Freedom is the greatest gift
I was on a business trip and I took Flavio with me. He was a little boy, 4 years old.
I stopped on my friend’s Jeffrey Katz apartment on my way to flying to my assignment, but he wash’ there. I went to see him, he was on a park, sitting on the grass having a picnic. I talked to him a little and I remembered another time in the past when we had a picnic there. I told him goodbye and I kissed him. I told him that I would visit him again, but now I had to go to work. On my way back to the apartment to pick up Flavio I was informed that his father had passed away.
I didn’t know what to do, if I would go to my assignment and then tell Flavio afterwards or if I would tell him and take him to the funeral. I didn’t know how to tell him. I packed everything and then told him what had happened. It was very hard to tell a little boy that his father had died. He was inconsolable. I took him back to Brazil and I called his father’s girlfriend to ask her about the funeral arrangements and where should I take my son. Flavio and I were crying a lot. I was sad to realize how important his father was for him and how I had failed to noticed that while he was still alive.
I woke up with the end of the radio documentary on BBC about gtmo detainees: Freedom is the greatest gift.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01sg4cm
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Passing time
She took the pillbox and saw the day of the week: Friday. With i sigh she took her pills and reminded herself that it was one less day to live, one week closer to the end, so this was a good thing after all.
Sometimes she was not even sure if it was really Friday or if it really mattered which day it was. She just needed the pills organized by days and she needed to remember to take them daily, only once.
It looks simple to have just one thing to remember, but the issue was not to remember just one thing, the issue was in fact what that one thing reminded her everyday. Her fragility, her losses, her chronic condition, the social disapproval for her dependency.
She would wonder why she developed a chronic depression. She would compare it to diabetes type II or a heart condition, that one is not born with, but once it has developed, one cannot get cured anymore. Maybe her brain was an elastic band that was stretched way too many for way too many times and now is incapable of going back to its original position. Then she would say to herself: "what the heck is that? Here I am using sweet adeline's imagery to explain my condition... And I always despised the visualization exercises, they never did anything for me..."
Such was life in this infinite valley of constant sorrow. You count off the days on your pillbox.
Sometimes she was not even sure if it was really Friday or if it really mattered which day it was. She just needed the pills organized by days and she needed to remember to take them daily, only once.
It looks simple to have just one thing to remember, but the issue was not to remember just one thing, the issue was in fact what that one thing reminded her everyday. Her fragility, her losses, her chronic condition, the social disapproval for her dependency.
She would wonder why she developed a chronic depression. She would compare it to diabetes type II or a heart condition, that one is not born with, but once it has developed, one cannot get cured anymore. Maybe her brain was an elastic band that was stretched way too many for way too many times and now is incapable of going back to its original position. Then she would say to herself: "what the heck is that? Here I am using sweet adeline's imagery to explain my condition... And I always despised the visualization exercises, they never did anything for me..."
Such was life in this infinite valley of constant sorrow. You count off the days on your pillbox.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
You too can have your own Chinese tale
What most parents survivors of suicide look for are signs of their deceased children.
It's a softer way to deal with the disbelief that their child is gone forever. Some think of their children as angels, leaving in heaven and watching over their shoulders, concerned with tear, sob and pain they suffer. There was even a mother that felt uncomfortable taking a shower with lights on, because she imagined that her son was around her all the time.
Several, no matter their religious beliefs, would seek the help of psychics, mediums, clairvoyants, paranormals, to receive some sings from "the other side".
Almost every one of them would have a story of some "inexplicable" fact that happened when they were either thinking about their child, or some moment of distress or a special occasion.
Dreams, lots of dreams with their child in it, telling them things, absolving them from their sins, assuring them they were OK and that it was beautiful there. Few would have nightmares, reliving their child last moments. Usually the ones the either had talked to the child moments earlier, or had found their bodies.
In a support group they would usually exchange the "signs" they had received. Common, unimportant things now had acquired new meaning, because they became "signs". Maybe there were dragonflies this time of the year since ancient times, but now, when all you can do is to stare at the nothing, trying to focus on the infinite, now you pay attention to them and think that they've never been there, or if they were, they've never flew so close to you. They must be a sign of your dead child, telling you that everything is going to be all right. And only of a sudden you see dragonflies everywhere.
Some experience objects disappearing and appearing in different places, "that for sure no one would ever put them there". Some get phone calls from the child's last phone number, and so many coincidences are suddenly discovered.
Others can see their child's face in strangers in a crowd. Or hear the child's voice when they are alone or when they are wandering in public place lost in their grief.
Most people see animals like dragonflies, butterflies, eagles, hummingbirds, fireflies, crickets. Others are left with the child's pets and can sense their child through them. The stories are always interesting and pretty, with a lesson at the end, like a innocent Chinese tale.
She could remember the look on his cats faces when she met them at his apartment after the funeral. The expression of despair and sorrow they had. She couldn't take the cats with her. The airline wouldn't transport them in the summer and she not even knew what to do. Last time she took two of his cats with her, he did all the paperwork.
She remembers that for a long time after his death she couldn't take her eyes of the ground. She started noticing all the details of all the terrains she was walking. She could spend hours staring at a stain on the carpet. She would stare at granite floors and see figures as if she was gazing at the sky imagining animals in the clouds.
Signs appeared to her too. She had a few dreams. They were not always happy, but the very first dream he was getting his luggage ready. He had a very heavy suitcase that she offered to take for him, so he could travel light. He sighed and complained to her:"No, mom! It's my luggage, I have to carry it. Look it's all arranged and I have to go now". She woke up crying.
The hummingbirds started appearing at the most unexpected times. The first time when she was very sad and had to sing at a wedding, soon after he died. Her heart was heavy and she looked at the sky on the top of the mountain, as if looking for strength from heavens. A little red throat hummingbird came to the porch and stayed there, hovering is his quiet insect flight during the whole ceremony. She always loved hummingbirds, but they were not easy to come by. The sight lifted her heart enough for her to sing. When she mentioned the fact at the support group, everyone was certain that it had been a sign from her son. From now on, every hummingbird sight became a sign. She started collecting hummingbird things: tea pots, mugs, stepping stones, jewelry, wind chimes... She didn't have much luck with hummingbird feeders or hummingbird flowers, but she tried. One day, after she had built a cover for the deck, one hummingbird came by the kitchen window. She went outside because she heard a strange noise: there it was, the hummingbird trapped under the Plexiglas ceiling of the deck cover. She gently guided the bird to freedom. It was a beautiful hummingbird, she would love to have it around more often, but keeping him longer would be the end for him. That was her Chinese tale. She had to understand and accept the way of the hummingbird, that it had to leave her in order to live. That no matter how much love she had for him, it wasn't enough to keep him close. She had to let it go. Maybe it was another sign...
It's a softer way to deal with the disbelief that their child is gone forever. Some think of their children as angels, leaving in heaven and watching over their shoulders, concerned with tear, sob and pain they suffer. There was even a mother that felt uncomfortable taking a shower with lights on, because she imagined that her son was around her all the time.
Several, no matter their religious beliefs, would seek the help of psychics, mediums, clairvoyants, paranormals, to receive some sings from "the other side".
Almost every one of them would have a story of some "inexplicable" fact that happened when they were either thinking about their child, or some moment of distress or a special occasion.
Dreams, lots of dreams with their child in it, telling them things, absolving them from their sins, assuring them they were OK and that it was beautiful there. Few would have nightmares, reliving their child last moments. Usually the ones the either had talked to the child moments earlier, or had found their bodies.
In a support group they would usually exchange the "signs" they had received. Common, unimportant things now had acquired new meaning, because they became "signs". Maybe there were dragonflies this time of the year since ancient times, but now, when all you can do is to stare at the nothing, trying to focus on the infinite, now you pay attention to them and think that they've never been there, or if they were, they've never flew so close to you. They must be a sign of your dead child, telling you that everything is going to be all right. And only of a sudden you see dragonflies everywhere.
Some experience objects disappearing and appearing in different places, "that for sure no one would ever put them there". Some get phone calls from the child's last phone number, and so many coincidences are suddenly discovered.
Others can see their child's face in strangers in a crowd. Or hear the child's voice when they are alone or when they are wandering in public place lost in their grief.
Most people see animals like dragonflies, butterflies, eagles, hummingbirds, fireflies, crickets. Others are left with the child's pets and can sense their child through them. The stories are always interesting and pretty, with a lesson at the end, like a innocent Chinese tale.
She could remember the look on his cats faces when she met them at his apartment after the funeral. The expression of despair and sorrow they had. She couldn't take the cats with her. The airline wouldn't transport them in the summer and she not even knew what to do. Last time she took two of his cats with her, he did all the paperwork.
She remembers that for a long time after his death she couldn't take her eyes of the ground. She started noticing all the details of all the terrains she was walking. She could spend hours staring at a stain on the carpet. She would stare at granite floors and see figures as if she was gazing at the sky imagining animals in the clouds.
Signs appeared to her too. She had a few dreams. They were not always happy, but the very first dream he was getting his luggage ready. He had a very heavy suitcase that she offered to take for him, so he could travel light. He sighed and complained to her:"No, mom! It's my luggage, I have to carry it. Look it's all arranged and I have to go now". She woke up crying.
The hummingbirds started appearing at the most unexpected times. The first time when she was very sad and had to sing at a wedding, soon after he died. Her heart was heavy and she looked at the sky on the top of the mountain, as if looking for strength from heavens. A little red throat hummingbird came to the porch and stayed there, hovering is his quiet insect flight during the whole ceremony. She always loved hummingbirds, but they were not easy to come by. The sight lifted her heart enough for her to sing. When she mentioned the fact at the support group, everyone was certain that it had been a sign from her son. From now on, every hummingbird sight became a sign. She started collecting hummingbird things: tea pots, mugs, stepping stones, jewelry, wind chimes... She didn't have much luck with hummingbird feeders or hummingbird flowers, but she tried. One day, after she had built a cover for the deck, one hummingbird came by the kitchen window. She went outside because she heard a strange noise: there it was, the hummingbird trapped under the Plexiglas ceiling of the deck cover. She gently guided the bird to freedom. It was a beautiful hummingbird, she would love to have it around more often, but keeping him longer would be the end for him. That was her Chinese tale. She had to understand and accept the way of the hummingbird, that it had to leave her in order to live. That no matter how much love she had for him, it wasn't enough to keep him close. She had to let it go. Maybe it was another sign...
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Ain't no mountain high enough
Among his things that she got to keep was his climbing gear. Missing only the rope that he used to die...
Her daughter was anxious on her first day of climbing camp. She didn't know if she was going to like. Anything different than the routine puts her in panic.
She took a long look to the box that held his climbing gear for the last four years and then she asked her daughter if she wanted to try some climbing shoes. The shoes were the right size. It was enough confidence for her daughter to overcome the anxiety and enjoy her camp.
Her daughter wanted to continue on with climbing lessons. She told her that she had the harness, if she wanted to try. Another perfect fit. She had to detangle old belts, straps and knickknacks to release the climbing harness. Her daughter was delighted with it. She put all the gear on. She looked so much like her brother.
- How did you manged to do that? It must have been so hard? Why?
- Because I love her.
Her memory is not good since his passing, but she will never forget what a friend told her: "Even if you are a zombie sitting on a chair all day long, you are still important to your daughter. Don't leave her, keep yourself alive for her".
She remembers that on the last days she talked to her son, they were atop of Sugar Loaf mountain. They were looking at climbers on the rock in front of them. She asked him: "how about that rope you bought last time you visited us back home?" He told her that he still had it, but he was not climbing anymore. She told him to sell it them, no need to keep that thing around if you are not using it. She offered to take it back home and sell it for him. He said""don't worry about it". She could never forgive herself for that comment. Maybe she was one that gave him the idea to use it in such nefarious way.
Her daughter was anxious on her first day of climbing camp. She didn't know if she was going to like. Anything different than the routine puts her in panic.
She took a long look to the box that held his climbing gear for the last four years and then she asked her daughter if she wanted to try some climbing shoes. The shoes were the right size. It was enough confidence for her daughter to overcome the anxiety and enjoy her camp.
Her daughter wanted to continue on with climbing lessons. She told her that she had the harness, if she wanted to try. Another perfect fit. She had to detangle old belts, straps and knickknacks to release the climbing harness. Her daughter was delighted with it. She put all the gear on. She looked so much like her brother.
- How did you manged to do that? It must have been so hard? Why?
- Because I love her.
Her memory is not good since his passing, but she will never forget what a friend told her: "Even if you are a zombie sitting on a chair all day long, you are still important to your daughter. Don't leave her, keep yourself alive for her".
She remembers that on the last days she talked to her son, they were atop of Sugar Loaf mountain. They were looking at climbers on the rock in front of them. She asked him: "how about that rope you bought last time you visited us back home?" He told her that he still had it, but he was not climbing anymore. She told him to sell it them, no need to keep that thing around if you are not using it. She offered to take it back home and sell it for him. He said""don't worry about it". She could never forgive herself for that comment. Maybe she was one that gave him the idea to use it in such nefarious way.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Collecting dreams in my mind
She became obsessed with dreams. She would always ask around if someone had anything they would share about dreams with her.
Once she met this woman that let her record this testimony:
"My family was catholic.
So much guilty was put upon us.
As catholic, you were born with sin.
You are a result of a sin.
And sin pursues you for the rest of your life.
Still, as a child, I had some fun.
I could climb trees, ride bikes, play with toys, run in open spaces.
But I was visually impaired.
As far as I can remember in the past, I could never see things clearly.
I didn’t know that other people could see differently or even better than I.
I learned to live among shapes and shadows, squinting my eyes to recognize people.
Keeping my eyes closed most of the day.
Since they were already closed, I started with this thing of daydreaming.
It became a vicious habit that followed me for a long, long time.
Like a drug, a narcotic.
It shielded me from problems, neglects, abusers.
Not that all these things weren’t hurting me.
I was just not feeling them.
My heart was numbed.
When I lost my dad it was really hard
But even until today I’m not able to evaluate how hard it was on me.
I developed a survival instinct so strong that I always keep on moving.
Like a shark that needs to move in order to breathe.
Today, looking at my past, I feel that we, my family, didn’t spend enough time talking about the loss as we should.
We talked about how good he was, about how many people liked him,
About how young he was, how strong personality he had…
So many things were done to keep him around that despite saying that we were missing him,
We couldn’t effective measure how much we did.
Then life goes on and we just stop thinking. And after that we stopped talking.
I abandoned my father even in my daydreaming.
I remember that right after his death I would dream about my mom getting remarried with a man that was just like him. He would be back to redeem us, as if he was our private “Christ”.
Then the idea grew so absurd that I decided to give up on
that.
And slowly his presence in my thoughts was fading away.
I got pregnant and I got married when I was a teenager.
I never spent much time living independently.
I was still finishing High School when I got married.
Although I was always surrounded by people, my life took a course of loneliness.
I had my solitary dreams with me all the time."
Then there was the cleaning lady. She had worked at hotels once. She would fix her bed and make sculptures with towels and blankets. Once she was asked by the cleaning lady to write a love letter for her to submit to a contest of love letters. She gave her one of her teenager poems. She changed it a little to look like a letter. The cleaning lady won the contest. A dream fulfilled.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
It's a crazy world out there
I think our society, even the most open minded people, see the treatment of chronic mental illness with restrictions. They tolerate that one might need medication or therapy for a limited period of time. Even our health care system limits the number of sessions and the total amount one can spend on mental health away below the treatment for other diseases. It's OK to wear glasses or contact lenses for the rest of one's life. It's all right to make corrective surgery to fix a problem, to take vitamins everyday, to take insulin if you have diabetes, to take blood thinners if you have certain conditions, to take heart medication, to use asthma inhalers, to use moisturizer cream for dry skin, to color your hair constantly, to use make up to hide skin imperfections, to use all kinds of creams to reduce signs of aging. It's OK to even inject botox (botulin toxin) to improve one's appearance. But it's not OK to treat a chronic mental illness with medication. "Do you still need medication for that? Aren't you strong enough to get out of it on your own? Aren't you depending too much on your medication?" These are some of the things that I hear all the time. As if it was not hard enough to decide to stay alive everyday...
Everyone would benefit from a stay on a mental institution. Not volunteering, but as a patient, intermingling with the others. It's such a rich universe there. Maybe they could institute something like a draft. From time to time, when you think that all is OK, you should check yourself in and get back with your feet on the ground.
Everyone would benefit from a stay on a mental institution. Not volunteering, but as a patient, intermingling with the others. It's such a rich universe there. Maybe they could institute something like a draft. From time to time, when you think that all is OK, you should check yourself in and get back with your feet on the ground.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Part V - Economics of the pain
"Compositor de destinos
Tambor de todos os rÃtmos
Tempo tempo tempo tempo
Entro num acordo contigo
Tempo tempo tempo tempo..." ~~ Caetano Veloso
Some people need to save money, some need to save time, others need to save space. Most likely you need to save all of them, but your priorities at each time should mandate what you save first or the most.
But, as it happens, not always we have good judgment on a split of a second to make the wisest decision.
Sometimes we don't know or we can;t say what is really important and we thrive to save what doesn't matter that much in hindsight.
Other times we save so much of something that it doesn't matter anymore.
She liked playing solitaire games on the computer. She started with klondike, like everyone. For awhile she tried her speed on minesweeper, but when she reached her limit on the best score on easy, intermediate and expert, she stopped playing it regularly. She went back to the cards games. She learned about other types of solitaire games: freecel, cruel, tri-peak and she ended up on spider solitaire. She would make up theories about it. She researched on how to calculate her odds of winning, the best way to score the game, what part of her brain was being exercised while she was playing it. She would try to improve her statistics, but 17% win seems to be her limit. She was at a point on her life where time seemed to be the only thing that she had left to trade for anything else.
Tambor de todos os rÃtmos
Tempo tempo tempo tempo
Entro num acordo contigo
Tempo tempo tempo tempo..." ~~ Caetano Veloso
Some people need to save money, some need to save time, others need to save space. Most likely you need to save all of them, but your priorities at each time should mandate what you save first or the most.
But, as it happens, not always we have good judgment on a split of a second to make the wisest decision.
Sometimes we don't know or we can;t say what is really important and we thrive to save what doesn't matter that much in hindsight.
Other times we save so much of something that it doesn't matter anymore.
She liked playing solitaire games on the computer. She started with klondike, like everyone. For awhile she tried her speed on minesweeper, but when she reached her limit on the best score on easy, intermediate and expert, she stopped playing it regularly. She went back to the cards games. She learned about other types of solitaire games: freecel, cruel, tri-peak and she ended up on spider solitaire. She would make up theories about it. She researched on how to calculate her odds of winning, the best way to score the game, what part of her brain was being exercised while she was playing it. She would try to improve her statistics, but 17% win seems to be her limit. She was at a point on her life where time seemed to be the only thing that she had left to trade for anything else.
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