often coexisted at once. Eventually though, the floodgates of emotion really opened; and when they did, I was powerless to stop my tears. It was not hysterical crying, just steady streams of brokenness. Of course, during the course of three weeks, I experienced a lifetime of hardship; the break up of my marriage that I had convinced myself was stable, my seemingly healthy husband's sudden death, the realization of the extent of his ongoing deceit about his feelings for me, and his affair with a certifiably horrible person. It's no surprise that the third blow hit me especially hard. And it caused me to experience emotions, which combined with the sadness, guilt, and everything else I had experienced since the day he dropped the bomb - left me with a broken heart and a psychological concussion that included lasting clinical depression and anxiety. Not to mention major disruption to my sleep/wake cycles, which also affect me to this day. My trauma was threefold, so when I finally fell with the last assault, I stayed down for the count. It took a couple weeks after that final blow, but eventually I did get up with the help of some counseling, various medications, support from loved ones, and other distractions, which I will share in detail in a future post.

Once I stood up though, I took off running. I ran away from the painful events of November 2006 as fast as I could and didn't begin to really look back in any meaningful way, until I started this blog in October. However, in truth, I only took the step of looking back because I could not run any longer. Four years of attempting to get over three distinct and complex layers of grief, each with its own set of baggage, got to be more than I could shoulder. Particularly because in the past two years, budget cuts made my job stress increase immeasurably. As a consequence, my pace began to slow notably to me around the same time as the budget crisis, but it halted dramatically and noticeably to those who knew me sometime last year. I finally stopped running due to a collapse of my own in December of this year, when I simply could not do it all anymore.

For a long time my goal was to get over and move past what I had experienced. Until now, much of my attempts at coping were aimed at doing just that. But here's the thing I know now...Homey don't play that. Nope, that's not how traumatic loss rolls. Grief plays on grief's turf and on grief's terms. So anyone who has experienced a life changing trauma, and thinks they are going to "just get over it," I caution you to think again. That's not to say it doesn't get easier. It does. The wounds do heal, but wounds leave scars and in this case those scars are known as grief. Grief is the cognitive and emotional process we go through when we try to cope with the experience that gave us the scars and is the same process that enables us learn to live with the scars themselves. It's a bit of a paradox. Moreover, grief indeed operates in various stages as the famed Kubler-Ross model of grief indicates in deceptively simple terms. But what people do not seem to realize, is that the well known theory greatly oversimplifies the process, particularly for those facing complicated grief due a complicated loss.

Grief that results from traumatic loss is not neat, tidy, or convenient. The stages are not clearly defined when they cycle. Instead they are rude and intrusive...like a sloppy roommate who won't go away, or a disgusting recurring viral herpe blister outbreak. Anyone who gets occasional cold sores KNOWS how irritating those bastards are! And for the record, I only get the cold sore mouth version from time to time (mostly triggered by stress..joy!). Roman thankfully did not give me any STDs during his exploits.

Neither gross herpes nor obnoxious house mates one will go away, so the key is learning how to live with the menace; which is easier said than done, I know. Their griefy counterpart will eventually go out for a figurative pack of smokes and will leave for a little while; but if the loss has a big impact on the bereaved's life, make no mistake, grief will return in some form as soon as the right trigger is pulled. And that's the rub that makes grief such a D-bag; someone you care about dies and in moves grief to take their place. Nice exchange...Not!

Grief is not something that makes itself at home just in the lives of people coping with the death of a loved one. I think it's a fairly common process for many people after they experience some form of loss, be it physical or emotional such as divorce, health problems, accidents, house fires, loss of a job, loss of a limb, molestation, or what have you. All result in a form of loss - often related to the loss of personal control. And in its place is the grieving process. What a crappy new life companion, I know. But I digress...

In the years since Roman passed, I have remained in contact with his mom and she cat sits for me when I go out of town. She also gave me her blessing for sharing my story on this blog. She understands why I chose to write about my experience, though I don't think she is eager to read it. After all, Roman was her youngest son. He was her baby. It was something that I constantly reminded myself of when I was pushing past my anger in planning his funeral. And it's the reason I asked her to keep Roman's ashes until we finally decided where to scatter them last year. Roman may not have been my husband much longer, but he would always be her son. And my heart breaks for her for that; which brings me back to the complexity of my grief.

My grief for Roman has existed on many levels, not just as his betrayed widow, but as someone who knew him well, who recognized his potential, and who once shared a life with him. In recent years, I have learned that the way people grieve - the complexity and range of emotions that they feel or do not feel (as was the case for my friend who initiated Part 1 of this blog series) - in addition to the degree of havoc grief creates in the bereaved's life, depends very much on the way that living person related to the now deceased person when they were alive. The role grief plays in the bereaved person's life after the death of another person, depends directly on the range and complexity of emotions that the deceased person elicited when they were here, and the havoc or peace they created when they entered a room. Grief is about coming to terms with the loss of someone or something important, and the loss of the ever changing relationship that once was, but never will be again. Complicated people leave complicated legacies - and in their place, resides complicated grief.

With regard to my friend who asked for my advice...she did not feel emotion when her family member died, because she did not have much of a relationship with him in life. It turns out that her family member was a bit of a stubborn, grouchy, old man. So since he wasn't a nice guy and he didn't establish relationships with his family, there was little love lost when he was gone. And that made my friend feel guilty. Though, I sincerely believe that her true feelings were warranted. In her case, the decedent was very uncomplicated and set in his ways. It may sound harsh, which is why my friend probably felt pressured to put on a bereaved facade, but the truth is, when some folks die, few people notice because of the choices that person made in life. No relationships means no connections, and that in turn means little to no grief for many of the living. Obviously, that was nothing close to my personal experience. Regardless though, because I have experienced such complex grief myself, I could understand why my friend reacted the way she did.

My experience was exactly the opposite as my friend's. For me it was crushing emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and even physically at times. And unfortunately, there is no magic wand to make it easier, faster, or more forgettable. Which is why, in the years since Roman's death, I have found the demands of my job to be insurmountable at times.

As a school psychologist, I am in the business of helping; but there is no simple, easy, quick fix way to do that - though, people demand it regardless. And the way some people go about demanding said magic fixes, often triggers in me a whole boatload of old grief because stress is my main personal grief trigger. Whenever the stress gun is fired, I relive the physiological feeling of being a helpless passenger on a doomed flight. Each encounter with a money grubbing advocate, crazed parent, or catasrophizer, clucker, or complainer colleague (see my 'soul suckers' post) causes my pulse to pound in my eardrums, my mouth to go dry, my heart to sink into my stomach, and my fight or flight response to kick into overdrive, as if my world is about to fall apart once again. Likewise, in response - even four years later - I often am helpless to do anything other than cry when I have those physiological responses. Still nowadays, when I cry, I can't stop - even with the help of antidepressants. And the timing of my tears is usually completely inconvenient; like say, right before a big contentious meeting with a nasty parent and a clucker colleague. That's what I mean by grief playing on grief's terms. When it surfaces, I have to deal with it, no matter how un-grief friendly the present moment may be for me. What's more, being that I was once a task oriented, organized, and structured person, it is now very foreign to me to feel so out of control and vulnerable when something triggers an emotional response from me.

I guess I'm just different now. I'm more emotional, more sensitive, more anxious, less patient, less focused, and less controlled - Oh, and my executive functioning is out to lunch. These days, I do think I'm kinder, more conscientious, more articulate, more grateful, and more empathic. I have also developed an affinity for writing that has sprung directly from my losses. Likewise, now I do laugh more than ever before and I have a greater appreciation for life's simple pleasures like humor. But I also don't care as much what people think and increasingly, I find it extremely challenging to refrain from drop kicking any person who is rude, mean, entitled, pushy, obnoxious, and/or self-absorbed. Whereas before, I was more adaptable towards self-serving people in the rat race of day to day life. Now however, as I said, I'm just different...because of my experience; because of my grief. In some ways better, in some ways not, and in some ways just plain different. In many ways though, I think I have grown into myself more than ever before, which is a profoundly positive experience that grief can elicit. However, unrelenting job stress has no doubt been a major factor holding me back from fully expressing whatever potential I now have as a result of my loss - because stress constantly digs at my old wounds.

So here I am writing this blog, trying to help myself make sense of it all. That's all. The intent was never to "get over" anything. I'm just doing my best to live with it and to come to terms with the ways in which I have changed and evolved - and trying to do it in a way that brings about something positive for others as a result of having an honest glimpse into my loss. Sometimes, I surprise myself these days because things I do or say are not like the "me" I once knew. Like writing publicly about my lying dead husband's infidelity with a wicked biotch - that's generally not the kind of thing I would ever have dreamed of doing in the past. I was too shy and played my cards too close to my vest for such a bold action, but now, as I said, I am much less deterred by the prospect that people might gossip, judge, or misunderstand my intent. So this is me now...the life experience changed version of "me."

Writing about my experience really has been quite the catharsis. It has been healing and clarifying in many ways, but I am not daft enough to think that this was the final frontier. No, I know from experience that this was just part of the process of learning to live alongside my grief for Roman and learning to live with my experiences of loss. Now I understand how doing so will help it all become less and less burdensome as it tags along with me and my daily to do's.

Roman is gone, but never forgotten. And believe it or not, I have learned to forgive him. That's not to say I never feel angry or hurt when I remember what he did, but I forgive him for making mistakes in his life. I'm not clairvoyant, so I do not know what would have become of him if he would have lived, but I truly believe that IF he knew he were about to die, he would have done things differently. He may still have fallen in love, or lust, or infatuation with the girl from Borders, but I do not think he would have lied like he did. Roman would not have wanted to go out like that. I know he wouldn't.

Roman had many good qualities and is not defined in my mind solely by his actions in his final days. He was complicated, a bit on the spectrum, and he was himself a gifted writer. I plan to share his writing in a future post. A vegetarian and an animal lover through and through, I never saw an animal that didn't warm up to him immediately. Likewise, Roman was conscientious about environmental pollution and always cut rubber bands and plastic six pack cola holders before putting them into the trash so that they would not end up around the beak of a duck somewhere, like he had seen on TV. Also, Roman always returned empty grocery carts to designated "cart return" spots, rather than leaving them in the parking lot where they might roll into a car door and scratch someone's paint. He was generous, but level headed, and he taught me how to live within my means financially. Something I didn't truly 'get' until fairly recently. True, he could also be a real jerk sometimes - but he was also human, just like the rest of us. Much to his personal chagrin.

The song that inspired the title of this post..

Vanished: Grieving a father's life, not his death (psychologytoday.com)
No grief for clichs (mindhacks.com)
New Ways to Think About Grief (time.com)

An Open Call To Readers

30 Jan 17:47

Image via WikipediaSoon I will wrap up the "parts" of my back story and will begin blogging about the day to day. Since I began this blog, many of you have contacted me with the kindest private messages. Privately, some readers have shared their condolences and words of encouragement that they were unsure how to share on the blog. So, in response to some of your private messages, I thought I would open up the floor now to you readers. If you have questions for me, feel free to ask. Perhaps you have questions about details that I have not touched on in the previous "parts," or maybe you have specific questions about how I have coped. Odds are good that others have the same question, so I will be answering your questions in a future post. If you have a story of your own to share, please do. I might feature you in an upcoming post. You can submit your questions and/or personal stories in the comments section of this post, or you can email me privately at sunnysingstheblues@gmail.com (sunny sings the blues at gmail dot com). If you prefer to remain anonymous when I post a reply or share your story on the blog, that is okay - just let me know. Be sure to indicate that you are emailing me about this post, so that your questions and comments do not get lost in the junk folder. Thank you all so much for reading my story and for sharing your feedback. You have no idea how much your words mean to me.

Sunny Sings The Blues

Updated: 24 Feb 20:37

Monsters, Venti Double-Shot Iced Vanilla Lattes, & the Curse of Inattention

14 Feb 01:09

Image via Wikipedia

Now, I know what you are thinking, readers...You're thinking, hellz yessssssss...coworkers like that are super awesome! I have energy to spare...hey, sign me up!!

But wait, before you get too excited - there's more.

Her complaint?

I didn't come into her class enough to help her manage her students.

So, while I did my best to put on my productive hat and my happy functional face after returning to work, I usually found it near impossible to maintain my stamina past ten o'clock in the morning.

My solution?

Moooooooore coffeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

And Now For Something Completely Different

11 Feb 22:26

</td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1981. Me, my mom, my friend, Ginny, and the car that would eventually become my very own</td></tr></tbody></table>

Eternal Sunshine

09 Feb 21:40

Image via Wikipedia

"A man, Joel Barish, heartbroken that his girlfriend Clementine underwent a procedure to erase him from her memory, decides to do the same. However, as he watches his memories of her fade away, he realizes that he still loves her, and may be too late to correct his mistake."

The Grief About Grief, Part 10: In the Aftermath, I laugh more often now - I cry more often now - I am more me...

08 Feb 04:09

On the Threshold of Eternity. Image via Wikipedia

The song that inspired the title of this post..

Vanished: Grieving a father's life, not his death (psychologytoday.com)
No grief for clichs (mindhacks.com)
New Ways to Think About Grief (time.com)

An Open Call To Readers

30 Jan 17:47

Sunnysingstheblues

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A wisecracking, soft-spoken, no-nonsense, debt-ridden, conscientious, animal loving, carb addicted, exercise aversioned, answer seeking, at times disillusioned, geeky, chronically sleepy, twitchy, disheveled, public educator - with an attention deficit. Someone making a sorted effort to look for the bright side, find humor, open doors, and fulfill creative impulses as I try to make sense of life after sudden loss. Attempted while simultaneously muddling through a job where I save the world, pedal papers, avert lawsuits, extinguish fires, placate soul sucking drones...oh and help children succeed. A career choice made before the world as I knew it turned upside down, creating a domino effect of life altering events. Events that were so overwhelming that they seem to have rewired some of my brain’s neural pathways, switched the lenses I once used to perceive life, and forever changed my thoughts about the world and my place in it.

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My Public Catharsis

About The Blog

This blog was created as a way to help myself gain personal insight as I continue to move forward and come to terms with sudden life-altering loss, stemming from my traumatic experiences with the infidelity, betrayal, and death of my spouse. While I feel I have fared well overall, thanks in no small part to the love and support of quality friends and family, I have nonetheless, been affected and changed in ways I still have yet to comprehend.

Helping shed light on this uncomfortable topic gives purpose to my seemingly random string of experiences and makes the nagging question of "why" a little bit easier to silence. Also, by telling my story in a way that reaches and teaches others, I feel it helps to elevate my husband's clouded legacy somewhat. My husband was a person I loved, then loathed...sometimes within the space of a single breath...and someone I continue to grief for.

He was a person I have come to understand as a complex, who left this world on a lousy note, leaving behind unfinished business, and who acted at times like a bona fide pud ("Pud" being one of his favorites among his vast personal lexicon of pompous put-downs for others; basically meaning "dumbshit," more or less); yet in spite of those factors, he was also someone who was young, who was brilliant, who held tremendous potential, and who was taken from this life too soon.

My husband was a person who made mistakes, which I feel sincerely he should have been given the opportunity to learn from and atone for. Though, ultimately he was not afforded the time to do so, for reasons that are beyond my ability to know. While true, he did lie to my face repeatedly and he did cheat on me selfishly in his final days...the sad reality remaining when all is said and done, is that I am alive now and he is not. Personal errs notwithstanding, I can't help but think that he was the one who was really the one left behind to make sense of it all...and therefore, whatever sense there is to be made of it, by it, or for it...now rests solely in my living hands.

Difficult at best, this process has at times been made worse by feelings of terrible isolation due to the specifics of my ordeal, as well as by the internal shame and guilt I experienced, which I now know commonly accompany grief. That said however, along the way I have connected with others who do relate in various capacities, and as a result, I have developed a richer insight into the human experience as it relates to trauma in general. Moreover, I now recognize the opportunity for change and personal growth that can come from such trials, that I could not have known, were it not for my struggle. Experiences like mine hit deeply. Consequently, I have come to grasp that I can never expect to "get over it," but rather, learn to live with it. And therein lies the opportunity for volition; albeit a tough one.

Depending on how impactful the traumatic event is on a person's life, the process of reconciling with it - of living with its effects, and of learning to find a new sense of normal in its wake - is often very much the same for people, regardless of the initiating script. Further, I now know that these catalysts often lead to crushing internal psychological states, which are related to the ensuing grief, as individuals attempt to cope; but catalysts, nonetheless, that have the capacity to bring about viewpoints and inner strength that would otherwise go untapped.

To me, trauma and grief go hand in hand, like peanut butter and jelly...like a baseball and a baseball bat...like popcorn and the movies. Only of course, without the obvious fun and yumminess that come with those other known comrades, but with a dual potential to cause people to either shrivel up and die inside, or flourish in response. As personal disaster has the potential to create a much greater appreciation for the simple goodness that life has to offer...An appreciation that may be imperceptible on the surface and can easily be lost in the haze of grief.

My experience has taught me that grief is actually a very common process, but it is made to seem insurmountable at times, due to people's gross misunderstanding of it. Therefore, in addition to helping myself with the healing process, it is also my hope and ultimate intention, that this site will reach those who relate to the aftermath of loss, betrayal, trauma, or what-have-you, and will serve to help those affected to feel less isolated by their circumstances so that they may glean some peace of mind, as they will no doubt relate to aspects of my story.

Giving a deeper insight into the life altering experiences of others is an additional goal I have for this blog. It is a goal aimed toward readers who cannot relate personally, though who most certainly (hermits and social recluses aside) know someone who has been affected by trauma. For those of you who fit that mold, I set out to convey my experience in an accessible manner, so that you will continue returning. Because I believe that any insight you gain from knowledge of my personal tribulations, has the power in turn, be used to support those affected in your own lives. Subsequently, the support you forward to others, has the potential to help them in ways you may not immediately perceive...as you will hopefully have greater ability to ease the crippling isolation they may be experiencing and help them move forward, simply because you have a better understanding what its like to stand in their shoes.

In closing, I thank you for stopping by and thank all of you who have contacted me with your kind, supportive expressions, as you react to my story. These gestures are ones taken by me as affirmation that I am moving in the right direction with this very public next step. I encourage visitors to follow the blog on Facebook, Twitter, or subscribe to the feed via email or Feedburner. And by all means, if you know someone who you think will benefit from my words, please...pass it on!

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