closure and other myths

the concept of closure is a bunch of b.s.

maybe i've said this before. but i'm saying it again.

after my mom and stepdad died, after the grace period of empty platitudes had passed ("it was god's will," "it was their time," "they're in a better place now," "time heals all wounds,"...) people started asking if i'd found "closure." and if i said "no," or looked back with the confused but happy stare of a dairy cow, they would tell me how to find closure: therapy, art, music, medication, meditation, prayer.

and don't get me wrong. all of those things have their place in the grieving and healing process. but "healing" is not the same as "closure." just like a physical wound - when it heals, you are left with a scar. a scar that you can see, that reminds you, on occasion, of how it got there. that maybe pulls tight when you bend your knee a certain way or itches in the sun.

the worst thing about losing someone is that for a while afterwards, if and when you sleep, you wake up in the morning and for a second you forget what happened and you are just "hey it's friday" happy. then the realization comes, again, and hits you in the center of your being like a sledge hammer. it just rips a big, gaping hole of black nothing right in the middle there. every. single. morning. THANKFULLY, that does not last forever. after some weeks or months or maybe even years, you eventually get to wake up in the morning without fear of being punched in the face with this not-news all over again, and again, and again.

BUT. pain is a strange thing. sometimes it is a big, lumbering beast carrying an enormous mallet over its shoulder, and sometimes it's a snake or something else super sneaky like a "bwack smoke ninja"... it can still, out of nowhere, slither in and wrap itself around you and *squeeze* and take your breath away. almost 16 years out from my mom and (step)dad and i am still laid low on occasion, completely stripped bare. usually when i least expect it. like when watching a movie with james gandolfini and julia louis dreyfus with my honey on a wednesday night, and suddenly i'm SOBBING. me: "i'm just... so... SAD... that james gandolfini is dead." DM: "okay baby." then he pat-pat-pats me and kisses me on top of my head and lets the twin rivers of snot and tears soak his sleeve without comment.

anyway, pain is not like the type of thing where you can say, okay, light a candle, do twelve hail marys, and twenty bikram yoga classes and when you can finally do camel pose without feeling like you're going to puke on your own forehead, you're healed! oh and don't forget the coconut water and chia seeds!

a friend posted this quote the other day and i was really taken by it:

"We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy." - Pema Chodron

closure, to me, would be like sweeping things under the rug. like putting a piece of cardboard over the hole. if you lift up that rug, the shit's still there. if you step on that cardboard, you fall right back into that hole. personally, i think it's better to just keep the hole in plain view. i mean, maybe in the corner. and possibly you want to put up a "caution" cone or some caution tape, just so you don't accidentally fall in ass over teakettle (though, honestly, that still happens sometimes). but leave it out there. and maybe a ladder. so you can crawl back in when you need, and you can climb back out, too. it's dark. it's cold. it's not very comfortable. but you need a place like that. a little piece of rainy day in your heart where it's okay to be sad. to grieve. to pass through the pain and out the other side, and sometimes, back again.

some of you might wonder why i've got a case of the morbid mondays on this sweet sunshine-y friday. well, my stepgrams passed away yesterday. as you may or may not know from the blog, stepgramps passed away four months ago. we all knew it was coming that time, but that didn't make it any easier to let go. stepgrams and stepgramps were the real deal. their love was one in a million. sixty years of love like that - it truly was an inspiration and a sight to behold. we had all kind of talked about what would happen when one of them passed - because they were like that - one soul, two bodies. but to be honest, i never pegged stepgrams as the type to hastily follow her husband into the next life. as she recently said to me, with her trademark tact, "you and i are very lucky to have landed husbands that are so much nicer than we are." ;) she had so much spunk, plenty of fight left. i figured she'd plug along for another decade at least, fueled by piss, vinegar, and happy hour. so it caught us all by surprise, i think, when she up and died thursday morning, apparently of a broken heart.

to put it more poetically, in the words of one of my mom's best friends, "so sudden yet, in some ways, not surprising considering the frequency with which long-term, seasoned soul mates seem to end up 'in sync' in their senior years -- when the rich, shared journey ends for one partner before the other, it seems not unusual for the remaining journey to wrap up soon thereafter. and that all makes kind of poignant sense in an abstract, theoretical way, but man, i wasn't ready for either of their journeys on this earth to end!"

as you have heard me say before, my mom and sister and i "won" "the stepdadders" in the blended family lotto jackpot. they've been a part of my life for 27 of my 34 years on earth, and have never made me feel anything but welcomed wholeheartedly into their clan. the "step" is merely semantic. they are family. we have been loved so hard by them, and we have learned so much. i am thankful every day that the universe saw fit to bring us together.

stepgrams was the matriarch of this awesome family, and in her brazen and loving way, she helped mold my sister and brother and me into the people we are today. her legacy is one of fearlessness, adventure, honesty, humor, passion, family, and very little tolerance for bullshit. she taught us to climb up rocks, ski down mountains, speak up, say what you mean, start fires, sleep under the stars, pee in the bushes, play with knives, perfect our poker faces, properly pack a lunch for a hike (no smushed or soggy bread!), and reuse everything.

another one of my mom's BFFs just told me this story, too: once they were all hiking on the lost coast and there was some debate about who was the alpha male - my mom, or stepgrams. ha! it'd be a close call but i'd give grams the win on seniority.

i still can't really believe she's gone. i had just spoken with her the day before. she was talking to me about TBI (traumatic brain injury - you know, your typical wednesday morning conversational fare) and she said, "i sometimes wonder if my mother dropped me as a baby and i suffered from the incident." she was always good for a laugh. she was just one of those people who lived out loud, and the space she'll leave behind is too big to wrap my mind around. hers was definitely a star that burned out, rather than faded away.

[big sigh.]

kids are like dogs, they know when you're down and you need some extra love. and let me tell you, they have been lovin' on me quadruple-time! we haven't even told them anything yet, and they haven't seen me shed a tear. but somehow they just sense it, and i have been the lucky recipient of 27 full-body tackle hugs, 14 leg hugs, 8 arm hugs, 4 head hugs, and approximately 942 slobbery kisses. it really fills my cup, or, to the metaphor (simile?) above, it softens the landing in that space for grief in my heart. it makes me smile and it makes my heart hurt and it makes my eyes leak with a fierceness normally reserved only for james gandolfini... but... in a good way :)

i had written a lot of this earlier and said something like, "normally i cannot stand bed time. i would just as soon eat a crushed lightbulb sandwich than deal with the insane side show that bedtime, BUT, tonight, i am really looking forward to just sinking into it with them." and then bedtime happened. and it started out well. they were sweet and snuggly and handing out kisses and hugs like pot brownies at a marley brothers concert. they said again and again and again "i willy willy willy willy loves you, mama." but then. jesus mary and joseph. ladies and gentledudes, the bedtime train has DERAILED. jackson is an actual insane person between the hours of 8:30 and 10:30 p.m. he is terrified of invisible bugs, any sound in the tri-county area, extreme heat (above 73 degrees), extreme cold (below 73 degrees), dehydration, famine, the conflict in Iraq, president Obama's ability to make something of his lame duck presidency, the tea party's insurgence in primary elections, why his blankie isn't "cold" enough, why the dog gets to sleep in our bed but he doesn't, and OMIGOD he has to PEEEEE...Ope! Wait! now he is FIRSTYYYYY (again) and WHY DOESN'T HE HAVE ANY SOOTHING MELODIES TO FALL ASLEEP TO?!?!? and then my zen appreciation for my children's unconditional love and the circle of life came to a screeching halt.

it reminded me of this time i was at stepgrams and gramps' house - this was before i had kids, or maybe i was pregnant - and someone was making an annoying noise by incessantly "boing-ing" the door stop (i'm going to go out on a limb and say it was my little bro ;)) and i was like, "puhLEASE stop making that sound before i lose my mind!" and stepgrams said, in her diplomatic way, "you are going to be a terrible mother if you can't handle stuff like that. 85% of motherhood is being able to handle annoying noises."

she was right. (not about the terrible mother part, about which i assume she was, mostly, joking ;) i am so-so at that. but the noise. oh the noise.)

i'm sure mom and stepdad and stepgramps are rowdily welcoming stepgrams to that raucous hot tub party in the sky. margaritas on the house.

"Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you."

- Shannon L. Adler

"If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good help to you nevertheless
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you."

- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

to blave

i wrote a post a little while back about marriage. true love. soul mates. and i feel like i sort of need to clarify. i said everyone deserves someone who "completes them," a la jerry maguire, but that would imply that you had some sort of void that needed to be filled, and that's not what i meant. both halves of a good marriage should be able to stand on their own. if you're looking for someone else to have "the answers," you are surely going to end up disappointed. that reminds me of this great quote from that movie the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind:

"too many guys think i'm a concept, or i complete them, or i'm gonna make them alive. but i'm just a fucked-up girl who's lookin' for my own peace of mind; don't assign me yours."

this has actually happened to me a few times. i guess it probably happens to everyone. people fall in love with the idea of you, which is a lot of friggin' pressure because there's no way you can live up to the platonic ideal of yourself. once they scratch the surface, "the real me" is revealed in all its hot, sweaty, squishy, hairy, naggy, messy glory.

that reminds me of another one of my favorite movie quotes from good will hunting:

"you're not perfect sport, and i'll save you the suspense. this girl you met? she's not perfect, either. the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other."

i certainly do not intend to send my son and daughter into the world on some wild goose chase for their perfect disney prince/princess fairytale. nobody is going to rescue you from the castle. nobody is going to save you from your wicked stepmother. nobody is going to set you free. nobody but yourself.

my underlying argument in my last marriage post is that (i believe) there IS such a thing as truly, madly, deeply. and that everyone deserves that. i don't think people should just get married because they are worried they won't find anything better, or their ovaries are starting to get moldy, or they are dangerously close to becoming a Cat Lady. i believe there is a person, or, more likely, a generous handful of people, who can increase the sum total of happiness in your soul. not who provide you the answers to some deep lingering questions about the meaning of life or your place in the world, but who push and inspire you to be your best self, and make your time on this earth better for being there.

my definition of a soul mate is someone who, ultimately, loves YOU more than the IDEA of you. and that is a pretty rare find.

and again. i am not saying it is perfect, or a fairytale. far from it. and i plan to share with my children the good, the bad, and the ugly.

the love of Mackenzie and Daddy Mack rose from inglorious beginnings. well. that's not true. it was pretty glorious. amidst the rice and beans and smelly bar mats of Fred's Mexican Café and Typhoon Saloon, we began a torrid, tequila-fueled love affair that carried us from the beaches of san diego to the beaches of the caribbean and back again. but even in the beginning we were not without our problems. i had left mr "perfect on paper" for mr. older, dark and mysterious bar manager guy and perhaps failed to cut DM some slack when the reality of him differed from both the idea of him, and the idea of my ex. meanwhile, DM was, by virtue of proximity, drawn into tension-filled family negotiations over whether or not i should adopt my kid brother as i ventured into to law school. add to that the fact that DM and i were attending different law schools in the fall, 500 miles apart. this was a lot to handle for two people who hadn't even been together a year. it proved to be too much. he cheated on me with a somewhat unfortunate-looking girl who smelled like stale cigarettes and old-man-B.O. we broke up.

i used to swear with such conviction that i would never, ever, take someone back that cheated on me. you can say a lot of things before they happen to you. eventually, we got back together. even then it was not smooth sailing. people always say the first year of marriage is hard, but i like to joke that our first year of marriage was a piece of cake because we had already had every single fight that one couple could possibly have in a lifetime. seriously. we once argued for literally 6 hours once over whether not DM would smoke cigarettes once our imaginary children were born. i guess, in my crooked little mind, i did not want to commit my heart again unless this was IT, so i wanted to make sure that all eventualities were accounted for.

ANYWAY. we made it through, with flying colors, if i may say so myself. we made two beautiful, if slightly insane and preternaturally stubborn little cheese-its. DM is my rock, my voice of reason, my cheerleader, my partner in crime, the angel AND the devil on my shoulder, my best friend. he's my prince charming-ish. in high tide or in low tide, he'll be by my side.

i'm sure, someday, down the road, there will be more fights to fight. and we will fight them with grit, tenacity, and frequent cites to prevailing legal principles. i am hoping there will be no more smelly beasties vying for a piece o' my hunka hunka burnin' love, but you never know.

on infidelity - i used to think that when you were IN LOVE (which is supposed to last FOREVAH-EVAH), you would never even LOOK at another person "like that." i still like to pretend in my mind that that is true. but now that i am older and wiser, i realize that is probably not a realistic expectation. my husband works with all women. he goes to vegas twice a year. he travels for business on occasion. there are going to be women who catch his eye. and i get that now. first of all, as much as it pains me to admit, i am no spring chicken. it's so sad. i'm so vain. i wish i could turn back time and freeze my physical self at the age of 22 forever. but that's not gonna happen, and vegas is chock full of 22 year olds that look better than i ever did. second, that feeling In The Beginning - where you're not sure if you're in love or you've contracted malaria? sadly (yet also thankfully), that does not last forever. and i can understand how, if confronted with that, you might be tempted to dive back into that (temporary) bliss.

but, i think of it like this. we knew this guy in the virgin islands. he was our "frenchy" landlord. he was a crazy, old, awesome, alcoholic. seriously, he put 151 in his coffee every morning. and i feel like i should mention, just for added color, that he had the "triple crown" of genital piercings. anyway. the first night we met him, he had picked us up at the airport with one of DM's friends. (we sat in two lawn chairs strapped to the bed of his truck with bungee cords.) we proceeded to pub crawl our way through st. thomas. on our second or third drink at our third or fourth bar, DM suggested we eat some food. and crazy jimmy replied, "are you kidding me? i've got $30 invested in this buzz. i'm not gonna go ruining it with dinner!" in this story - i'm the buzz. get it? you've put some serious time and effort into that shit, and you don't wanna go undermining those efforts by eating dinner, even if it does look inviting and delicious. (or, as was once the case, looks sort of like a troll doll in serious need of a V05 hot oil treatment.*) this is especially true because dinner, though possibly quite divine, will be over before you know it, and now you're sober and you have heartburn.

the officiant at our wedding - one of my mom's best friends - said during the ceremony, "you are now husband and wife, but you must wake up every morning and decide to be married." and that is something that we have to remember, in the midst of the chaotic monotony of "grown up life." decide, every day, to be married. and that is what me and my prince charming-ish will continue to do :)

Hobo Marriage Vows
We are in accord with the following:
1. You are the way you are, and, it's OK for you to be that way.
2. May my love for you always be greater than my need for you.
3. May I always do what's right even if it's not what I want.
4. To help you be a success in your way.

links i like:

The Lie and the Truth About Marriage on Momastery.com - i basically love everything this woman has to say. luckily i still get the butterflies, though admittedly, it is not the default state that it once was.

My Husband is Not My Soul Mate on Trustychucks.com - a friend of mine posted this recently and it is apropos. i don't buy into the whole "married to god/soul mates with god" bit, but i highly approve of her general message.

and of course this oldie but goodie: holy crap this really is a four diamond hotel - they have gourmet butt wipes (a post about marriage, kinda) by yours truly

* please excuse my spite. i have forgiven but i have not forgotten. oh but that does remind me of the best advice i ever got surviving any major speed bump in your relationship: if you really want it to work out, you can't keep beating the person over the head with the infraction, e.g., "omigod i can't believe you left the milk out, this is like that time you cheated on me, you bastard!" hopefully that does not include using said incident as blog fodder. and to that end... sorry it's been a while, but this post was held up under review by my content editor. ultimately it passed muster ;)

business class

I recently went on my first business trip. I was really excited for the opportunity to go, and I hope it wasn't my last, but I have to say, it was a bit bizarre. It's like going on vacation with a total stranger. A vacation where you work 14+ hour days, but still. You travel together, you work side-by-side all day and night, you have to decide on background music and what to eat and where. Maybe most people are better acquainted with their business travel companions, but while Joe Partner and I attend weekly meetings and make friendly small talk in the elevator, I hardly know the guy.

It made me realize a couple of things. For example, I am beginning to understand that most lawyers have a touch of the aspergers. The rest are just ass-burgers. (Guilty on one or both counts.)

I also realized how much I depend on my best old travel buddy, Mr. Daddy Mack. He's my metaphorical memory-foam body pillow - he protects and supports me and knows what I need and which way I'm going to turn. I take for granted the ease and comfort of him, which became clear after having to do all of these mundane and terrible things with an almost total stranger. 

First, there's the flight. I'm terrified of flying. Any speck of turbulence or a maintenance issue or a flickering light or a funny smell sends me into an emotional tailspin. I always pause mid-panic attack to wonder at the zen-cow calm of the flight attendants in the face of utter doom. How are they not all running down the aisles, hands thrown in the air in horror screaming, "We're all gonna diiiiieeee!!!" Thankfully, the fancy partners sit in first class while the lowly beer bitch attorneys sit in the way-way back, thus saving myself the certain humiliation of mangling his arm with my sweaty, bone-crunching grip.

Okay. So. In light of my fear of flying, I may or may not have taken an Ativan prior to takeoff. And, toward the end of the flight as we were hurtling erratically through the air at 500 mph, 30,000 feet above earth and the captain said, "Hmmm, we can't seem to shake this turbulence. We're going to try to get past it but in the meantime, buckle up and hold on tight," I may or may not have popped another.

Our flight was at o'dark hundred, and by the way it takes for-f*cking-ever to fly across the country. I didn't eat anything before, during, or after the flight, but we made it in one piece so I was in generally good spirits. After a harrowing cab ride to the hotel, we got straight to work. I'd been awake for like 12 hours and had nothing in my system but diet coke and benzos. But again, this being a virtual stranger, I didn't really feel comfortable sharing the full extent of my honest and hangry feelings with him.

Joe Partner: You hungry or can we keep working?
What I said: A little hungry but I'm okay for now.
What I would have said to DM: Find me some goddamn carbohydrates, STAT, before I bite someone.

Finally, finally, it's time for dinner. My body is basically vibrating with hunger and residual anxiety. Then comes one of my favorite questions of all time:

Joe Partner: "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
What I said: "Yeah, but it's cool, I can pretty much find something to eat anywhere."
What I wanted to say: "Well, I don't eat meat, and yes chicken and fish and other creatures from the sea constitute "meat," but I also don't really like vegetables, unless they are fried or covered in some sort of dairy product. And if you try to feed me eggplant I will f*cking cut you."

What I really wanted was a slice of pizza and some garlic knots from the place around the corner, but apparently our generous per diem dictates that we dine at hip places where the staff tends toward suspenders and mustaches. We end up at some trendy Mexican-ish food place that was actually pretty cute and not too terribly expensive, at least, for New York. I'm thinking, Okay, I can work with this. Unfortunately, in my eagerness to settle my nerves as well as consume any kind of calorie I could put in my face hole, I attacked my margarita with unnecessary gusto. And then another. Two Ativans, two margaritas, zero food, and I start talking like I'm being interviewed by Oprah f*cking Winfrey:

I love margaritas. They make me happy. My mom loves margaritas. Or she did. Before she and my stepdad died. In a terrible, fiery plane crash off a cliff into the ocean. Man, that reminds me of all the poor orphans in the world. Don't you just wish you could save all the children? Of course, I'm not sure how feasible that would be, given the hardships of being a working mother. Have you ever reflected upon the dichotomy between working moms and working dads, particularly in the legal field? Goddammit already, is this guacamole sprinkled with angel dust and unicorn tears, or what? It is dee-licious. Ooh! Basketball! I love the Kings. Or I did. Before they sucked. I'm a total fair-weather.... And so on and so forth, ad nauseum.

Joe Partner: CHECK, PLEASE.

Thankfully, I managed to extricate myself from the situation before causing irreparable harm to the working relationship, and quite possibly, my career. Either that or Joe is extremely gracious. Probably the latter. In any event, he didn't mention it, unlike DM, who called me out within the first 3 seconds of our phone call. "Whoa, drunky. Ease up on the goof juice, sister!" So embarrassing. Lesson learned.

Alright. Then there is pedestrian transportation. I seriously do not understand how all of those fancy New York ladies do it, traipsing around in stilettos all day and night. Seriously. I got my heel stuck in a grate, sober, less than three feet outside my building. I also almost got murdered by those revolving doors on multiple occasions. I'm pretty sure the door men thought I was all kinds of handicapped. Not so smooth. And while I would, given proper footwear, attire, and weather conditions, love to peruse the city of New York on foot, DM would know better than to ask me to walk any sort of distance in heels. No so with Joe:

Joe Partner: You cool to walk to the depo?
What I said: Sure!

What I should have said: Walking a mile in New York in 85 humid degrees wearing a wool suit and lugging a litigation bag filled with 1000 pages of documents and a laptop and enough post-its and highlighters to start my own Office Max? Alright, I'm game, as long as you don't mind my looking and smelling like a wet dog, with the unique and pervasive scent of swamp-ass permeating the general vicinity for the rest of the day.

Last but not least, the glorious Pandora's box that is my gastrointestinal system.

Joe Partner: Street falafel at 1:00am?
What I said: Absolutely! And make it spicy!
What I would have said to DM: Of course! As long as you are taking full responsibility for the fact that I will likely be peeing out of my behind in approximately 17 minutes. There is also a high likelihood that you will have to fish me out after I faint head-first into a port-a-potty. (You all know about me and falafel, right? Well, I'm happy to report, I actually ate falafel for dinner last night... I sort of consider it method acting, really trying to get into my role, you know? And I'm still here to tell the tale!)

All of this made me realize that I am probably much more pleasant to be around when I'm with a virtual stranger than I am with those I love the most in the world. Funny how that is. Definitely need to work on that!

Anyway, I'm chalking it up as a learning experience! And New York in June was not a bad place for my first course ;)

Plus, you can't beat this:


"When you're there, I sleep lengthwise
And when you're gone
I sleep diagonal in my bed"

BUT. Jackson Jay drew this picture for me:

My hair is sort of awesome. Also my dress.

This is pretty cool in and of itself, because he is almost four and has never drawn anything that even remotely resembles a person or thing before. But then, apparently, he carried it around all day, hugged it when he cried for me, SLEPT WITH IT, and woke up hysterical in the middle of the night because he had rolled over on it and CRUMPLED HIS MAMAAAAAAA.

OH. EM. GEE. Did you hear that? That was the sound of my heart bursting into teensy tiny little shards and shattering all over the ground. WAAAAAA. SO. Freakin. Sad. Ugh.

It turned out all right though. I think I'm on probation, but they "still loves me," for now ;)