Broken

[HAP]

Dear, dear friends,

I did some work with therapists in my teens and early 20s to help me deal with the unexplained anger that I had dealt with for most of my life. My issues with anger long predate my relationship with Jane--or her death. They are rooted in things that happened immediately after my birth and were deepened over the course of my childhood by other things that happened to me. The earliest events, which I only learned about two years ago in a conversation with my father, explain a great deal to me in terms of what we now know about the mother-child bond.

Fear, as Mary points out, is the source of most anger. Both emotions are irrational--or at least cause irrational behavior. I have a series of exercises one of my therapists gave me whose constant repetition over many years proved helpful in resolving some, but apparently not all, of those issues. My fear of abandonment and betrayal, which I had thought long dead, have returned with a vengeance in recent months. It has been a long time since I felt those things. Their return makes prefect sense, under the circumstances. I will return to the exercises I have used in the past, but first I needed to knock down those flames with the ruthlessness of a firefighter faced with a fire that seemed on the verge of getting out of control. There is still fire there, but there is no longer the immediate danger that it will engulf the whole neighborhood.

I may, eventually, decide that going back to therapy is necessary. My experience with counselors and therapists is decidedly mixed. Part of that has to do with me: I don't trust easily--and I trust therapists less easily than I do most people. I know there are good ones out there, but it took me four tries to find one when I went down that road the first time. I met with two after Jane died and left each shaking my head. When the first suggestion one makes is a drug regimen almost before I have opened my mouth, we're pretty much done--especially after I explain my family history of drug and alcohol abuse and they still want to push pills. I'd rather feel the raw emotions, no matter how awful, and deal with them than be drugged into thinking I'm all better. Drugs are good at masking things that are sometimes--though not always--better dealt with up front. Yes, there are chemical imbalances in the brain that cause schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder, among others, that can only be addressed that way. But I don't think those things can be diagnosed by a "Good morning" and a handshake. Drugs should be a last resort in most cases--and certainly not a first one.

Part of me wishes I could walk away from things for a good long while and deal with nothing other than my own healing. Unfortunately, for me, that would only make the healing more difficult. Every day I would know another 33 people had died of the same cancer that killed Jane--that another 33 would get that deadly diagnosis--and that God alone knows how many more were dying from it without even knowing what was killing them--and that I was doing less than all that I could to stop it. People I know would be dying--and too many of them would be dying alone--with no one even figuratively holding their hands. I saw that day-after-day when I was in the hospital with Jane, heard from doctors and nurses how rare what I was doing with Jane was, about how many people came into the ICU alone, stayed alone, and died alone. Grief compounded by that guilt would quickly become unbearable. My work on cancer is so intertwined with my own healing that leaving it--for all that it complicates my life sometimes--would make things worse for me than they are.

And is there a point to healing merely to return to a world unchanged: where people still hate each other, where the seas still rise uncontrollably, and where the majority live in poverty and suffering while a handful live in wealth and pleasure? Certainly, I know I could do that work better if I were completely whole and healthy, but I look out the window and see an ecosystem and civilization at a moment of crisis in which even a crippled hand on the door may be the thing that makes a difference.

Jane and i lived by a simple philosophy: that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few--or the one. My niece came down for part of the weekend. She pointed out to me that is a thing engrained in our family DNA--that it should probably be the family motto--and that sometimes fighting that DNA does more harm than good to our mental health.

There was a lot more I unearthed last week--much of it less traumatic than that anger. I'll write about those things later.

For now, though, finding a therapist or counselor I can work with is on the list. Now that the fire is under control, so is going back to the exercises that helped me deal with it before in the light of the new knowledge about where it started and how that links to Jane's death. And somewhere last night I discovered the clue to renewing the well of love--a thing I knew but buried under a ton of rubble after Jane died: love comes from love given freely and unconditionally; the more we try to conserve love and stockpile it, the less we have. It only increases when we give it away.

It seems to me that at our best, we do a lot of that here. I need to remember to do more of that elsewhere as well.

Now I have to go shovel the three inch "dusting" of snow we got last night off the steps and driveway and get to the grocery.

Is the weather we've had this winter good for anyone's state of mind--other than a snowman's?

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

However altruistic and noble that may seem, the fact remains that you must pace yourself or suffer burnout. You alone are not responsible for the woes of the world, or curing them. You are one person. NOW is the time to rest, to come to terms with your grief and it's aftermath, and yes, even deal with the anger that pervades you. To do this is not a waste of time and energy, it is restorative and necessary if you are to continue trying to save the world. Healer, first heal thyself.

[enna]

Oh Harry, I SOOOO agree with Kay. Taking care of yourself as we are watching YOU.

[mfh]

"Part of me wishes I could walk away from things for a good long while and deal with nothing other than my own healing."

Harry, I truly hope you will honor this voice within that tells you what you need. Burning out is not going to help down the road and you might also find some of that anger lift if you honor what you really need to do.

I am sorry you have bumped into a therapist who instantly recommends meds. I think you were totally right to walk out. As with all fields, there are good therapists and not so good as well intentioned as they all may be. I am glad that therapist is on the list.

[HAP]

Dear friends,

I think the key here is to find the balance between the work I need to do on grief and the work I need to do in the world. I can't walk away from either one without doing damage to myself.

That's another of the things I figured out last week. It's complicated in here. Pull this thread and this one way on the other side that doesn't even seem to be attached either loosens or tightens or does something else crazy. Nothing is ever simple--it all interconnects. Take that anger, as an example. Jane's death is part of it, but only after it runs through how sick my mother was after she gave birth to me on the other side of my brain--and the extreme other end of my life--then plays tag with several wars, the shooting death of a young boy in India, a guy who adopted a starving child in China during WWII, before returning to Jane's hospital bed and what the government did with its money instead of funding cancer research. Woof.

I'm afraid I am not explaining any of this very well--but I'm working on it.

Peace,

Harry

[mfh]

Dear friends,

I think the key here is to find the balance between the work I need to do on grief and the work I need to do in the world. I can't walk away from either one without doing damage to myself.

That's another of the things I figured out last week. It's complicated in here. Pull this thread and this one way on the other side that doesn't even seem to be attached either loosens or tightens or does something else crazy. Nothing is ever simple--it all interconnects. Take that anger, as an example. Jane's death is part of it, but only after it runs through how sick my mother was after she gave birth to me on the other side of my brain--and the extreme other end of my life--then plays tag with several wars, the shooting death of a young boy in India, a guy who adopted a starving child in China during WWII, before returning to Jane's hospital bed and what the government did with its money instead of funding cancer research. Woof.

I do like that analogy...pull one string and one on the other side moves...it reminds me of how I relate the grief journey to a pile of twisted, tangled and knotted strings, yarns and ribbons. Harry, I think you would enjoy Francis Weller's book called Entering the Healing Ground. He discusses this very thing...i.e. how we all carry grief for world events and world pain. Here is an interview with him. He is a gentle soul who talks about his grief about the oil spill in the gulf and wars etc. Thanks for responding so well to all of us who care so very much about you.

Here is the link to Francis' interview:

http://www.carolynbaker.net/2014/02/25/francis-weller-and-carolyn-baker-converse-about-grief-and-joy/

Link to his site: www.wisdombridge.net

[HAP]

Dear friends,

I promised I'd pass along some of the other things that came to me last week. The anger is much lighter today than it was two weeks ago when I began this piece of the journey. It began to lighten, honestly, the moment I admitted it was there and and began to focus on it and its causes. It is still there, but at a level I can live with for now. I will keep doing the exercises I learned so long ago. One important thing that came out of that piece of the struggle was how important keeping up those things is.

One of the other things I realized last week and began working on immediately was the importance of forgiveness. The day before Jane went into the hospital we had a long talk about a number of things. She told me I had made her life better and that she had no regrets. She said there was nothing I had done that was wrong but knew I felt I had made mistakes in our life together and that I needed to know that she forgave me for the things I thought I had done wrong. She also told me she expected I would think I made mistakes that led to her death if she died--though she intended not to--and that she was forgiving me in advance for those things as well. I said the same things to her as well. We were saying good-bye, just in case things didn't work out as planned. It was a beautiful afternoon.

But while we accepted each other's forgiveness, I have never entirely forgiven myself for what happened in the hospital. Part of me believes I should have let her go when she entered the first coma three days before Thanksgiving and that I compounded that error by not letting her go when she went into the second coma that Saturday. She was angry when she woke up the first time, joyous when she came back after the second. When the third came two weeks later, there was nothing left to try or to do but let her go.

I know a lot of things would not have happened if I had let her go sooner. Our last struggle together changed many lives: it helped at least two marriages, created new knowledge about carcinoid and carcinoid heart failure that has saved many lives since, led directly to the creation of the Program for Neuroendocrine and Carcinoid Tumors at Dana-Farber--now one of the biggest programs in the country dedicated to that form of cancer--inspired her doctors to work more on the disease, provided the impetus for Walking with Jane...

These are all good things. But I know what they cost both of us. I'm not sure the pain and humiliation those extra three weeks cost her were something I should have allowed to happen regardless of what good has come, and will come, out of it. On both occasions, she was ready to go. But for all I thought I was ready to let her go, I didn't. She may have forgiven me for doing what I did--the science mattered to her--mattered to both of us--but I have not been able to do so emotionally. I understand the necessity of it in terms of what others got from it--logically, I accept that. But there is more to life than logic and rational understanding. How do I explain all that to my heart, then?

And yet, I know I would feel just as guilty if I had not given her every chance--not given her doctors every chance--not have given the researchers every chance. We all live our lives--whether we know it or not--in service to others. Jane and I were just more conscious of that fact than most. We went into her surgery with two contradictory desires: too limit her suffering and to learn as much as we could about her disease. It was a no-win scenario from the start once things started to unravel. Could I have drawn the line anywhere other than where I did? I don't know, but I don't think so--not and lived with myself afterward. So long as there was a fighting chance of her recovery, I had to give it to her. So long as there was something more they could learn, I had to give it to them. And we all agreed that when there was no longer a fighting chance, that was where the real line was.

People talk about suffering for their art. Sometimes we have to suffer so that others can live and grow. Sometimes, when the prize is large enough, we have to die--or worse, watch someone we love die so that others can live. I keep coming back to Sidney Farber's early work on cancer. He knew that sometimes the drugs he gave those children might well hasten their deaths; he knew that even if he bought them a couple of extra weeks, there was going to be a price that had to be paid in pain and suffering by those children; but he also knew that if he did nothing, children would continue to die without hope.

Jane's death created hope where there was very little--some would say none. What she went through--what I continue to go through--was the cost of creating those faint sparks that others will fan into a blazing fire that will devour carcinoid and NET cancer once and for all. I refuse to feel guilty about that sacrifice any longer. To do so would profane everything we went through together--and every humiliation she suffered. She did not die in vain, she did not live in vain--and neither will I.

Peace,

Harry

p.s. to Mary: I tried to watch the video you posted above but am downloading a series of software upgrades and they have slowed everything on my computers to a crawl. It looks very interesting--I managed to get a look at the page, if not the video--and as soon as my connection frees up, I'll watch it.

[Wifflesnook]

Harry I am writing with my eyes brimming with tears. We all have regrets after our loved ones have died. I do, of course. If Pete had to die from the effects of that devastating stroke I wish I had been there, wish we could have said goodbye, wish we could have acknowledged what was happened with honesty which we had all our married lives until as a result of the stroke he experienced a kind of denial of what was happening and I shared it with him (and still do).

We have to forgive ourselves as they would forgive us. I know my Pete would forgive me anything as I would him. We just have to know that deep in our minds and hearts.

[kayc]

Harry, you are so right about balance being needed, that is the key to success! For without balance, we can accomplish much but lose everything.

Forgiveness is also key...forgiving ourselves is the hardest feat, but sometimes I think we strain to forgive ourselves for what isn't even necessary!

[enna]

We are a group of healers around here. ♥

[enna]

I love this thought by Pema Chodron - it reminds me that we are all different and need to do things in our own way.

"My middle way and your middle way are not the same middle way. For instance, my style is to be casual and laid-back. For me to do what usually would be called a strict practice is still pretty relaxed, because I do it in a relaxed way. So strict practice is good for me. But perhaps you are much more militant and precise. Maybe you tend toward being tight, so you might need to find out what it means to practice in a relaxed, loose way. Everyone practices in order to find out for him - or herself personally how to be balanced, how to be not too tight and not too loose. No one else can tell you. You just have to find out for yourself."
~ Pema Chodron

[mfh]

Agreed...wholeheartedly!