Survivor's Guilt...

Gayla and the Gang at Dave Matthews Summer 2010

I spent an amazingly fun and love-filled day with my "Gang" Saturday. We had a cake tasting for the up-coming wedding, we drove all over creation looking for linen suits for the grooms, and we laughed to the point of tears on several occasions (Think Sling Blade sings Call Me Maybe and One Direction). It was the perfect day. So I chastise myself for spending the entire trip home feeling like my friends would prefer that Gayla were there instead of me.

It makes no sense if you break it down. My sister Gayla and I shared our beloved friends so much so that our family just thinks of them all as our brothers and sisters of the heart. There has been much said about how the family we choose is just as important as the family to which we are born. So why do I question my placement in this family? Why do I berate myself with the taunts of, "They wish it had been you"? Why does part of me believe the taunt while the other part of me yells, "THEY WISH IT HAD JUST NOT HAPPENED, YOU GOOB!"

I spent much of Sunday reading about grief and survivor guilt to try to make my whole self understand. Not that all apply to this particular situation and feeling I am having, but here are some of the most profound thoughts to stick with me:

• This Psychology Today article states, "Even though bereaved people share much common ground, every bereaved person is different, experiencing each death uniquely, grieving uniquely, struggling uniquely, coping uniquely, adjusting uniquely, and healing uniquely."
• Dr. Phyllis Silverman wrote, "We no longer think of grief as following a formula such as suggested by Kubler—Ross (On Death and Dying). I agree that grief doesn’t express itself in a step by step manner but it does unfold. It may look different for each of us depending on who died, our own experience with grief, and where we are in our own life cycle. ... we need to recognize that grieving is a complicated part of living that changes us and from which we do not 'recover' as from an illness."
• Kathleen Nader writes about survivor guilt following a tragedy and states when "good people die, survivors may reexamine their own goodness."

I think that last one hits the nail on the head. Gayla was everything good in a friendship. She was giving of her time, her patience, her understanding, and her heart. Sister was that friend who would be standing right by your side in all situations even if you weren't aware of it. Gayla put her friends first. She was fun at all times, always being ready for adventure. Gayla wanted what was best for you, and she went out of her way to make it possible if it were within her control. She was better at being a friend than I am so I guess my feelings of inadequacy are the culprit. Enemy number two is that I have no idea how to change this or how to emulate my beloved sister's ability in this arena.

Share with me how you are a friend. Teach me your secrets for being "good".

P.S. Sosie, no worrying about me or lecturing me. I know this is only in my perception and not reality. I love you.

GUEST BLOGGER--H is for Happy Home



Me, MyMama and OURGayla, March 2010.
Special NOTE: if you ever read a comment by Anonymous, that's
most likely MyMama!



Since I completed this same Blogging from A to Z Challenge last year, I wanted to add some flavor for my long-time readers by inviting guests to blog for me. I was excited nervous about asking myMama if she wanted to join in the fun because, since I was a little girl watching her write in spiral notebooks and then hide them away, I have always wanted to read her writing. I imagined Mama was some secret novelist who wrote under a Nom de Plume (I had a very active imagination as a child). When I awoke on Wednesday morning last week, I was completely humbled and honored to see that MyMama had not just agreed to join us in this challenge, but had already written TWO blogs for me to use this month! I couldn't help but cry and cry hard reading this...if you ever wondered why I am the way I am, it's because this woman raised me. I am thrilled beyond measure to welcome to "Aunt J-Me Says So" my hero, my idol, my mother and best friend...

MyDaddy, HerBeloved

H is for Happy Home

Gone are the days of looking at our new home with complete happiness. Of course it could be argued that this home is no longer new. This time last year, my husband and I had lived here almost a year, and it never failed to thrill me as we approached the home of our happiness. It had seemed meant to be. From my chance seeing of a used tractor on my rural route that inspired me to go home and tell my beloved of almost forty years that if we were ever going to build our dream house, now was the time to buy the 4.49 acres he had been eye-balling for a year and the used tractor and get a move on. We started the process then and there and soon owned some really nice swamp land, but, alas, the used tractor was gone. No worries...a brand new John Deere came to live at this happy home after we moved in. 

From Left to Right: JamesII, JamesI, Grandpa
also a James), JamesL, JamesCarolL, and
wee one JamesIII. Where's Jason?

There is a lot to be done before swamp land can become a happy home. But I have the guy who can see that it happens. We call it "The House that all the James-es Plus One Jason Built."  When you can only build on weekends (because the draftsman and building supervisor have day jobs and can only build for you on their days off), it takes a year to finish. My beloved of almost forty years cleared the underbrush and oversaw anything that could be done during the week. Bound to our family by marriage of his daughter to our son, the building supervisor declared that we would wait until September and try to avoid heat stroke. One does not argue with a man who works for free. How could he know that it would start to rain in September and not stop for what felt like a year? How could anyone have foreseen that our old house would sell almost overnight, and we would spend that year of construction living with my recently widowed mother (never doubt that even at eighty years plus a mother's love will take her children back into the nest)?

THERE'S JASON! He's the one hiding holding
up the framing behind MyMama and
HerBeloved, MyDaddy.

We moved in on the first day of spring 2010, and, true to form, there was a snowfall. It was freakish but somehow fitting that my beloved of forty years build a fire in the fireplace that we nearly had to arm wrestle our beloved son into including in the house plans.

So fast forward to the following March (2011). It had been a wonderful year of driving in and getting a surge of joy every time I pulled into our driveway and looked at our happy home. I worked an extra year before retiring so that we could get it finished and not have to finance any more than was necessary. It truly was one of the happiest most satisfying years of my life capped off by retirement on December 31, 2010. 

 
Then on March 19, 2011, we lost our oldest child. Over the past year, I noticed that driving up to the house no longer held the extra joy it did before. Happiness is not gone, but it is altered by the knowledge that someone who made my total happiness possible has left. Now when one of my two other children drive away from our happy home, my heart breaks a little with the knowledge that the last time I saw HER, she was driving away from us and it turned into forever. 

To Mother or Not To Mother...THERE IS NO QUESTION!

In the past four days, I have had a ton of questions about death, grief and the meaning of life. I have questioned every word spoken to my Darling Daughter about the death of her classmate and friend. I have prayed that I am saying and doing everything in my power to support this young woman in an extremely difficult time. However, never once was it even a question in my mind whether I would be DD's constant companion in this event. I was going to be her shadow and go and do whatever she needed me to go and do.

You can imagine my distress and complete bafflement yesterday at the funeral service when it dawned on me that out of the hundred or so teens present that there were only a handful of parents there to support their children; even the teachers and administrators sat with their peers. My heart broke for the little girl wiping her tears on her jacket because she had no tissue (I gave her some of ours). I wanted to gather all of the weeping babies masquerading as adults for comfort. I wanted to take each of them home and give their absent parents a piece of my mind along with a good flogging.

DD didn't ask me to be there for her. It was just always how it was going to be. There was no question in her mind that her J-Me would be her rock always. Our communication was mainly about how she wanted to show her respect for her dear friend. Prior to our arrival I had already found out from DD that she was not up for viewing her friend's body. I knew that she wanted to sit with me and not her other classmates. She knew that I would not leave her side. We had gone into this endeavor as a team. I am not some saint parent! I am not even a perfect parent. However, I knew that my place was there mothering my girl!

Teens are closer to adulthood than childhood. I get that. However, according to HospiceNet.org, "At the same time the bereaved teen is confronted by the death of someone loved, he or she also faces psychological, physiological and academic pressures. While teens may begin to look like 'men' or 'women', they will still need consistent and compassionate support as they do the work of mourning, because physical development does not always equal emotional maturity." This was in evidence by the hysterical crying of many of DD's classmates and buzzy bee-ing from pew to pew prior to the service beginning.

I am always surprised by the lack of parenting I perceive in our particular community. It's as if affluence gives these people some get-out-of-parenting-free card. Of course they think I am over-the-top-s-mothering DD. To double check myself, I went online to research when, as a parent, you are crossing the line of mothering to smothering when it comes to grief and dying because obviously I don't still tie girl child's shoes for her (BTW--kidshealth.org has one of the best articles for teens to read when they are experiencing a loss).

The National Association of School Psychologists has an amazing guide for teachers and parents that talks about support of children in their grieving and groups it by age. For teens, they state:

Children need reassurance from caregivers and teachers that their own families are safe. For children who have experienced their own loss (previous death of a parent, grandparent, sibling), observing the grief of a friend can bring back painful memories. These children are at greater risk for developing more serious stress reactions and should be given extra support as needed.

RockerChick and Darling Daughter, vacation 2010

DD and I were blessed to go into this as a team. We were doubly blessed because DD's best sister-friend, RockerChick, and her mother, DesignerMom, joined our team to support both of us. In a time where neither of our girls would ever admit to needing their mothers, yesterday was one of those steps to becoming adult friends with our children. If DesignerMom or I had let our young women go it alone, we would have missed the opportunity to show them through our own actions how to pay your respects and care for each other. I know for a fact that the parents who missed this teachable moment should always regret not being a participant in a very formative moment in their childrens' lives.

Finding Bright Spots in the Clouds...

Yesterday, Darling Daughter, who is very private with her emotions, called me at lunch to ask if she could please come home. Our general rule is if you don't have a fever, nothing is broken and you aren't puking, you go to school. However, my stoic baby was sobbing into the phone that one of her classmates, a friend, had died in her sleep of natural causes and she just couldn't "deal" with continuing through her scheduled classes trying to hold everything in. Without hesitation I asked hubby dearest to pick her up and I rushed through my work to be with her.

DD is not one to pull a drama card or be hyperbolic with her emotions so I knew this was a rough one. In the last year DD has not really talked about her Aunt Gayla's passing nor has she ever really expressed her feelings over the other losses in her life. I admire her inner strength most days and worry about a future implosion on the other days. No child of 14 should have to be so mature and in control of her emotions as ours is. At the same time that I am proud of her maturity, I am also concerned that I shouldn't sit her down and some how force her to release her emotions. Short of flogging DD and screaming, "Emote, you! Emote already!!" I just sit patiently waiting for the opportunity to help her grieve her losses.

Her expression of grief on the phone was the crack in the door I needed to put my foot in and open up a dialog. DD told me a story about an island project the classmate had completed with her last year. When I asked what her friend's "thing that was uniquely her" was, DD without hesitation said, "Her laugh. It was really loud and real." As DD is the shyest teen I have ever met, I can totally see how someone who embraces their joy and wraps it in a loud and true laugh would be envied by DD. 

DD and I spent time talking about the friend as well as Gayla. We talked about how her other classmates were behaving and that grief is such a tricky emotion. We talked about heaven and laughed when I made the statement that when I get to heaven, "Jesus and I are gonna have a come to Him meeting" about why certain things happen like the death of children.

Then when I thought I couldn't feel more relief at our sharing, DD asked, "Do you think we could make some more phone cozies today? I feel like being creative." Holy-all-things-that-glitter-are-gold! The light bulb came on...where I had been starting to worry that my compulsion to create was becoming obsessively crazy, DD in essence had just told me that I had taught her a positive coping mechanism. When you are sad, create something. When your day is tough, create something. Turn to your creative juices in times of crisis. Then we talked about positive and negative coping skills.

When I went to bed last night, I didn't worry about my child for the first time in a very long time. I didn't stress about whether or not I was being a good mother or if I was going to break her. I slept last night feeling proud of myself for the good things that I was teaching this beautiful sassy girl even when I didn't realize she was watching and learning. It was in one of those dark clouds of life that I saw the sun peaking through.  

Calling All Friends...FOLLOW-UP (part 2)

Thank you for all the responses to my request yesterday for writing letters to Kasey Kahne on behalf of our family. It is no longer necessary to write to them though. I received a response finally from the foundation he started. Here it is:
Dear Hunter and Moore Family:

We are so sorry for the loss of Gayla. This must be a difficult time for you. Thank you for reaching out to Kasey Kahne to help carry on her memory. Due to the competition only policy in a race car on a race weekend, Kasey won’t be able to carry Gayla’s ashes with him during the weekend. However, we would be happy to provide you with garage passes and connect you with Texas Motor Speedway in hopes that you may spread the ashes as a family. Let us know your thoughts and we will connect you with the correct people at Texas Motor Speedway to see if they can help you with your quest. We appreciate your passion for racing and hope that you may find some comfort in your many memories of Gayla.

Sincerely,

Kasey Kahne Racing

Calling All Friends...

I need your help! MyGayla was an enthusiastic fan of Kasey Kahne and to say sister was an avid NASCAR fan is an understatement. She had season tickets at Texas Motor Speedway and built her home in Rhome, TX, telling our Daddy, “It’s just 10 miles from TMS!” Every Sunday (or Saturday) Gayla rooted for Kasey either in person or in the comfort of her home (probably wearing one of more than a few dozen Kasey Kahne shirts she owned). In addition to having a giant mural of a checkered flag and Kasey's FatHead wall design adorning her garage, Gayla also had an “office” in her home filled with NASCAR memorabilia. Her dedication to the sport goes on and on.

As a family, we have plans to spread Gayla's ashes in some of the most significant places of her life. I have written to Kasey Kahne and Texas Motor Speedway asking if Kasey could take a little bit of Sister's ashes with him during the November race at TMS. I am asking all who knew Gayla to do the same. Write a letter to Kasey; you can send it to info@kaseykahne.com.

TMS's response was sympathetic to our cause, stating, "We are sincerely sorry to hear about the passing of your sister. Her enthusiasm for the sport seems to be infectious. When it comes to individual driver requests, we unfortunately cannot help. These requests should be done directly through the teams and their PR staff."

Mama and Daddy are adamant that this be a private tribute and no publicity be sought nor given. Please state something to that effect in your letter to Kasey. We simply desire to symbolically grant Gayla one of her greatest wishes. Daddy, Mama and my younger brother James will be in the TMS stands in November, and I will be at home rooting Kasey on as I have done every week since that day in March.