Level 6 Adventures in the Life of a Grieving Big Brother

I felt better today - in general.  More like about a 6.  Does that mean it was a better day overall on a scale of 1 to 10, in the "how's my grieving coming along sweepstakes?"  Well, compared to the other day when I thought you were going to "flush" my blog for being so angry that I hollered at God, that's pretty good...cuz I'd give that day about a 3: 1 being the worst and 10 being the best...gauging a day in the life of a grieving big brother.  Hmmm...so why was today better?  Well, I have my hunches:  For the past couple of days, I've done something really good for myself.  Yesterday, at a big monthly celebration meeting, I stood up and received some accolades from a fellowship I love to be with for accomplishing something that this group of friends really likes to honor, and then hung around for the two dozen hugs that come with that moment.  (Actually...just between you and me, the BEST moment was when the big room cleared and one young, fairly "new" guy approached me and thanked me for my transparency...and told me that it "gave him permission" to be the same kind of "open" as I'd been when he looked at his own feelings of inadequacy and struggle.  Then I got a huge hug while he told me my favorite tie-dyed shirt was "killer" [and he meant it!] - and he's one of those young, hip, shirt-tail out, plaid pearl-button-wearing dudes from California that those young hot chicks REALLY dig.  I bet he has NO idea how good he made a 50-plus guy feel about himself in that moment.  I bet I looked like I won the lottery walkin' outta there!) 

Then, as if that was not enough, I did it again tonight.  Went to my favorite Monday night Men's Group that met at my buddy's brand spankin' new custom home, where, after a hot, delicious plate of Rudy's barbecue, I got to bawl and snort my way through an emotional check-in from my private grieving life...wide open and vulnerable to this safe, loving group of guys who KNOW my stuff stinks and STILL love me.  So, they listened to me pour out my heart and then proceeded to share their own stories of loss and pain...after which we prayed ourselves out, and then they hit me with a bunch of honest to goodness manhugs.  All the way from the "chest bump" to the "point n' go" to the "bro hug double back tap combo"...and these guys, they freakin' MEAN it.  If I said, "dude...I need you to come with me to my house, sit and watch Spike TV with me eatin' Funyuns and drinkin' YooHoo until midnight, then sleep in the extra bedroom, just in case I wake up sad, havin' a bad dream...they'd come do it...in a second.  And don't even GO there.  These are the kind of men's men who would kick your tail for even making a joke about someting as sacred as that...except they've all learned healthy boundaries now and would quickly "play the tape all the way to the end" and realize you aren't worth getting all wrapped around the axle for...and they'd blow you off.  These guys are my defenders.  They'd go to bat for me even if I had willfully gotten mySELF into some huge bind.  Because they LOVE me.  NO judgment allowed.  That's right, John Wayne!  Roll on over in your grave now, because I've got a whole pack of manly dudes who've GOT MY BACK...and they're not afraid to show it.  Hell, a handful of 'em shared a few tears with me tonight when I read my "randomly assigned" reading as it came my turn in the circle to read and the text discussed how we sometimes have a hard time with God when we lose someone we love and in trying to process it, find ourselves blaming God for it...even tho it's probably irrational.  (WHEW! That was a freakin' LOOONG run-on sentence.  Sorry, Miss Walker...you tried really hard...but now that I think about it, you're probably hanging out with my brother and my dad about now up there laughing about that sentence...so I'll retract the apology.  I might need it later for another infraction.)  Back to the "co-incidental reading topic deal".  I've got a question:  Are you going to stand there and call that a co-incidence that it was MY turn to read and that Grief and Loss just happened to be the subject matter in THAT paragraph?  I didn't think so.  (the chapter is about coming to believe in God...not "On Death and Dying")   It's called a GOD-incidence where we come from and it happens MORE frequently than you'd THINK it would.  Way to go, God.

So, I guess you could say me and God sorta worked a few things out since our little talk in the workshop on Sunday.  (Sounds like it, huh?)  Oh, I haven't told you about that deal yet?  Well, somehow in the process of repairing the laundry room door that goes over at my rent house, I was sanding down a blob of hardened wood substitute, preparing to drill out a new hole in the bottom of the door for a new spring loaded peg-thingy that holds the door on it's axis, I guess I slightly OVER-sanded the door during a rather intense GRIEF reaction and now the door is shorter than the other one.  However, because of the aforementioned grief-driven-I-don't-know-my-own-strength episode, I had enough gas left in the tank to even out the longer door...and now they match.  How nice.  I had never noticed the reluctant byproduct of mixing salty tears and sawdust together, but they do make kind of a weird paste that could probably be used to improve the planet somehow...but then, I'm one of those wackos that doesn't have the arrogance to think that I'm powerful enough to destroy one of God's most powerful, resilient, self-preserving objects of creation as this planet...but has the gall to think that Global Warming is a hoax, devised by some crooked, granola chompin' people who's sole aim and end in life is to suck in the largest pile of jack ever grifted by one group of yayhoos, while disguised as honest, caring, GREEN, planet-loving humans ever crammed into one corn-gas guzzlin' Toyota Prius.  But I digress. 

Perhaps I'll be given some "emotional leeway" in my grief as I occasionally skate over into a bit of self-justifying, somewhat judgmental, slightly prejudicial voicing of my political opinions...since we all know that I'm under stress and need to "vent" now and then.  So, thanks...and don't take it personally.  I'll let you do the same when it's your turn to grieve.  And believe you me...your time is coming.  Because this grief thing is NO respecter of persons....and it ain't for sissies.  It's comin' for all of us, like the locusts were comin' to all of those Egyptians while they defied God with their unbelief.  The good news is...if you're as lucky as me, God's gonna surround you with a group of loving, accepting, nurturing friends who have your back while you divert your gaze from your usual hyper-vigilant pursuit of happiness and joy in life...and who will hold you while you tend to your broken heart for awhile...until it mends.  And when He does and they do, you're gonna write over-the-top stories about it, and maybe even pump your score up to a 6 that day...because compared to those grueling level 3 days, a day spent feeling like a 6 is better than a quality first-run movie that lets you disappear into the characters and the story long enough to forget about your grief while you enjoy a huge Mr. Pibb and some of those Nibs ice cream deals that ring up at about a DOLLAR a NIB at your local multi-cinema.  But, hey...life is short...on a level 6-worthy day, shouldn't you just go ahead and eat your NIBS first?

I'm OK if you're OK : /

Oh, man...it's been SO hard not to go back and EDIT last night's blog, "Not Tonight, God..." Because, you see, I want you to LIKE me. I've always been wired like that. The experts call it Codependence. Works like this: my OK'ness hangs on whether you like me or not. You get it, right? So, if I holler at God and let Him see my anger is AT HIM, it's like when I was a kid in Little League and I spiked my batting helmet for striking out. That behavior was always followed by "the silent treatment". In my family, I took that treatment to mean, "your behavior was unacceptable and we aren't going to talk to you until you can act like a Phillips". Of course, being a little junior codependent, I thought it meant "if I don't get it right every time, they're not going to love me!" I don't think that was the message they sent at ALL, but somehow it's what I assimilated. The "little kid psyche" is a weird thing. Easily influenced and yet excruciatingly hard to change a wrong imprint or notion about one's self. I've done a lot of work around that, with mixed results...but at least now, I recognize the behavior and misapplication of Truth about who GOD says I am, and have a chance to correct it. Welllll...you didn't stop by for a lesson in Codependency recovery, did you? I didn't think so.

Back to the grieving process: So, I ain't changin' last night's blog...even tho' I'm tempted to. I'm leaving it JUST like it is, because it IS the way I felt last night and I promised myself that I would be open and vulnerable and let you see exactly what's in there when it occurs. (This could get ugly...oh, it already did? Hmmm.) Today, I sat and talked with a few friends who geniunely care about my busted heart. I could feel their love and concern...right down to my guts. That helped me...a lot. Another good friend called on me to speak in a large meeting of brand newly sober folks...ugh. I was afraid I'd taint them, too, if I didn't tell them that sobriety was GRRRRREAT!!!! Well, I stuck with the rigorous honesty plan and told them that getting sober and living a spirtual lifestyle was about more than just skipping that beer today. I told them it was helping prepare them for LIFE that was headed their way...and lest they mistakenly think that 21 years in recovery means it's all smooth sailing, I burst that bubble by telling them I was walking through a really tough grief experience having buried my little brother of 41 years last week in Colorado. You could hear the hush fall over the room. People KNOW this hurts. To some extent, they FEEL it when I share the story. I hear a LOT of brother stories after a deal like that, ending with, "I'm gonna call him this afternoon and just tell him I love him!" I love it! Oh, and I got a lot of hugs after the meeting. Quick note: the girls smell better than the guys. I'm just sayin'...

I assured them that these devastating life blows weren't an every day event in recovery, but that one must begin building a faith that can withstand this kind of test. And I made sure they knew that didn't mean perfoming perfectly when tested. God knows my perfectionist keeps getting up out of the grave trying to take over my recovery...rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune times. Oh, well. Spiritual progress, not spiritual perfection, right? I spent part of the day thinking about my "earthly fatherless" nephews and praying for each of them in light of their VERY individual personalities. I could see each of the three dealing VERY differently with the experience during the memorial and the week I was there with them, because each of them is so different. (Tho' all are exceptional boys, in my humble opinion of course.) So, I'm asking God to hold them tightly and the same for their lovely mother, my sister in law, Suzi...and I believe that God does that rather well. While I can't often get Him to change outcomes, I have been struck many times with just how perfectly He walks with us through the fire. Unbelievable. I believe the Daniel and the Lion's Den story from childhood...AND the fiery furnace deal, too. God was in that fire...and He's in this one too...right beside us as we feel the searing heat of grief and loss, somehow mysteriously perfecting us in that God-like way that only He understands. : /

Not tonight...God...not tonight...

OK...so my purpose in writing this blog was to work my way thru the emotions of the moment and discharge thoughts and feelings so that I will move through this in as healthy a way as possible. So, tonight, I ain't feelin' so spiritual and I ain't got nothin' happy to write. I just drove up in my driveway, pulled the mail from the rock mailbox a ways from the house and noticed I had a "sympathy card" in the pile of bills. I've gotten at least one of these a day for the past two weeks, it seems. Some days, I read your sympathies and your honest gut level condolences and I feel grateful to be loved and glad you're helping me bear my burden. NOT TONIGHT. Tonight I tore open the envelope and read the sentiment - quickly acknowledged it - and then realized my MOST prevalent thought in THIS moment is this: I don't want a bunch of F'in sympathy cards DAMMIT! I WANT MY LITTLE BROTHER BACK RIGHT NOW! I don't WANT to be the charity case for whom everyone feels sorry and pats on - NOT TONIGHT! I WANT BART BACK!!!!! He's MY brother....and it just AIN'T RIGHT that he's gone! Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit D A M M I T ! ! ! ! This is supposed to happen to SOMEBODY ELSE...I don't care WHO! Just somebody else! I'm SICK of tellin' the story. I tell it so much, I've gotten freakin' GOOD AT IT! I can make it sound like I'm just molded right into God's plan...so neat and clean. Well it ain't NEAT and it ain't CLEAN!!! It's MESSY and UGLY and SAD and it SUCKS!!! I can't stop thinkin' about the boys and what they need...how young Suzi is and how unfair this all is. Is JUST ain't RIGHT!!!! God, are you LISTENIN'???? HELLOOOOOO?????!!!!! (If you stopped by hoping for some clean theological exposition that winds it's way around to happiness and resolution, I'm afraid you picked the wrong day to stop by. I'm all out of bows to put on top of this one. But I'll promise you this: I will always strive to be real here. I'm not going to shine you on. So, when you get lucky and it's one of those nights with clarity and encouragement and joy, then maybe you'll buy into it more readily...when it's coming from the same guy who's willing to tell you what he's really feeling. I hope so.)

I need some windshield wipers. I can't see the damned monitor thru the streaks on my eyeballs. I'm thinking about where Eugene Peterson translates Psalm 77: David is completely out of gas and torn up over his feeling of abandonment by God. In the process of his whinin' and spittin' and kickin', he writes, "Great! Just about the time I need Him, the High God goes out of business! Perfect!" I hear you, David. I hear you BIG TIME tonight. I have heard you LOTS of times when I was trying to accept what this Life throws at us on some days. Well, God, this one is JUST TOO BIG!!! I wish I could sound all spiritual and willing....but this is JUST too big.....tonight. I need to sleep....I need some Blue Bell...I need an embrace from somebody who knows...I need some water, I'm dehydrated from sitting at a football game...(so I could try and think about something else for awhile...it didn't work :( ) I need, I need, I need....I need my brother back. God, you got a miracle up your sleeve???

"Say Thank You....until you mean it."

I just love Melody Beattie. One of these days, I'm going to meet her and it's gonna be sweet! I cracked open my well worn copy of her Daily Devotional classic, The Language of Letting Go, on August 1st this week, only to find she would begin August with thoughts on gratitude. She's so amazing...her words so simple, yet so profound. She wrote, "Say Thank You...until you mean it!" I knew instantly what she meant by that. It takes me three "auto-pilot" voicings of that phrase until I soften into one that connects to my heart. Why IS that? Who cares? It just IS...and nowadays I don't have to beat myself up because it takes three times to finally connect with a thought that important. All that matters is that I GET there. Halleluiah! Thank You. I figured out a few years back when I read about her burying her only son that she had a LOT to teach me; about letting go...about "wearing life like a loose garment" as we often say around the meeting rooms...and on that day this week, about gratitude. And now when I read her stuff, it carries SO much more weight with me...after learning what she's been through in this Life...what she's LIVED through...what she's let go of. She has such seasoning...such insight...such character...and only because she has trudged the road...and paid attention...and made conscious choices to be taught...to learn to love...and to let go - many of the same things that have made my life so rich today as well. I was fortunate to get to chair a meeting at noon on Wednesday. There must've been seventy-five people there...not because of me, of course, but because my current "home group" is in a powerfully synergistic groove that attracts a lot of us to be together over lunch during the week...and I'm going to speculate is because we all need that midweek shot in the arm...that quick tuneup...that emotional adjustment that sets us right again. At least I do. Wednesdays are truly "humpday" for me and I can often feel that energy shift - once I've reached a point in the course of my Wednesday that I've made it to the downhill side - that realization carries me through the rest of the week and into my weekend, which I especially love. Cool how that works. I'm lucky to belong to a fellowship of men and women whose experience, strength, and hope really do nurture me...give me what I need in those moments. There's something so cool about chairing, because I get to see everybody's eyeballs...as they key in on me while they unwind their stories of challenge and letting go. Selfishly, it's my favorite chair in the room....especially on those days when I strongly feel the need for that adjustment. It just proves to me again that I can walk in rather "empty" spiritually, and walk out a new man. Oh, and one more word from Melody from that day's writing: she said, "Gratitude can make a simple meal into a feast!" I'd love to quote you the whole piece from that day, but I'll let you go look it up. You need that book. It has walked me through some excruciating, exhilarating moments in this life...some years ago and some just last week. Gratitude. That was the topic that day...and by the time I'd heard ten or twelve stories of God's Providence and Love from my brothers and sisters in that room, I had been set right...again. How many other things in Life can you say THAT about?