Beyond Endurance

This is the third and final installment of dealings with my father's suicide. This last part describes living with lost love and moving on to happier times.

It is said eye muscles move about one hundred thousand times a day, yet my right gluteus maximus muscle hasn't done any work the last two years. Where have you been glute max? Luckily, I've found you and you're making a come back to restore my physical health.

What is this injector of physical health have to do with suicide? I bring this up, because physical and mental health are closely related. Before my SI joint injury, running was masking a deeper pain. I was literally running away from having to deal with thoughts about my father. This injury forced me to face these demons head on. And so I created this series of blog entries.

What defines a hero? I believe it is their villain, their arch nemesis. How else can you measure a hero than by the depth they go to to save the day? Now, I'm no hero except to myself, but I have come back from some pretty dark places involving my father's death. This has only given me confidence to talk about what happened and what becomes of those that are left behind.

I know I've been hot to touch, and have probably made a lot of people worry about my overall health and wellbeing. I'm sorry. It was just something I had to go through. And if you, or someone you know, experience this, you will probably see something similar. Hell, this is one of the reasons I'm writing this - so others know what to expect if it happens in their lives.

If suicide does hit home, or any loss for that matter, do everything you can to prove to yourself you are alive. Try some new hobby, scream at the top of your lungs, cry uncontrollably, grip a hot plate, push yourself in new ways - anything that elicits feeling. It is almost as if you have to go to extremes with every emotion, exploding many times over, just to exhaust that feeling. Once it is exhausted, you can adjust back to the stable middle. Does that make sense? Maybe. It is a process of restructuring your character.

Just don't become driftwood. Let any pain and sadness wash over you and then rebuild yourself and move on. Change all "why" questions to "how." "Why did he do this?" needs to change to "How am I going to get through this moment?" Talk about what happened! You must find a way to open up. It is only human to talk about the true struggles of life.

Then one day you will be able to manage the brokenness, which will lead to a mended soul.

As for me, I sit on the eve of my father's death. I'm looking forward to thinking about all the great things he did for my family. He was an amazing listener. He was forgiving, humble, and a bit of a jokester. He challenged me to do well in science and cross country. He was a teacher at heart. He loved giving gifts. He loved tradition. He sacrificed a lot for us. He exposed us to the West, camping, and the true art of fly fishing. He was most happy in a Jeep with a black lab. He gave the best hugs. He loved us very much.

Looking forward, I look to questions about what I want out of my life. I want a simple life. I've slightly altered my career path lately, and it will be for the better. With some patience and a bit of good fortune, I hope to one day have a family. If I get that opportunity, I will put love and effort into my family like my father did. This life would be full and worthwhile.

As I was writing that last paragraph, I remembered I already have a great, supportive family. Throw in the handful of solid friends that exist, and my life is already good.

Now, how can I get all of them to move to Minnesota?

Thanks for listening to me. I hope this finds you well and looking up. Take care of yourself.

Endurance

This is the second of three installments involving facing my father's suicide. This second part describes the monster I've been at war with.

"The end product of love is pain and hurt." I don't like this quotation, but it was slapped on my forehead when my father took his life six years ago. The vast valley that was created with his departure has yet to be crossed. Think about someone, something you love more than anything. I mean someone, something you love with all your heart. Then have them removed from your life with no explanation.

I've wrote about this before in another media, but when someone dies of cancer, car crash, or bear mauling there is (usually) an explanation. With suicide, those left behind are planted into a world of confusion. Why? Why? Why did he do it? Endless questions pop up never to be answered, because the one who can answer them is gone forever. It is a misery I would never wish upon another. It is a constant fog you're driving through, and putting on your bright lights will only make it worse. It is having your heart ripped out, rearranged, and put back in so not to work properly for some time. It is a complete loss of emotional control. It is an exhausting mental battle that rages on for years. Simply put, it is a deep, lost love - the worst loss of them all.

"What would make someone take their own life?" This question engulfed me for months after my father's death. I tried to put myself in his shoes, in his mindset. It was a dangerous path, and probably not a wise one. After exploring many dark paths and my imagination, I came upon a time and place where I knew if I continued I would end up hurting myself. So, I turned and walked away, but not without scars.

Those scars still exist today. The "why" questions are also still lingering. WHY SHOULD I GO DOWN TOO??? I didn't have any such grand problems before this, and now I'm fighting off this pain and hurt with sword and shield to save myself.

Past, present, future. What also hurts is what he will miss in my life. This runs too deep to sometimes deal with, but he is never going to be part of anything I do. If one day I am lucky enough to get married and have a family, he won't be a part of their lives. It is sad. Sad because he was a great person, and they won't ever know him.

God, whatever or whoever you are, my father didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know he was going to cause so much pain and destruction in his wake. He was in a painful place. A place where he couldn't handle being alive. So he left. Please forgive him.

The final installment will continue next week and will describe new tactics on looking forward and finding my place in the universe. Until then, take care of yourself.

The above painting is by Fred Tomaselli called Colony.

Within A Protest

This is the first of a three part series facing what has consumed me for much of the last six years: my father's suicide. This first part is me digging deep and picking a fight.

I stand here now within a protest. A protest against how my inner self is being consumed by never-to-be-answered questions. This king of pain role I've been in has gone on far too long, and it is time I right this ship, my ship away from the path of fatalism.

The latter part of March, the same time as my father's final deterioration, brings about a mental obstacle I've had a hard time getting over. I've often collapsed, gone numb, lost all control in trying to figure out this code. My plan has always been to wave the white flag, take all the pain and helplessness square in the chest, and walk into April bloodied from being blown away from the loss.

But now I'm digging in and picking a fight against what I've become. Anger, the only emotion I haven't felt about my father's death, will finally find me. Bouncing back from any blow will be quick and confidence will be my new spring jacket. Pain is not going to take me down any farther into the abyss. I'm climbing out of this mess and finding simplier times.

Will winning this fight mean letting go of him? No. Not completely. There will always be a few thin strings tugging at me.

Can people change? Can this change come over me? There is no place for doubt here, because I know if I can't fight for myself, well, then no one will. But, I know I will never be able to go back to the way I was when he was alive. Call it a scar. Or call it playing Boggle with my soul. I may look similar but my way of thinking will have different meanings.

Armed with a new determination and a stronger heart, I now go into the monster's den for the next couple weeks. The only acceptable outcome can be a new found peace. It is there. I know it is. I just have to fight my way through what has been pulling me down for so long.

Don't be afraid. Dealing with suicide can scare you out of your mold. It can get you lost and confuse you, but don't be afraid. I've made it this far and plan on seeing this through to a new light, a new outlook.

The second part will continue next week with a description of the monster I am actually facing. Until then, take care of yourself.

5 Card Sorry!

Lookout Texas Hold 'Em! 5 Card Sorry! is now the hot game in town!

Back in the early 80s, my father and I decided the original Sorry! game and rules were too boring, too robotic. The game was a process of going through the motions flipping one card over at a time and leaving it entirely up to chance. Strategy, a key element in making a game great, was no where to be found.

There was so much potential in the original. Just look at the board! There are safe houses, slides, and curveball playing cards (my favorite is the 11 switch). And don't you just love the Sorry! font? I can't get enough of it. But the makers botched it by keeping the rules elementary and targeting it toward children under 12.

I don't understand. So this game was suppose to teach kids to say Sorry! when they, by chance (i.e. it's not their fault), killed another player? I don't see the lesson. The only long term effect I saw happening was kids learning how to say Sorry! and not mean it.

Throwing the above out the window, my dad and I changed three things that made Sorry! into an all out vicious, deliberately killing rainbow colored survival game. Three simple changes created a monster fight. Here they are:

1. Deal 5 cards out to each player. Each player plays from their hand. When you play one of your cards, you need to pick up another. Always have 5 cards in hand.
2. At the start of the game, each player gets one of their playing pieces active in the 1st box.
3. If you use the 2 card to make a playing piece active, you place it on the 2nd box from your start, and not on the 1st box.
   

Rule #1 not only adds strategy to Sorry! but makes knocking off other players deliberate. A game of sweet revenge indeed! Rules #2 and #3 help speed the game up a bit. The original had you wait until a 1, 2, or Sorry! appeared to get you out of start. Often, you could take a brief nap before someone got out. Rule #2 gets you going right from the beginning. Rule #3 allows you more room to get playing pieces out of start, or another chance to knock someone off if they are sitting in your 2nd box.

I hope you enjoy these new rules of Sorry!

I recently viewed a re-released version of Sorry! and saw they have Adult rules that are similar to the above, but not exactly the same. These rules must have come out recently because they weren't present in our early 80s version.

2 Tickets to The Police

Monday March 5th, 2007. 10 am. Ticketmaster.com. 2 tickets purchased.

The year was 1983 and my aunt Carolyn was babysitting me. We were down in my grandparents' unfinished basement. She was watching a soap opera while I was making a fort out of folding tables, bed sheets, and pillows.

I peaked out my head just in time to see the soap plot thicken. A stalker was closing in on his victim, but at the last second he backed off. On queue a song came on....."every breath you take, every move you make, I'll be watching you..."

I remember saying to Carolyn, "I like this song, but the show is kind of creepy." Then I asked who was playing. Instead of answering, she took me upstairs, showed me a large poster of The Police hanging on her wall, and put in their latest album Synchronicity. My impressionable youth was exposed and I've been hooked since.

Say what you want about Sting and his worldly solo career, but when The Police were together they were pure, raw energy. Their earlier songs like "Fall Out" and "Truth Hits Everybody" are great substitutes for a can of Red Bull. Such driving music instills instant confidence. It's a force you want to get on and ride until exhaustion.

In six short years, The Police climbed to the top feeding rebellious souls with each new song. Then in 1983, while at the top, they broke up. It wasn't until later we learned that constant arguing and differing opinions toward song writing and lyrics eventually split the band. But now they are back for a reunion tour and to celebrate the 30 Anniversary of the release of "Roxanne."

You should allow yourself to go all out on at least one band in your life. The Police is my choice. That's why I forked over a couple hundred dollars to see them come this July. But I'm not going to stop there. I'm buying the tour t-shirt, the bumper sticker, the mug, and the tour pin.

I have an extra ticket. Do you want to go?

Trash for Starters

Last December, I read Garbage Land by Elizabeth Royte, a book about consumption, waste, and disposal. I came across it again recently while cleaning out my Jeep. Picking it up amongst the rest of the hidden crap (oh! there's my checkbook!), I slipped dimensions and suddenly felt the urge to document my weekly disposal of trash as Elizabeth did in her book. Maybe I too would find something out about myself. Is it true if space is available, trash will fill it? I know if counter space is available, I clutter it up within days.

I can't think of any better way to start this blog than by sharing with you the trash I dispose of:

Halls mentho-lyptus 30 drops
Five banana peals
A post-it with the piano chords to Pachelbel’s Canon
Another post-it reminding me of things to buy at the store and the piano chords to Hey Jude
Bob’s Java Hut matchbook (w/o the matches)
Letters from Citibank American Airlines, John Hancock Life Insurance, bank reward programs
Brochure on Iraq War Protest, Univ. of Minnesota Health Wellness Plan, First Avenue Saturday Dance Parties, Lunds coupons
Plastic lining of the inside of a Cheerios box
A plastic cap to a carton of orange juice
A second cap from a gallon of skim milk
One Apple core
Two bad tomatoes
CD wrapping of Yo La Tengo
Green Forest plastic wrapping of toilet paper and paper towel
Graduate School Loan information
Thank You card from the Univ. of Minnesota’s UPlan
Toilet paper roll
Approximately 14 crumpled up used tissue
Hand soap dispenser
Advil container
(recycled items not included, but range from small card board boxes to milk cartons)

I’m not sure what the above says about me, but I’m open to interpretation. I do agree that spam and sharing of personal information makes for more waste. How did the marketing department of a San Diego loan company know I was looking for graduate loan information?

I would like to think I lean toward a minimalist lifestyle. But does that mean I waste less by not collecting “stuff” to begin with, or does it mean I just don't have a lot of things around because I quickly throw them away? Obviously, further analysis with focus groups and pie charts is needed. For now, what does your garbage say about you?