Wednesday, March 16, 2016
The answer to life, death and everything...
She asked a philosopher to help her daughter.
She - The problem with my daughter is that she thinks that, because earth is just a spec of dust in the universe, life has no sense whatsoever. She can't see any point in being alive after finishing high school. Considering that she is only 13 with this type of questions, I think it will be hard to find a child/teen therapist prepared to handle that.
Philosopher - Why? It's not exactly an original doubt?
Philosopher - One more reason to seek professional help. Anyway, this 'philosophical crisis' is not something that we can reason with. She is trying to "feel" something. Reasons are known to everyone for a long time...
She - Are sure about it? I'm not aware of any reason, that's why I'm asking you.
She - The problem with my daughter is that she thinks that, because earth is just a spec of dust in the universe, life has no sense whatsoever. She can't see any point in being alive after finishing high school. Considering that she is only 13 with this type of questions, I think it will be hard to find a child/teen therapist prepared to handle that.
Philosopher - Why? It's not exactly an original doubt?
She - I know, I know, but no answer that I showed to her seems to make her budge from her dooming thoughts.
Philosopher - Still... It seems that every teenager, specailly females, go through this phase. Don't you agree?
She - I told her that the Universe is a combination of infinitesimal parts and that each particle has its role in the whole scheme of things. I told har about the butterfly effect and that no matter how minuscule her impact in on the Unverse, that her impact on the ones that love her and the ones she loves is always huge.
Philosopher - Universe has nothing to do with it. The Universe itself has no meaning in existing and still it continues to exist despite the lack of meaning.
She - I've already lost a son to suicide. If I have to accept losing anther child to suicide I rather die sooner than later.
Philosopher - I don't think that she necessarily looking for the meaning of life and I'm not sure if she will get to an extreme situation. Every one has this type of doubts during adolescence and almost all of them survive. And invariably, most of them don't pay attention to their mothers.
She - My daughter has this fixed idea of dying since she was 6. The death of her brother only deepened her depression.
Philosopher - Did she tried therapy already?
She - We tried that. She was doing well in the small village, but we had to cut it short when her brother died. After that we had tried 3 other therapists here and she didn't like any of them.
Philosopher - As I said, it looks like a trivial problem for any experienced therapist. It's worth a shot.
She - It has to do with control and power. Suddenly, if you forfeit living, happiness, you exercise a lot of control over people around you that are afraid of dying or of sadness. It makes you feel above the crowd.
Philosopher - This exactly why these people never kill themselves, they only threaten to do so. To keep this power.
Philosopher - This exactly why these people never kill themselves, they only threaten to do so. To keep this power.
She - Not really. Statiscs show that about 20% of them die by suicide. But when your child is among this 20% it ceases being an statistic and becomes your cruel reality.
Philosopher - I think we are talking about different things. Your son was very distinct than these people. There are mentally ill people and there are the attention seekers.
She - My son had a mental illness and so does my daughter.
She - Are sure about it? I'm not aware of any reason, that's why I'm asking you.
Philosopher - Do you really believe that any philosopher has ever answered the fundamental questions?
She - No, but I'm not knowledgeable about Philosophy...
Philosopher - Each one has his own reasons to keep oneself alive. I don't think there is such a thing as an universal, irrefutable answer. There is not much to learn if you are looking for a consensus. Philosophy is for the ones the like questions, not answers.
She - No, but I'm not knowledgeable about Philosophy...
Philosopher - Each one has his own reasons to keep oneself alive. I don't think there is such a thing as an universal, irrefutable answer. There is not much to learn if you are looking for a consensus. Philosophy is for the ones the like questions, not answers.
She - I just hope that all that 15 years from now the memories of these years just bring me a smile realizing how complex was her strategy to avoid chores and homework.
Philosopher - For some the meaning of life is to continuing asking questions and seeking answers. I don't think you will have to wait 15 years for things to change. And her attitude probably is not all about avoiding chores...
She - I agree, but 90% of the conflicts start around it. By the way, I told that to her already, that for me, seeking the answers is what gives me meaning. It didn''t work.
Philosopher - She is not seeking any meaning. She has already. It's more the power game, but this is psicoanalysis material, not Philosophy.
She - I know... Thanks for listening to me.
Philosopher - Thank you for calling me.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Life is just death's waiting room.
She finally understood.
The pain of the loss was the proof that she once had him.
There was always going to be loss and always going to be pain.
It can come sooner or later.
Experienced on spikes, in installments, over a long period, all at once...
Integrating pain, no matter the distribution along the time,
is always going to give you the same unbearable amount
If she was given to option to never had had him to avoid the pain of losing him so abruptly,
or having him for the short amount of time she had,
she would have no other choice then take him for how long she could,
no matter the pain.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
life without drama
She had lost her father at age of twelve to a long illness which name could not even be pronounced out loud in the house.
She remembers that her father never stayed much in the sun, always with a hat, long sleeves, pants. She remembers he loved the sea, fishing, the sand, but he could never get in the water with them.
He was skinny and although he always looked like a giant to her, now that she was older than her father when he died, she realized that he wasn't tall at all. He sure had big words and big ideas, long lectures, big projects.
He had bought a VW beetle to travel to the capital twice a week to get a second job. Soon after he would stay away in long stays at the hospital in the capital. Hre mother would stay away too. Life would somehow continue. Her parents were so active in their church and community, that it was almost normal to have friends and relatives to drop by once in awhile. Now it was almost like that.
She only realized how long her father had been away when he finally was sent home and she ran with her sister to the gate to give him a hug. Her arms squeezing that squalid man that she was seeing crying for the first time. Only then she realized that something very serious was going on.
She can't tell exactly if he went back to work, She remembers on weekdays listening to the march on his radio, announcing the news while she was getting ready for school across the street. The jazz show on the radio in the evenings, playing This masquerade, Take Five.
He then went to the hospital and she couldn't visit him there, because children weren't allowed in hospitals. Until one weekend, when miraculously, she and her siblings were taken to his hospital room, except the two younger ones, 2 and 3 years old. He talked to each one and each one could hug him and feel special. He went to the window and waved at the two younger ones held at the side walk by relatives.
She still thought that she could pray for him to get better. She still made plans. Few days later, she was at home in the morning and a call came from the hospital. She ran away to her father room and held on to an image of Our lady. She prayed, but she knew that it was already too late. Moments later a friend of the family came in, with tears in her eyes and told her:"You father, honey, went to heaven".
She was sent to her brother's high school to let him know. He was about to start a math test, turning in the HP calculator that her dad had given him. She came to the classroom door and asked to talk to him, the teacher came and inquired her what was the subject. She told from the door, looking at her brother's eyes, that dad had just died. He said:"How sad". She rode her bike to his school and they walked back home in silence.
She'd never seen her mom so sad.
After the funeral and the shock had subsided a little, her mom told her that in his last month her father had given her advice about all her seven children but her. She remembers her mom repeating her dad:"There is nothing you can do for this girl. She is unstoppable, she will be on her own her whole life". Her mom understood that as a license to neglect her for the rest of her life. So at twelve, she were not allowed the drama, aches and pains of adolescence. Her sisters ostracized her. She was too much of a tomboy to be around them. No one felt any need to teach her anything about life, about feelings, about mourning, about love and loss. She grew inside herself.
Now that she remembered all that, she realized that maybe she deserved her son's suicide. She that learned how to grow without drama, wasn't aware of the drama that her son was living. Her soul's numbness killed her son.
She remembers that her father never stayed much in the sun, always with a hat, long sleeves, pants. She remembers he loved the sea, fishing, the sand, but he could never get in the water with them.
He was skinny and although he always looked like a giant to her, now that she was older than her father when he died, she realized that he wasn't tall at all. He sure had big words and big ideas, long lectures, big projects.
He had bought a VW beetle to travel to the capital twice a week to get a second job. Soon after he would stay away in long stays at the hospital in the capital. Hre mother would stay away too. Life would somehow continue. Her parents were so active in their church and community, that it was almost normal to have friends and relatives to drop by once in awhile. Now it was almost like that.
She only realized how long her father had been away when he finally was sent home and she ran with her sister to the gate to give him a hug. Her arms squeezing that squalid man that she was seeing crying for the first time. Only then she realized that something very serious was going on.
She can't tell exactly if he went back to work, She remembers on weekdays listening to the march on his radio, announcing the news while she was getting ready for school across the street. The jazz show on the radio in the evenings, playing This masquerade, Take Five.
He then went to the hospital and she couldn't visit him there, because children weren't allowed in hospitals. Until one weekend, when miraculously, she and her siblings were taken to his hospital room, except the two younger ones, 2 and 3 years old. He talked to each one and each one could hug him and feel special. He went to the window and waved at the two younger ones held at the side walk by relatives.
She still thought that she could pray for him to get better. She still made plans. Few days later, she was at home in the morning and a call came from the hospital. She ran away to her father room and held on to an image of Our lady. She prayed, but she knew that it was already too late. Moments later a friend of the family came in, with tears in her eyes and told her:"You father, honey, went to heaven".
She was sent to her brother's high school to let him know. He was about to start a math test, turning in the HP calculator that her dad had given him. She came to the classroom door and asked to talk to him, the teacher came and inquired her what was the subject. She told from the door, looking at her brother's eyes, that dad had just died. He said:"How sad". She rode her bike to his school and they walked back home in silence.
She'd never seen her mom so sad.
After the funeral and the shock had subsided a little, her mom told her that in his last month her father had given her advice about all her seven children but her. She remembers her mom repeating her dad:"There is nothing you can do for this girl. She is unstoppable, she will be on her own her whole life". Her mom understood that as a license to neglect her for the rest of her life. So at twelve, she were not allowed the drama, aches and pains of adolescence. Her sisters ostracized her. She was too much of a tomboy to be around them. No one felt any need to teach her anything about life, about feelings, about mourning, about love and loss. She grew inside herself.
Now that she remembered all that, she realized that maybe she deserved her son's suicide. She that learned how to grow without drama, wasn't aware of the drama that her son was living. Her soul's numbness killed her son.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
What if I was called Goodluck Jonathan?
It was certain inside of her that one day she would find no use for being alive anymore and it would have nothing to do with health, need or desire.
She had never been keen to routines and rituals. She was too lazy and distracted for this type of commitment. But despite the lack of sense on waking up, existing and going to bed everyday, she just kept going. She can't pinpoint exactly when the mundane act of living stopped making sense to her. Certainly there were big losses in her life could explain her acts devoid of meaning, but for awhile she carried certain emotion inside herself that she would lend to the facts around her like a lace window treatment covering a dismayed landscape view.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Mourning by numbers
She had this friend from work that use to count his steps all the time. He couldn't help it. He knew how many steps from his car to the front door, how many steps from the front door to the elevators, how many steps from the elevator to his desk, his whole life counting steps. It was a savant-like talent, to live surrounded by number of steps.
When she lost her son, numbers started to hunt her.
"On July 22nd of 2009 my youngest son, born on may 12th of 1984, took his own life. He was living in Rio de Janeiro, RJ, Brazil, Latitude: 22 54' 0" S Longitude: 43 56'-1" W.
His body was found by his father when he came home after work. His father called the emergency dialing 192 while trying to give him CPR. When the paramedics arrived my son was pronounced dead and the paramedic told his father that nothing could have been done to save my son.
His father called me at 6:02 PM US Central time, which was two hours behind Brasilia time. I was in Bentonville,AR. I had to call my husband in Richardson, TX to make flight arrangements so I could go to the funeral in Brazil with my other son. It took me 3 hours to make all the arrangements to leave from Bentonville and go to Richardson. A friend of mine drove us (my son, my daughter and me) to Richardson,TX, covering 346.5 miles in 5 hours and 35 minutes. We boarded the flight AA 963 from DFW to GRU at 7:00 PM at gate D33. I took the seat 45D by my son at seat 45F. The flight took off at 7:45 PM for a 9 hour 55 minutes flight. Arriving at GRU airport, the plane had a 30 minutes delay due to weather conditions until we could land.
While we were flying, my son's remains were transported from Rio de Janeiro to Belo Horizonte (Lat: 19 55'0" S Long: 43 56'-1"W), 210 miles, lasting 3 hours and 49 minutes. We stayed at GRU airport 3 hours waiting for the flight GOL 1648 from GRU to Confins airport in Belo Horizonte, MG. My brother, a nephew and a niece joined us on this leg of the trip. At this time, my mother told me that 3 masses had been prayed in my son's memory. The flight GOL 1648 took off at 10:40 AM. I was in seat 21E and we arrived at Confins at 11:50 AM. It took us around 45 minutes to retrieve our luggage and we had to take two cabs to go to the funeral home. It was a very long ride. We arrived at the funeral home at 1:30 PM. I could spend just 3 hours with my son. He was buried at Parque da Colina cemetery, on a steep hill at the roses zone, block IX-1150 by his grandmother's grave at 4:30 PM.
The paramedics estimated that my son probably died in 4 minutes. There are 240 seconds in 4 minutes. The time that took to show all these pictures about his life.
Flávio, we miss you so dearly. We love you forever."
When she lost her son, numbers started to hunt her.
"On July 22nd of 2009 my youngest son, born on may 12th of 1984, took his own life. He was living in Rio de Janeiro, RJ, Brazil, Latitude: 22 54' 0" S Longitude: 43 56'-1" W.
His body was found by his father when he came home after work. His father called the emergency dialing 192 while trying to give him CPR. When the paramedics arrived my son was pronounced dead and the paramedic told his father that nothing could have been done to save my son.
His father called me at 6:02 PM US Central time, which was two hours behind Brasilia time. I was in Bentonville,AR. I had to call my husband in Richardson, TX to make flight arrangements so I could go to the funeral in Brazil with my other son. It took me 3 hours to make all the arrangements to leave from Bentonville and go to Richardson. A friend of mine drove us (my son, my daughter and me) to Richardson,TX, covering 346.5 miles in 5 hours and 35 minutes. We boarded the flight AA 963 from DFW to GRU at 7:00 PM at gate D33. I took the seat 45D by my son at seat 45F. The flight took off at 7:45 PM for a 9 hour 55 minutes flight. Arriving at GRU airport, the plane had a 30 minutes delay due to weather conditions until we could land.
While we were flying, my son's remains were transported from Rio de Janeiro to Belo Horizonte (Lat: 19 55'0" S Long: 43 56'-1"W), 210 miles, lasting 3 hours and 49 minutes. We stayed at GRU airport 3 hours waiting for the flight GOL 1648 from GRU to Confins airport in Belo Horizonte, MG. My brother, a nephew and a niece joined us on this leg of the trip. At this time, my mother told me that 3 masses had been prayed in my son's memory. The flight GOL 1648 took off at 10:40 AM. I was in seat 21E and we arrived at Confins at 11:50 AM. It took us around 45 minutes to retrieve our luggage and we had to take two cabs to go to the funeral home. It was a very long ride. We arrived at the funeral home at 1:30 PM. I could spend just 3 hours with my son. He was buried at Parque da Colina cemetery, on a steep hill at the roses zone, block IX-1150 by his grandmother's grave at 4:30 PM.
The paramedics estimated that my son probably died in 4 minutes. There are 240 seconds in 4 minutes. The time that took to show all these pictures about his life.
Flávio, we miss you so dearly. We love you forever."
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Things that my mother forgot to tell me
She remembered when she was a child, during catechism, when her mother explained to her about: "sins against chastity". She told her about Aída Curi, which chose to die instead of losing her virginity. It was not suicide, it was martyrdom. Suicide was never mentioned, like cancer.
Poor Aída... She didn't die, she was killed.
Her mother's version of "the birds and the bees" was full of sin, pain, fear, shame, secrecy, whispers, fate. That was the original sin, not that women would go through labor pains to deliver their children, but that they had to have sex in order to get pregnant.
One way or another, she learned about the birds and bees, she had lots of conversations with her mom, how her mom felt impotent to teach her, to control her, to make her have good manners.
At 13 she asked a cousin to teach her how to shave her legs. Her sisters wouldn't go into these feminine details with her, because she wasn't one of them. She was a tomboy. When on vacation with friends, traveling without her family, she had her first period. Her friend's mom helped her. If her mom got surprised, if she talked to her friend's mom, she never knew. At 15 a bohemian poet fell in love with her. He didn't have a job, he was a college drop-out, chain smoker, madly in love with her. Her mom didn't like him. She was afraid that he was dragging her to bad company. He liked her because she was small, looking like a 12 year old. he thought he was Lewis Carroll, perverted like him in his adoration of little girls. She left him, because as a matter of fact, too much infatuation wasn't thrilling anymore. Things changed quickly in her life at that time. Since he had lost her father, she never confided in anyone else in her family. She always had to fend for herself, because her siblings always accused her of being daddy's little girls. Now that he was gone, she had to take care of herself. She got pregnant at 17 and her mom just had an attitude of resignation, that this was her fate. Her mom thought that she was going to live like other teen moms that are finally subdue by their parents' wisdom and economic power. But her mom didn't seem to possess either and she wasn't the one to be subdued. She went on and got married, she had her son and he was very special. She cried at the hospital when the nurse gave him for her to hold.
Still, one way or another, her mom told her about several things, and she loved and respected her, like so many people. Her mom, with her beautiful, supplicant eyes. Her soft hands, her pitch perfect voice, her songs, her cooking, her stories. She still has a notebook with her mom's recipes for everyday cooking, her favorite dishes, holiday meals... Her neat handwrite. The recipes popping from the pages to her ears every time she referred to the cookbook for something, as if her mom was there, looking over her shoulders while she tried to cook like her mom.
Her mom was her first grade teacher. She learned how to read and write one year earlier, watching her mom tutoring kids from school. From all the things that her mom told her, one thing she never mentioned: menopause.
And menopause was what caught her by surprise while she was grieving the loss of her son. If it wasn't hard enough to lose a son, now not even the despicable "at least you can have another child" wouldn't be applicable to her.
One would think that losing a child is really the end of all aspirations and wishes for a mother. But a mother is also a woman, even when she is grieving, and menopause makes the woman question her femininity.
When she thinks about it, she realizes that her mom too had to go through menopause while she was grieving the loss of her husband. She sees the similarities of what they both went through. Her mom was even younger than her when she lost her husband. It should have been even harder for her mom. And she doubts that her grandmother would have told her anything about it. It was the fate of women. Grow, marry, procreate, die inside and wait to die outside.
Poor Aída... She didn't die, she was killed.
Her mother's version of "the birds and the bees" was full of sin, pain, fear, shame, secrecy, whispers, fate. That was the original sin, not that women would go through labor pains to deliver their children, but that they had to have sex in order to get pregnant.
One way or another, she learned about the birds and bees, she had lots of conversations with her mom, how her mom felt impotent to teach her, to control her, to make her have good manners.
At 13 she asked a cousin to teach her how to shave her legs. Her sisters wouldn't go into these feminine details with her, because she wasn't one of them. She was a tomboy. When on vacation with friends, traveling without her family, she had her first period. Her friend's mom helped her. If her mom got surprised, if she talked to her friend's mom, she never knew. At 15 a bohemian poet fell in love with her. He didn't have a job, he was a college drop-out, chain smoker, madly in love with her. Her mom didn't like him. She was afraid that he was dragging her to bad company. He liked her because she was small, looking like a 12 year old. he thought he was Lewis Carroll, perverted like him in his adoration of little girls. She left him, because as a matter of fact, too much infatuation wasn't thrilling anymore. Things changed quickly in her life at that time. Since he had lost her father, she never confided in anyone else in her family. She always had to fend for herself, because her siblings always accused her of being daddy's little girls. Now that he was gone, she had to take care of herself. She got pregnant at 17 and her mom just had an attitude of resignation, that this was her fate. Her mom thought that she was going to live like other teen moms that are finally subdue by their parents' wisdom and economic power. But her mom didn't seem to possess either and she wasn't the one to be subdued. She went on and got married, she had her son and he was very special. She cried at the hospital when the nurse gave him for her to hold.
Still, one way or another, her mom told her about several things, and she loved and respected her, like so many people. Her mom, with her beautiful, supplicant eyes. Her soft hands, her pitch perfect voice, her songs, her cooking, her stories. She still has a notebook with her mom's recipes for everyday cooking, her favorite dishes, holiday meals... Her neat handwrite. The recipes popping from the pages to her ears every time she referred to the cookbook for something, as if her mom was there, looking over her shoulders while she tried to cook like her mom.
Her mom was her first grade teacher. She learned how to read and write one year earlier, watching her mom tutoring kids from school. From all the things that her mom told her, one thing she never mentioned: menopause.
And menopause was what caught her by surprise while she was grieving the loss of her son. If it wasn't hard enough to lose a son, now not even the despicable "at least you can have another child" wouldn't be applicable to her.
One would think that losing a child is really the end of all aspirations and wishes for a mother. But a mother is also a woman, even when she is grieving, and menopause makes the woman question her femininity.
When she thinks about it, she realizes that her mom too had to go through menopause while she was grieving the loss of her husband. She sees the similarities of what they both went through. Her mom was even younger than her when she lost her husband. It should have been even harder for her mom. And she doubts that her grandmother would have told her anything about it. It was the fate of women. Grow, marry, procreate, die inside and wait to die outside.
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