Drama Ensues

Ever feel inundated?

This week has suddenly become "Family Drama" week. Seriously, it's worse than a Lifetime special. Shall we go with bulleted points? I think so:

• My father hasn't talked to my brother in months, maybe years? Including not bothering to call or facebook him on his Birthday. Oh, and my dad remarried, which is good but weird
• This has led my brother to take to facebook, saying how he "hates my ******* dad"
• My 15 year old cousin was recently expelled for drug activity, and refuses to give up said drugs
• My 45ish aunt is pregnant, even though she can't/doesn't really take care of her two kids she has. The father used to be married to someone else. Oh, and this was purposeful on my Aunt after she miscarried a baby just last year.
• My grandfather Joe is probably dying, but since he has alienated most of his family, no one really cares.
• The only people who do care are those he hasn't alienated, who are upset at the rest of the family for not visiting/calling Joe
• My 18 year old sister is pregnant, and the father is a guy who has cheated on her multiple times and recently had the facebook status "there's something about a girl saying no that makes me want to rape her lol"

I think that about covers it. Mind you, that's really only my side. I could bring in a few of Jess's family members too, but this seems like a good list.

What do I feel about all of this? Pressure. I'm the guy that my family thinks to rely on. Here's a solid example - I got a call from my cousin Andrea the other night regarding the Grandpa Joe situation. I was expecting her to yell at me because I, like most of the rest, have not called this man that I don't have a relationship with (I can seriously count the number of times I've seen him on one hand, and remember one conversation). I braced myself to be yelled at, only to discover that she was calling me because I was a "peacemaker" and she wanted me to say something to the rest of my cousins, so that they would hopefully visit/call Joe.

It reminds me of when my mom died, and I was the one who wasn't really allowed to break down. I needed to be the strong one, carry my dad, be there for my family. Take the lead, help make decisions, etc. I know that I put some of that on myself, but it was still there, undeniable.

I remember a conversation with a pastor who said that my entire family was "looking to me and wondering, whether or not I was about to break down. Be strong for them."

I don't know that this post has much of a point, other than to rail against that. I don't always want to be that guy. But I will be, as much as I can.

P.S. If you're someone involved in one of those bulleted points reading this, I'm sorry if you feel offended. Feel free to call and talk about it sometime.

Power of Vulnerability Discussion

Yesterday, I hosted a video on my blog. Not entirely sure why it didn't work right - the video is strangely cut off on one side. You can see the full (unmessed up) video here. You can also read the transcript here.

I think one of the interesting things that she talked about was the idea of vulnerability, and how we often try to numb the pain of vulnerability. The danger with that is that we can’t selectively numb – when we numb pain and vulnerability, we also numb joy and gratitude and happiness.

It’s something interesting to reflect on in regards to my life, and definitely interesting to think about with where I’m at currently. In the past, I’ve tried to ignore and numb the feelings of pain and hurt. I think back to my relationships with my parents and I have tried to just simply ignore the ways they did hurt me, and numbed the memories away. In doing that, I simply disconnected from my family. I don’t recall having a single deep conversation with my family after I reached high school.

So perhaps that should be my challenge today – to start entering into those relationships and having conversations, even where it feels dangerous. What about you?

Devotions

I'm leading devotions today for the broadcasting team - a team that I don't really know. I've been experimenting over the last few days with stories, trying to see what is worth talking about... Well, I'm out of time to experiment, so I have what I'm going with. I'm going to share it with you, my blog readers, first - as an exclusive to you, and also as final practice of what I'm going to say. So... Onwards? Upwards. I don't know.

(I intend to open with the story of my mom's death)

There's a psychological model called the 5 Stages of Grief. Most people are familiar with it, but just in case you aren't, here are the 5 stages:

1. Denial - This can't be happening.
2. Anger - I hate that this is happening.
3. Bargaining - I will do anything to prevent this.
4. Depression - This is inevitable and crushing.
5. Acceptance - It's going to be okay.

Most psychologists accept that these are varying and indeterminate stages. Not everyone goes through in a strict order of 1 - 5. Some people skip around. Some people move through the stages cyclically. Psychologists also don't believe that there is a certain time frame for each stage. People spend different amounts at each stage, and how long they are in any one stage is determined solely by them.

I'm starting to believe that this model is not just helpful for grief, or at least the narrow definition of grief that it's usually applied with. Perhaps a more appropriate title would be the 5 stages of change? After all, grief is fundamentally a change in the world around us, right? We grieve because the change is irreversible and hurts us specifically.

Here's an recent example from my own life of a change I grieved, and how I worked through the stages:

At work, we recently changed the software that we use for scheduling. This turned out to be much more frustrating than we originally envisioned - partially because we at the Nursing Center did not envision or desire a change of software. We went through (in sequential order, actually) the 5 stages of change/grief:

1. We spent a lot of time just ignoring the request to switch to a new and confusing system. Since there was no real urgency to the request to switch, and no one shut down our old method, we just continued to use it and hoped noone would notice us.
2. When eventually we were noticed, we were told to switch to the new system. This made us rather angry - we didn't ask for a new system, and no one asked us for our input about the system. As regular users, this didn't really sit right with us.
3. After a bit, we cooled down and started thinking about how we could use (or not use) the system. We spent about a month emailing with people in charge of the switchover, trying to 'negotiate' how much we would be forced to use. What if we just switched over two of our half dozen calendars? What if we just made a note on the new software to call us to use the old software? What if...
4. Most of our what if's fell to the ground, and we moved into the new system, still upset about the ordeal. The next two months I spent comparing the new system to the old system; thinking of how great and easy the old way was, and how much I wished we could go back. All I could see of the new system was the flaws and the ways it came short of our old software.
5. Only recently have I started to see the ways in which the new software is useful, and stopped wishing to go back to the old software. I don't have a specific reason why - time heals all, I guess. Or perhaps it just from me playing around with the old software again and getting frustrated by it's limitations. Either way, I'm now at the acceptance portion of using the software.

So the 5 stages of grief can be used practically in our work place lives. It helps us to recognize areas of change where we're struggling, areas that we're grieving a loss (or change) in our lives.

I also believe that the 5 stages of grief is biblical, with a twist. I see it in the structure of the most grief-stricken book in the Bible - the book of Lamentations.

Lamentations is in the Old Testament, a small book nestled between Jeremiah and Ezekiel. It's only five chapters long, and the only book in the Bible consisting solely of Laments - sad songs. It was written about the fall of Jerusalem in 586BC. It's also a poetic book - the first 4 chapters are acrostics, each line starting with the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet.

And, interestingly, it's structure almost exactly fits the 5 stages of grief. Chapter by chapter even.

Chapter 1 is outlined in my study bible as "Jerusalem's Misery and Desolation." Here are a few key phrases:

• how deserted lies the city, once so full of people (v1)
• she who was a queen among the provinces (v1)
• all the splendor has departed her(v6)
• Jerusalem remembers all the treasures that were hers (v7)

The author seems focussed on what Jerusalem was, painting a comparison of what it is now. In some senses, the author is living in the past, living in denial. He (or she) can't avoid praising the Jerusalem that was, as if the act of praise will bring Jerusalem back.

Chapter 2 is called "The Lords anger against his People." That seems pretty self explanatory, but just in case it's not clear that this is the Lord's wrath, 5 of the first 6 verses all make explicit reference to wrath or anger. The first 3rd of the chapter is a description of the Lord's anger, and the second 2/3rds are the results.

Case in point - the first verse in the chapter: "How the Lord has covered the daughter of Zion with the cloud of his anger; he has hurled down the splendor of Israel from heaven to earth; he has not remembered his footstool in the day of his anger."

Chapter 3 is the "Basis for Consolation." The author makes a plea for the Lord to save him - verses 49-50 are a classic "if I do this, Lord will you do that?" prayer, the sort we make all the time. "Please let me be on time and I will read my bible every day for the rest of my life!" "Please let this be okay, and I will serve you." When I was in high school, I swore to God that if he provided me with a date to my freshman homecoming dance, I would read 3 chapters of the Bible every day. I forgot, and then spend the day before the dance frantically trying to read a month's worth of 3 chapters a day (90 chapters). That didn't really work so well, and I went single (that year).

Verses 49-50: "My eyes will flow unceasingly without relief, until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees."

Chapter 4 is the depression chapter... which starts out with this verse: "How the gold has lost its luster; the fine gold become dull!"

That seems pretty depressing.

And it all culminates at the end of Chapter 5 with this verse (19): "You, O Lord, reign forever. Your throne endures from generation to generation."

So that's the book of Lamentations in five minutes. Or less. Maybe more. I'm pretty bad at clocking myself. I think the most interesting parallel to the 5 stages of grief is the final stage - acceptance. Acceptance doesn't come from a false sense of "it will be okay," or a denial of what happened. What happened hurt, and that still matters.

Acceptance comes from the idea that despite how much it hurts, God is still good. Praising Him is still worthy. When we can come back around to praising God, even in the midst of pain and hurt, is when we can know we are healing (not healed) and that we are coming to terms with our grief; that we are learning acceptance.

Learning to Grieve

My mom died January 10th 2008, three years ago today.

It's one of those things you don't really get over; something you can't ever quite put behind you.

There are moments of pure grief involved. I think of the last three years of my life - in many ways the best three years of my life, and think about how my mom never got to see those. She never got to hear me talk about my final months in Charleston; she never watched me pursue Jess; she never got to watch my wedding; she never really had a chance to see me grow up and be a man (in my humble opinion, of course).

But then there are moments of pure anger as well. Because it was her decisions that ultimately prevented her from seeing any of those moments. My mom was an alcoholic, and when she was brought to the hospital with a sudden onset of jaundice, it was discovered that she had lost her liver to cirrhosis. Worse - she had known that there was something wrong for sometime and had kept it hidden from everyone else. The lack of medical follow-through meant that when she was finally forced to go to the hospital, she had also lost the function of her kidneys.

Even at this point, she didn't want to stop drinking.

So it's a strange thing to look back and remember. Because I may have moments of grief, but sometimes they flow into anger, and vice versa.

The one thing I've noticed about losing my mom is that stories about her mean so much more now. At Christmas, I shared a story about my favorite Christmas memory at an office party, and I was surprised to find that the point of the story was just the look on my mom's face for one Christmas. It's a story that I probably would never have remember or thought twice of if my mom was still here.

I've wanted to write down my experiences of that two week period three years ago for some time. It's an amazing story the more I look back on it - not amazing in a good way, mind you. I lived in Charleston; went on vacation to Michigan; and came back motherless two weeks later. It happened that quick.

I've written some of those experiences down, but not all of them. I remember struggling to pretend to be strong for my family and for my dad; I remember anger at some of the ways family members responded; I remember the fumbling terror the morning where my dad called into the bedroom I was sleeping in that we needed to go to the Hospice center right there and I remember the numbing sensation that covered my entire self the moment I realized that it could only mean one thing.

But it's not all terrible memories. I also remember being overwhelmed with the grace and kindness of my friends. I remember crying on the phone with several of my friends, and friends crying on the phone with me. I remember the cavalry showing up and taking me out to dinner. I remember the morning she died driving to Cornerstone and just being with a friend who had no idea what had even happened and how that was exactly what I needed.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a few things about what I think this year is going to be about - a few of my resolutions. I think this is an important part of this year too, learning to face and confront this grief. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've recently developed a friendship with a man who lost his mom a few years ago. I don't think it's a coincidence that I'm wanting to write more and that this is one of the larger projects I've considered writing.

I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but I do know where it's been. I think even stepping out and writing this post could be a first step - a first step to healing; a first step to growth; a first step towards learning to grieve.