The last blog post was rough. Thanks for hanging tight with me guys as I tried to express what Scott meant to us. We seem to be slowly melting our way back into regular life, letting the pain of loss fall away little by little, but the scar remains tender. Tender enough to finally catapult me into action.
It is through this grieving process, the ache that is so deeply uncomfortable, that I have started to take a closer look at loss and the scars we carry, the way they build on top of each other. My son, an insightful pre-teen, has been encouraging me to find a therapist since my diagnosis of a brain tumor a couple years back. My need to support and protect my son during that scary time, made finding a therapist for him a priority. For me? Not so much. The concept totally made sense, we were dealing with some scary shit, but to actually follow through? Somehow I couldn't pull the trigger. I felt I was handling it all fine.
Now, after a string of earth shattering developments, losses, and changes, I have finally taken the step forward to seek help. It isn't easy to turn to someone else when you have been able to cope just fine. No matter what life has handed me, I've always been fine. Don't we all have dings from the crap life threw at us? Aren't most of us fine? I almost felt bad taking up someone else's time since I am fine and I know there are some people that are truly in dire need of support. I felt like I was taking their spot somehow.
First thing the therapist tells me on session one is that I said I was "fine" several times in 1/2 an hour and that I can no longer use the word in respect to some of the daunting life occurrences I've weathered unless I agree to being FINE... F*#ked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. I laughed so hard I cried. Here I finally realized just how FINE I've been and the discovery seemed to break open my mind's eye like the quick, powerful smack of a window scraper on a windshield covered in thick ice. As the car sat in the sun, warming just enough that with that single blow, the entire ice sheet splinters and falls away revealing the shiny, clean windshield underneath.
There have been many gems I've gleaned from my sessions so far with this therapist, the biggest is to admit the many losses that have occurred for my psyche, not just the deaths of those we love. Simply having been ill and the symptoms that altered my existence, the diagnosis and the fear that comes with that, the fear for my son should the worst happen to me, the wear and tear on my marriage as we tried to understand my body's changes and the emotional stress, family dynamics and maybe the biggest one...the loss of identity. A loss of innocence that bad things can happen and we are not invincible is a hard pill to swallow even when you thought you were aware of that already. I will never see the world the same, and I need to form a new identity that has grieved the loss of who I was before. To truly grieve the entire process I went through. It probably sounds simple, I know I intellectually had grappled with these concepts and decided...wait for it...that I was fine. But it is a far cry to sit in that uneasy, uncomfortable space where your psyche comes to peace with it.
Add in the other life changing elements, and suddenly a lot has happened in the last couple years that has become a muddled mess. Layer upon layer of pain, loss, grief and plenty of being FINE has mixed together. This mix is not like a finely made Old Fashioned with the sugar, bitters, slice of orange and cherry being thoughtfully muddled, pressed together to combine flavors, no my muddle is more like a sea of people snatching things off shelves in a mob on Black Friday, full of chaos and confusion. Layers of self identity crisis varying from after 2 years of sickness and injury, I no longer fit in my ski pants, to what would I like the world to look like for my son if I'm not in it, to turning 40, to who am I really? If my work does not define me, being a mom or a wife does not define me, who is it that is left?
It is easy to turn to a glass of wine, get back inside my head and debate existential ideas, climb into my nice comfy "fine" place and hide. But, I will resist the temptation, I will continue to feel the ache and hopefully come out on the other side clear of the ice I've let build up. I will take that glass of wine though, after all, it is the only thing left that is truly 'Fine'.
-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com
Running on Wine; from Marathons to Rafting to "Fueling" on the Patio, We are Fueled by Vivác.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
The Blank Pages
At any one time, I have about 4 books mid-read around the house. Usually there is some sort of work related book, either about wine or marketing, a parenting book (which for us could be about dyslexia, giftedness or sensory processing disorder), or some sort of relationship advice. If I am training for a marathon, I'll have a training guide or diet book going, or when we took up sailing, stacks of how to sail away into the sunset littered the tables. And, of course, there is always something fictional to turn to for some escape. But even with all these books, none of them are the right book, for right now.
My stacks of books are there to help me be a better parent, do my job better, or make me a faster runner. My books promise answers, sometimes to questions I don't even have yet, but each psychology book gives me skills to add to our marriage or encourage my son to finally learn how to ride a bike. What I am lacking is a book that can tell me how to handle the feelings you have when someone disappears from your life. Even the best grief books don't truly answer that.
People with religious passions, I do not dismiss the power of religion in your life, but that is not what I believe, nor does my husband. I grew up Christian, went to church, even went to Catholic school and decided as a child I wanted to be a Nun (those of you that know me well can stop laughing hysterically now). I was raised with an open mind to accept all faiths and to seek out what felt right for me. My second family was Jewish and I loved nothing more than getting to spend the night on the Sabbath. My teenage years I was dazzled by mysticism and even got a Wiccan related tattoo (insert eye roll)...that "art" is now covered with something else. My mom became Buddhist and Eastern philosophy impressed greatly upon me. We have definitely explored various faiths, but are, thoughtfully, Atheists. This means there isn't a "good book" to turn to.
Our friend Scott was bigger than life, bigger than the world. His life and adventures could fill several books. His ever optimistic view was astounding. He was always keeping you in check when you started to think the worst, and his infectious laugh and sharp wit could turn the most distressing topic into a comedy routine. He was 100% heart, even when he flailed about in his personal life, accidentally got himself into trouble and seemed to become a self-destructive bomb. You knew he was all love. He could have written an ironic self-help book, just thinking about some of the hilarious advice he would jest with makes me smile.
But Scott isn't around to tell us about his new scheme, tell us a self-deprecating joke or insane story. His late night car accident ripped him from the Ethers. A handful of months before, his ex-wife was murdered. I can picture him clear as day, standing on our front porch talking to me about this horrific event. A disbelief in his sensitive eyes, a wobble in his voice. These two had been together since they were kids, and the fact that she had disappeared from our world seemed impossible. The brutal reality of losing them both in such a short time seems bizarrely cruel. Somehow I can't stop picturing him, that day, on my front porch reeling in disbelief. There were no jokes that day, just more to add to the tragedies he had already lived through. A testament to his character to stay strong when the world severs you a Dostoevsky novel worth of crap.
I can also see him clear as a bell, when we first met when I was in High School. The brother to a friend (my husband's best friend actually), he was just enough older to wow us with terrible antics and scare us just a touch with his wildness. He seemed to be the party everywhere he went. That joke of 'the party isn't a party until I'm there' really was true for him, his energy cascading into the room before he entered it. He was that unique type of person that actually wanted to get to know you, boy or girl, young or old, and he would remember the details of stories you shared and secrets you told. He had compassion when you needed it and perspective when you were out of sync. My husband and my brother-in-law have far more stories of Scott as they traveled together, lived at times together and have seen each other through some of life's hardest times, but he always made sure I felt like I was one of his friends, not just a friend's girlfriend or wife. I had my very own, independent relationship with him. It was part of what made him awesome. This is why the entire community mourns him now. Who would have guessed that same outrageous party guy would become an entrepreneur, a coach, and an activist?
Scott wasn't always around, in fact as my husband described it, he was one of only a couple people that would "ghost call him", disappear for months at a time and then call to shoot the shit in the middle of a work day. His carefree lifestyle amusing us was probably what resulted in multiple divorces. But that was Scott, and that was who we loved. He was the guy that tucked me under his big brother arm and told me to wipe my tears, stop seeing the guy I was dating, and find someone worthy of what I had to to give; big words for teenagers. He was the guy that long before the "Me Too" movement would step in to keep some drunk fool from groping me. He was the guy that would make sure I left a party that was about to turn ugly before it did, walking me safely to my car as a mob formed. He was the guy that had my husband's back no matter what. The guy that would give you the shirt off his back if he felt like it could help you more. We grew up in the Wild West of parties and mayhem and he was one of the good Cowboys, setting the story straight when it needed to be, then riding off into the twilight.
When the bedroom door swung open one morning last week, banging against the wall, I was jarred awake. My husband, having already gone to work, stood with a force in the center of the room, not appropriate for the nature of our usual morning routine. He normally lets me sleep-in and tip-toes around in the dark, sweetly aware of my resistance to mornings. I sat up as I heard his words drop like casings to the floor from a gun fired. Each word with a blow followed by metal clanging, the information not making sense in my groggy mind. I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't believe it. I simply said, with utter conviction "No". I begged that it was a different Scott, that there was some mistake. I wanted it to be a book I decided I didn't like and could simply close it, seal that dreadful story inside its pages and walk away.
When someone bigger than the world leaves it, the gaping wound they leave behind is palpable. Stunned we went to be by the family's side, our old friend, his brother, feeling the biggest slap from this, voiced what we were all thinking "I just can't believe it". And we can't. Someone that is in your life for so long, through marriages, babies, careers and great losses, they seem invincible. Now we need to reconcile their disappearance. Not the usual Scott disappearance that promised hilarious stories when we reconnected, but an absolute disappearance. Sitting with the pain left from losing him is where the real work comes in; your mind fighting to stay in denial, the physical discomfort of acknowledging that there won't be hearty laughs together, there won't be bear hugs hello or exchanges of inside jokes from a long history together any longer. It doesn't matter what you believe, the truth is he isn't here and it hurts.
This story gets worse. There is no pain like the pain you feel when you realize that your suffering is but a mere particle to that of his 2 kids that have been orphaned by his passing. His young daughter being diagnosed with a rare cancer just before her mother was killed was too much to have to handle, but as Scott stepped into the role of provider/ protector/ advocate, he took on finding a treatment like a superhero. To have him wrenched from you, for his son and daughter, to tackle this loss on top of it all, has fathoms of heartache we can't even imagine. None of the books in the whole world can make sense of that, no matter what faith you are, no matter what library you visit.
Like a misprint from the publisher, his novel has left us with blank pages; a story unfinished. I don't have answers, I don't have wise words for the people suffering as they grapple with his death, all I have to offer is my gratitude. I am so grateful for the times I got to spend with Scott. For the friend he was to me and those I love. For the wisdom he had when least expected, the tenacity he had to keep going and the love he gave so freely. So much love. We will miss you Scott.
*You may help their kids by donating to the April and Scott Memorial Fund at any Nusenda Bank or donate to the Go Fund Me for Ashley's cancer treatments.
-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com
My stacks of books are there to help me be a better parent, do my job better, or make me a faster runner. My books promise answers, sometimes to questions I don't even have yet, but each psychology book gives me skills to add to our marriage or encourage my son to finally learn how to ride a bike. What I am lacking is a book that can tell me how to handle the feelings you have when someone disappears from your life. Even the best grief books don't truly answer that.
People with religious passions, I do not dismiss the power of religion in your life, but that is not what I believe, nor does my husband. I grew up Christian, went to church, even went to Catholic school and decided as a child I wanted to be a Nun (those of you that know me well can stop laughing hysterically now). I was raised with an open mind to accept all faiths and to seek out what felt right for me. My second family was Jewish and I loved nothing more than getting to spend the night on the Sabbath. My teenage years I was dazzled by mysticism and even got a Wiccan related tattoo (insert eye roll)...that "art" is now covered with something else. My mom became Buddhist and Eastern philosophy impressed greatly upon me. We have definitely explored various faiths, but are, thoughtfully, Atheists. This means there isn't a "good book" to turn to.
Our friend Scott was bigger than life, bigger than the world. His life and adventures could fill several books. His ever optimistic view was astounding. He was always keeping you in check when you started to think the worst, and his infectious laugh and sharp wit could turn the most distressing topic into a comedy routine. He was 100% heart, even when he flailed about in his personal life, accidentally got himself into trouble and seemed to become a self-destructive bomb. You knew he was all love. He could have written an ironic self-help book, just thinking about some of the hilarious advice he would jest with makes me smile.
But Scott isn't around to tell us about his new scheme, tell us a self-deprecating joke or insane story. His late night car accident ripped him from the Ethers. A handful of months before, his ex-wife was murdered. I can picture him clear as day, standing on our front porch talking to me about this horrific event. A disbelief in his sensitive eyes, a wobble in his voice. These two had been together since they were kids, and the fact that she had disappeared from our world seemed impossible. The brutal reality of losing them both in such a short time seems bizarrely cruel. Somehow I can't stop picturing him, that day, on my front porch reeling in disbelief. There were no jokes that day, just more to add to the tragedies he had already lived through. A testament to his character to stay strong when the world severs you a Dostoevsky novel worth of crap.
I can also see him clear as a bell, when we first met when I was in High School. The brother to a friend (my husband's best friend actually), he was just enough older to wow us with terrible antics and scare us just a touch with his wildness. He seemed to be the party everywhere he went. That joke of 'the party isn't a party until I'm there' really was true for him, his energy cascading into the room before he entered it. He was that unique type of person that actually wanted to get to know you, boy or girl, young or old, and he would remember the details of stories you shared and secrets you told. He had compassion when you needed it and perspective when you were out of sync. My husband and my brother-in-law have far more stories of Scott as they traveled together, lived at times together and have seen each other through some of life's hardest times, but he always made sure I felt like I was one of his friends, not just a friend's girlfriend or wife. I had my very own, independent relationship with him. It was part of what made him awesome. This is why the entire community mourns him now. Who would have guessed that same outrageous party guy would become an entrepreneur, a coach, and an activist?
Scott wasn't always around, in fact as my husband described it, he was one of only a couple people that would "ghost call him", disappear for months at a time and then call to shoot the shit in the middle of a work day. His carefree lifestyle amusing us was probably what resulted in multiple divorces. But that was Scott, and that was who we loved. He was the guy that tucked me under his big brother arm and told me to wipe my tears, stop seeing the guy I was dating, and find someone worthy of what I had to to give; big words for teenagers. He was the guy that long before the "Me Too" movement would step in to keep some drunk fool from groping me. He was the guy that would make sure I left a party that was about to turn ugly before it did, walking me safely to my car as a mob formed. He was the guy that had my husband's back no matter what. The guy that would give you the shirt off his back if he felt like it could help you more. We grew up in the Wild West of parties and mayhem and he was one of the good Cowboys, setting the story straight when it needed to be, then riding off into the twilight.
When the bedroom door swung open one morning last week, banging against the wall, I was jarred awake. My husband, having already gone to work, stood with a force in the center of the room, not appropriate for the nature of our usual morning routine. He normally lets me sleep-in and tip-toes around in the dark, sweetly aware of my resistance to mornings. I sat up as I heard his words drop like casings to the floor from a gun fired. Each word with a blow followed by metal clanging, the information not making sense in my groggy mind. I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't believe it. I simply said, with utter conviction "No". I begged that it was a different Scott, that there was some mistake. I wanted it to be a book I decided I didn't like and could simply close it, seal that dreadful story inside its pages and walk away.
When someone bigger than the world leaves it, the gaping wound they leave behind is palpable. Stunned we went to be by the family's side, our old friend, his brother, feeling the biggest slap from this, voiced what we were all thinking "I just can't believe it". And we can't. Someone that is in your life for so long, through marriages, babies, careers and great losses, they seem invincible. Now we need to reconcile their disappearance. Not the usual Scott disappearance that promised hilarious stories when we reconnected, but an absolute disappearance. Sitting with the pain left from losing him is where the real work comes in; your mind fighting to stay in denial, the physical discomfort of acknowledging that there won't be hearty laughs together, there won't be bear hugs hello or exchanges of inside jokes from a long history together any longer. It doesn't matter what you believe, the truth is he isn't here and it hurts.
This story gets worse. There is no pain like the pain you feel when you realize that your suffering is but a mere particle to that of his 2 kids that have been orphaned by his passing. His young daughter being diagnosed with a rare cancer just before her mother was killed was too much to have to handle, but as Scott stepped into the role of provider/ protector/ advocate, he took on finding a treatment like a superhero. To have him wrenched from you, for his son and daughter, to tackle this loss on top of it all, has fathoms of heartache we can't even imagine. None of the books in the whole world can make sense of that, no matter what faith you are, no matter what library you visit.
Like a misprint from the publisher, his novel has left us with blank pages; a story unfinished. I don't have answers, I don't have wise words for the people suffering as they grapple with his death, all I have to offer is my gratitude. I am so grateful for the times I got to spend with Scott. For the friend he was to me and those I love. For the wisdom he had when least expected, the tenacity he had to keep going and the love he gave so freely. So much love. We will miss you Scott.
*You may help their kids by donating to the April and Scott Memorial Fund at any Nusenda Bank or donate to the Go Fund Me for Ashley's cancer treatments.
-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com
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