On Grief: Guilt

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once and move on.”
Homer Simpson

When Marissa died, I was on the phone. Well, I was more accurately asleep. She had been up late in the hospital, and I had sat in a chair next to her bed, watching television, and drawing pictures, and talking with her. As the night turned into morning, I watched her yawn, and after following suit, I climbed into the little bed next to her. I carefully tucked her head in the pocket of my shoulder and gently moved her arms so that I wouldn’t disturb her IV. Finally, I pulled the safety rail up so that I wouldn’t roll off the bed, and we went to sleep.

The first thing I remember hearing was the monitor for her pulse oximeter unit. It was an alarm that I was unfamiliar with, but in this day and age the sounds monitors make change from one trip to the ER to the next. There were no nurses in my room, no one was tending to the IV unit, and after seven years of these experiences I had become numb to such disturbances, which in the past, had never amounted to much more than an annoyance.

When the phone rang, it took me a few seconds to acclimate. I put the railing down, rolled out and stumbled around the bed. I picked up the phone—it was my mother-in-law calling to see how ‘Rissa had fared through the night.
“Fine,” I told her. “She was up until about five or so, but then she fell asleep. She’s sleeping soundly now. Its good to see her sleeping so well now after being so restless last night.”

I hung up the phone. The alarm was still going off. If I was going to be awake, that part was going to have to be dealt with. Usually I knew which buttons to push on an IV to take care of business. Perhaps a lead had fallen off somewhere, or her probe wasn’t attached to her little toe anymore. I checked all the lines and wires and found them to be securely in place at their various locations. This puzzled me. That was when I looked at the monitor screen.

The sensation was like swallowing an ice cube—cold and hard. When it hit my stomach it turned to a hot fiery coal, and spread through my belly. The monitor was flat lined. I checked for pulse (I had been through first responder training while working in private security and executive protection, and regularly trained in first aid at the hospital and youth facility) immediately and had that heat spread even further when I touched her skin. It was cold. She was cold and had no pulse. My training left me.

I flew out into the hall. I remember I wanted to yell but all I could manage was a croak. “Help me,” I said. “Help me, my baby’s dead.”

The nurses rushed in and took over. Later, I would look back on that morning in a phone conversation with Marissa’s pediatric neurologist, Dr. Michael Nigro. I told him about my training. I totally knew that within four minutes of an episode, brain death occurs. “I could have done something,” I said, “monitors are always a few seconds behind. How long must I have been on the phone? I could have done rescue breathing, I could have done compressions… but I didn’t. I just didn’t. I talked on the phone like it was going to be just an ordinary day.”

“Don’t do that,” Nigro told me. “Look, you could have done all of that, and you might have resuscitated her, but you would have a child that would only be a shadow of your daughter. She would have been a vegetable if you were able to do anything at all…”

In truth I didn’t need to hear this, I already knew. I had put down any thoughts that I could have altered this outcome in any way, shape or form. Marissa’s departure from this life wasn’t my decision to make. The sooner I was able to lay the guilt aside; the better off I was going to be. We aren’t going to heal as long as we keep on tearing the scab off of the wound.
It is perfectly natural to blame yourself for something. In my case, it was “If only I hadn’t talked so long on the phone I might have caught this early enough to save her.” For my wife it was something else entirely. For another person, maybe if they had just taken the keys from that friend, or not let them get on that airline, or if they just apologized for that argument the night before… Go ahead and blame yourself. Like I said, it’s perfectly natural.

But you can’t keep blaming yourself forever and expect to heal. That’s like a Ferrari stuck in the mud –All that horsepower and you’re just spinning your wheels.

On Ego, the Martial Arts, and Glasser's Theory

Today my five-year-old son and I went to a karate tournament.

It was a tournament that I had competed in years ago, and when I heard that it was going on this weekend, I thought it would be a good opportunity for bonding with my boy. I got a chance to see some old acquaintances, and made a few new friends with the Chinese Martial Arts competitors. There were a lot of things that were the same, and a few that were different. Overall, it felt good, and it motivated me to begin some tournament training after I am done with my 25k in May.

I noticed something.

The tournament director held no title. His name was “Tom,” to those who knew him, or “Mr. Fabiano,” to the rest. This is not just some average Joe who was putting this on. He has been doing this for years. He has turned out some fabulous students—including such celebrities as Taylor Lautner of the motion picture Shark Boy and Lava Girl. Mr. Fabiano’s tournament had first second and third place trophies. Oh and participation medals for all the kids. A class act chock full of good competitors from contemporary Wushu to modern Arnis to traditional Korean and Okinawan Karateka. Kudos, Mr. Fabiano on a dignified and well run event.

See what I have noticed?
There was not a soul that introduced themselves to me or my son as “Dr.” “Professor,” “Master,” or “Grandmaster.”

I am continuously amazed by the number of “master’s” “grandmasters” and “grand-pooh-bah elite,” I find out there at some of these larger events. As a Traditional Chinese martial arts stylist, I tend to hold my standards to those of my teacher—or at least how he explained them to me:
You know you are a master when others begin to address you as such.

Li is certainly a man who has taught students to be masters themselves, yet he still humbly goes by the title Shifu or “Teacher father.”
I find this admirable in the day and age when a black belt is more often bought than earned.

There are numerous organization out there that will “recognize” your “rank,” or award you rank. If you belong to one such organization another will consider you “illegitimate”. This holds true especially in the Korean Karate organizations where politics seems to have superceded the love of the art.
Some self-proclaimed masters manage to go from a 4th degree black belt to a 6th or 7th, without hitting 5th or 6th. They think that no one will notice, but the scrupulous eye of their peers, is ever watching. Martial Artists that seem to have nothing better to do than to looking for some scrap to use in the defamation of the character of one of their own.

Then, we have the breed who doctor certifications or simply make up their own system and award themselves master of the universe.
William Glasser’s psychology describes the five basic needs of the human condition as:

1. Survival
2. Love and Belonging
3. Fun
4. Freedom
5. Power and Recognition

While in Glasser’s theory, none of these needs are negative attributes, I have to wonder what it is about these particular martial artists that drives such a high Recognition need? I mean when it comes to developing events, circumstances, organizations, or the like to draw attention to yourself, your rank, or whatever… When you are continuously searching for some award, certificate, or trophy of such attributes as leadership, or service? Isn’t true leadership to lead by example and not acquisition? Isn’t service supposed to be altruistic?

Jesus people. Puh-LEEZ. Get over yourselves.

I like to compete. Its guys like this out to make a name or a buck that are ruining it for me. I like to perform in front of others… I am not ashamed to admit that I have a high recognition need myself. But I also don’t claim to be anything special. I’m just a guy who likes to kung fu. I’m never going to be a Shifu. I’m never going to run an organization. Hell, I will likely never get a second-degree black belt. I would much rather spend my time on what I already know than trying to convince someone else that I know more.

This situation is really were the Martial Arts have taken another path far from the spiritual foundations that spawned them.

There is one name that I am dying to say… One shining example of how a guy (no matter how hard he has worked to earn them) has let his titles go to his head. But I wont.
I wont even hint at it save to say he is in my current home state of Michigan. I wont because then I would be one of those guys who is out to slander someone else.

So I will see what happens here. Consider this me getting my fun need met.

Shanti.

On Things to Consider...

In 1793 the "Bard of Scotland," Mr. Robert Burns wrote this little piece that seems appropriate for this day and age. I find it somewhat comforting to see that even in the eighteenth century, we had the hypocrisy of war noticed by the literati of the time.

Robert Burns in my humble opinion, is one of the greatest poets of all time. He gets far too little attention outside of his native Scotland. If it wasn't for the fact that you have to read much of his work with a "Fat Bastard" type of accent, in order to get it, I think he would be much more recognized for the talent that he really was.

Without going much into the religious or political at this time, I will simply state what the great Robert Burns said so well in his poem "Thanksgiving for a National Victory."

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks?
To murder men and give God thanks!
Desist, for shame!-proceed no further;
God won't accept your thanks for Murther!

Nuff Said

On Stupidity: Wisconson ranks Number 1

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
Albert Einstein

I expect to find Wisconsin at the top of the list for the most recipients of the Darwin Awards in 2007. There are always going to be stupid people doing stupid things, but really…

According to an Associated Press Article dating March 8th, 2007, Twenty-year-old Jared Anderson, suffered serious burns to his hands and genitals according to an Eau Claire County criminal complaint. Apparently, a drunken Anderson allowed one Randell D. Peterson (aged forty-three), to spray lighter fluid on him and light him on fire.

Please understand that I would never wish ill to befall anyone—especially death or dismemberment,--but in this case someone who is actively trying to remove himself from the gene pool in such a fashion deserves to get their wish. It will be amazing indeed if Anderson is able to reproduce after this in which case he could be eligible for the Darwin in 2007. I only know of one other recipient who lived... That is a story I cant bear to retell...

As a man, I have a great appreciation for my crown scepter and family jewels. I like them right where they are—happy and healthy. I don’t know of any man who would intentionally put his tackle at risk—especially by fire!

The amazing thing is that “Anderson pulled down his pants and let Peterson spray him with lighter fluid. When the fire didn't catch, Peterson sprayed more lighter fluid on Anderson.”

Incredibly this is not the only really stupid thing that happened in Wisconsin in the past thirty days. Check this:

James Van Iveren (a thirty-nine year-old man from Oconomowoc who lives with his mother), pounded on the door of his upstairs neighbor and kicked it open without warning Feb. 12, damaging the frame and the lock. Van Iveren says he broke into an apartment because he thought he heard a woman being raped, He was armed with a cavalry sword.
Van Iveren said Tuesday that he heard a woman "screaming for help," grabbed the sword, bounded up the stairs, kicked in the apartment door and confronted the man who lived there.

"I had the sword extended. But that was all," he said.

He wasn’t the only one with his sword extended.
The sounds Van Iveren actually heard came from a pornographic movie that his neighbor had been watching.
Apparently Police seized Van Iveren's sword, but their was no need to trouble his neighbor further, he had already been seizing his own sword…

Wait that’s not all folks!

In Sheboygan, Wisconsin. A 22-year-old man was arrested for drug possession after police found a marijuana pipe and drugs stashed in his underwear. Apparently this guy’s pants were undone (while driving I might add), and authorities found a “small pipe.”

So that’s what they are calling it these days…

So as we see, Wisconsin folks are really into their… well, you know. I know I am scraping the bottom of the barrel, and that you, my beloved readers are expecting much more from me than this, but COME ON! Who does this stuff?!?! Who gives permission to a guy to set their crotch on fire? Who breaks in on a guy sword in hand?!?! At least the last one I can sort of understand. If the guy was high enough he would have forgot to sheathe his “sword” before getting into the car, and really if his “pipe” was that small, then there is even more space to hold his stash.

I’m really worried now. My father is from Wisconsin, as is my darling wife. I must remember to hide the lighter fluid.

On Grief: Manifestations

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
Jack Lemon

Life is all about relationships. We are social beings—interconnected with one another on a level that is impossible to describe with any word other than spiritual. I remember reading somewhere or hearing in some lecture or another in college about how significantly we impact one another. The gist of the story goes (and forgive me professor if I get this wrong) something like this:

A man became disgusted with his failures in life. He never seemed to be able to reach his dreams or aspirations. In defeat he decided he would become a hermit and live on top of a nearby mountain. “I will completely remove myself from society,” he thought to himself. “I will no longer have any ill effect on my loved ones. No longer will they pay the price for my failures.”

And so he went. He took nothing but the clothes on his back and left, thinking he had done the world a great favor by removing himself from it. Little did he realize that his presence was still felt in the life he left behind. His wife longed for her husband, and his children lived the rest of their days missing their father. His employer, now short on manpower, found his business productivity slipping. What made matters worse was that now he had to take energy away from running his business to find a replacement. His coworkers had to double their efforts to make up for his loss. His neighbors had to spend time helping the man’s wife with maintaining her home—taking away from their own families.

Ultimately the man, who had intended only to better the lives of his loved ones by removing himself from the equation, only made things more difficult. Even in his absence, he was impacting those around him. The relationship went on—even without him there.

For me, the death of my daughter left my home without a physical presence. For weeks, and months, I would come home from work and still expect to see her sitting cross-legged on the area rug in the living room, playing with her favorite toy. Of course she was not there, and my heart would sink every time that realization manifested itself.

Our loved ones are gone, but our feelings, sensations, and memories are not. Depending on your religious persuasion, this can be beneficial to our healing during our bereavement. Whether you want to look at it as a message from the person we have lost, a reminder of things as they were, a memory, a wonderful coincidence, or complete garbage—its up to you. I will share this story with you, and you can draw your own conclusions.

About a month after the death of my daughter, I was back at work in the Juvenile facility assigned with supervising an activity. The children and I went for a walk from the facility proper, down to the nearby lake about a half-mile away. The sun was shining, and the grass seemed exceptionally green to me that day—all the vegetation for that matter. Everything seemed so much more vibrant. The sky was blue save for the few wisps of cloud that passed overhead—not even enough to make shadows in the early afternoon. Anything other than green blue or brown would have stood out like a sore thumb.

I was lamenting my daughter—how could I not be? It is a daily event. The walk down to the lake was quiet, save for the children’s laughter and conversation, which to my ears was pleasant. They didn’t engage me much. Our relationship was a respectful one, and they all understood that I had suffered a loss, and most had given me plenty of space. Because of this relationship I was able to enjoy the walk, the children’s company, and my memories all at the same time with little difficulty.
We spent some time at the waters edge. We picked up garbage and disposed of it in the large teal dumpster. One of the children found an old turtle shell, and fished it out of the water. Still another waded into the lake near the boat launch. All the while my heart grew heavy. The breeze from the water passed through the hole in my heart with a chill. I wanted to go back, but it wasn’t time. Eventually suppertime approached and we began our hike back up the hill to the facility.

The boys had worked up some energy on their little outing—the opposite effect that I had hoped for. The trip back was not as pleasant. They bickered and laughed, and teased and pushed each other in a spirited nature, as I plodded along behind them back up the same path that we had come. When some of the language being used by the boys began to deteriorate, I stopped and chided them. They looked in my direction, but I could see that their eyes were not on me, but below me. Thinking that I must have stepped in something, I looked down.

There between my feet was a vine that had worked its way from the thick brush alongside the path, into the short grass. At the end of the vine was a single, enormous, lavender blossom.

Now as I mentioned earlier, anything other than the green and brown of the vegetation, or the blue of the sky would have stood out like a sore thumb. The size and brilliance of this flower made it impossible to miss by any standard. I know people have told me that (if not in words, with their eyes) I was likely absorbed in thought on the walk down and was not paying any attention, but from my perception, there is simply no way for me to have missed that blossom on the walk down to the lake.

It simply had not been there before.

My daughter’s favorite color was lavender.

If we look hard enough we can easily see the manifestations of those we have lost. Whether it is a flower, a scent, or a memory, our relationship with that person endures. We carry on that relationship in a different form until our own death. Make no mistake about it—the loss of a child never goes away, but we will be happy again.