...and rosemary is for remembrance

"By embracing death we find the courage to let go..." - Shirley D. Downie

We lose the people we love in a variety of ways; through a sudden accident, after a long illness – some after decades of life, others within hours - and everywhere in between.

I believe that it is each person’s hope – no matter how much time we’ve been blessed to have on this earth – to make his or her own unique mark on the world.

 

To leave things better than how we might have found them.

 

To be remembered in the minds and hearts of our loved ones.

This is my story, my purpose. My mission: To let all of my fellow human beings out there who are struggling with grief and loss know that they are not alone.

 

May the love of those around you help you through the days ahead.

 

Peace.

 

...and rosemary is for remembrance: A Documentary about Death, and Life

Dream Come True

“Visualize your dream (Yes) /Record it in the present tense (Don't be scared) /If you persist in your efforts /You can achieve…”

- Queensryche, Silent Lucidity


Three years ago today, my beloved husband Russell James Downie died after injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident.

That event turned my world completely upside down. He wasn’t supposed to die, at least not this early in our lives (we had celebrated our five year wedding anniversary just a few months before). I had always assumed that, out of the two of us, I would be the one to die first – being the insulin-dependent diabetic, having an aversion to exercising – but one of the first things I learned since that monumental day was that “Life” doesn’t have the same script as I do.

Even now, my husband’s voice echoes in my mind. Not so much like an actual recording, but more like pressure… the kind of pressure you feel when somebody you haven’t seen in awhile picks you up a the airport, throws their arms around you and gives you a big, bear hug. All the best things about the woman I am today, I credit to him. He took a frightened, miserable creature who hated herself and hated the world and transformed her into a living, breathing, feeling human being who strives to pour all of the love inside her heart out to heal her world. And in doing this, she herself is healed.

I feel like I’ve finally turned that corner. This is the place I was waiting to find; my new identity, my new life. I don’t feel like “the young widow” anymore… I’ve jumped back into the fray with both feet; I have things that I want to do, and I still have my dreams. I am hopeful for the future. I feel immersed in the love all around me, inside of me. I’m happy to be alive.

I won’t ever forget him. But I don’t think I’m supposed to. I could sooner forget that I am the mother of a 19-year old United States Marine, or that there’s nothing I love more than singing. But I also don’t think I am meant to view the rest of my existence through the filter of this one experience; much in the same way that you see all the colors of the rainbow when you shine white light through a prism. My life with my husband is one of many colors that paint my world. And my world is unique, beautiful… at least in my eyes. And that’s what counts.

To those of you who find your way here who share the experience of losing somebody you loved more than life itself… I leave you with a few words of hope. You WILL get through this, if that’s what you want to do. It’s not easy; and you will feel more often than not that you just can’t go on, you just can’t get out of bed even one more day… but let me remind you: You have an obligation. That person who left you here? Together, you had dreams. Together, you had plans. And now it’s up to YOU to see them through. No one else. So don’t give up. NEVER give up. And I’ll be one more person on the planet rooting for you.


I believe in you. Believe in yourself. You WILL get through this.

Peace.


– Shirley Denise Downie


“So here it is, another chance /Wide awake, you face the day /Your dream is over...

Or has it just begun?”

There Is Always A Price To Be Paid.. Always

So, here I find myself on the eve of the third anniversary of the Bunny's death, and as is customary I take a close look at where I am in my life - what I am doing with my time, where I am headed in the near future, where I am headed far from now - and I decide that I am no longer in transition.

In other words, I feel like I have successfully repositioned myself as a separate and single human being after being "Mrs. Russell Downie" for the last several years. It's still tastes new to me... kind of like when you go to a foreign country and somebody has you sample some new kind of food you've never seen before, and you DO, but you aren't quite sure that you like it yet. Have you ever tried boba? Boba is basically little tapioca balls in milky tea which originated in Taiwan, so you can find shops that serve it typically in Asian communities. I once worked with a Vietnamese gal who took me to have boba; they are heavier than the liquid in the glass, so they sink to the bottom; you have to dig them out and eat them with a spoon. They are sweet, but to me they have an unusual enough flavor that I can't quite throw myself completely into them, and they are kind of chewy. Like the consistency of gummy bears. So my life now is kind of sweet, with that chewy gummy bear consistency. Not sure what's that's going to mean for me down the road, but I don't have that "waiting to see what's going to happen next" feeling that's been shadowing me for the last three years.

I did something pretty significant for myself this past weekend; I finally was able to ship off Trevor's stuff that was lying around my house. If you recall, Trevor is the Bunny's son. My stepson. Since I finally settled down into a job I could live with that created a regular income stream for myself (so not exclusively a commission job; that little salary part makes all the difference in the world), I had the money to pay the postage to send Trevor's four boxes to England (in addition to spending probably an hour at the post office on a Saturday morning filling out customs forms, a huge drag). But I did it, and it felt good to get that little task off my plate. Out of my house and out of my sight. I don't expect Trevor's and mine's paths to ever cross going forward. I kind of place him in the same category as I do my mom. Not sure how I would react, what I would say, what I would do, because last I checked Trevor was one of those sources of pain and trauma for me. But, unlike my mom, Trevor's just a kid... with a lot of growing to do. So who knows. I'll cross that bridge if I ever come to it.

On the subject of my newest job - it's actually pretty perfect for me. I get to work from home, I get to work with teachers primarily (my favorite group of people, as my Liz could attest to), and I get to change a lot of kids' lives. So it's pretty meaningful work. It has to be... because past experience has proven to me that if it's just a paycheck, that isn't going to be enough. Not for me. In fact, the only "down" side - if you consider it a down side - is that I have to log in a high amount of phone calls every week. Historically speaking, I've always found it difficult making a bunch of phone calls, leaning towards the quality not quantity side of the spectrum. So I am still struggling for a good balance, and it's challenging, frustrating, maddening at times. But I remember - I'm not doing this for free. I get a salary, so I must do the activity. And if I can just force myself to get through this part, I am rewarded by all of the other parts that I love - working with passionate & energetic teachers, changing hundreds of kids' lives, and so forth and so on.

I didn't sleep well last night. It was actually Winnie that woke me up; four o'clock in the morning, and she is wheezing while wandering around the living room (where her and Canela crash for the night, each on her own doggy pillow). So I went to go check up on her, and when she finally settled back down I made a beeline for my warm blankets. It's been really cold lately; I think I saw somewhere that tonight it's supposed to get down to 39 degrees. Brrrrrr. Anything under 70 and I am starting to shiver. I know; California girl through and through.

So I floated the idea to my boss earlier today about me taking tomorrow as a personal day. He left it up to me, but reminded me I still needed to hit my target phone calls by the end of the week. So, that gave me my answer. I'll be working tomorrow, making a bunch of phone calls, trying to identify teachers that want to partner with me and change their students' lives... I may still need that day to myself - but I guess I will have to schedule it when it's more convenient in my new life. Oh well. I really AM back in the real world, because most people I know have to make these kinds of compromises all the time. You give something up to get that other thing. Those decisions become more difficult when each of your choices give you something that you want; it's easier when there's only one good choice and a bunch of crappy choices. That's more the scenario I am customarily used to. Or maybe it's just that I have fine-tuned my ability to see something good in any circumstance... which is what I've always made an effort to keep doing since the Bunny died. Bringing me back to tomorrow: three years ago, and the Bunny dies.

It's a significant day. I've known it was coming. I'll notice this day every year for the rest of my life. But it is one day. One day out of the 14,600 plus days in my lifetime (yes, I had to pull out a calculator for that one). But it no longer has the power to slow me down. Which makes me happy, and at the same time makes me sad.

I have one more post to do, scheduled for tomorrow. It's the last one in this chapter, but no worries... I intend to keep writing. Just like I intend to keep singing.

It's time to start a new chapter.

Peace.

Possession

If I were going to give you a gift...


... I would give you a song; with melancholy notes which captured all of the dreams you had that you lost, a melody that had the power to make you cry -


Or maybe, I would give you a secret; that you and I could share to the exclusion of the world, and from time to time a look would pass between us... and we would remember, and we would smile -


If I were going to give you a gift...


... I would give you a pass; so that when the world gets turned upside down as it invariably does, nothing that transpired would have negative or lasting impact, and you could walk past that piece of baggage without feeling the need to pick it up -


Or maybe, I would give you a whisper; that you could hear my voice in the darkness of your mind, when everything else is silent and you need a bit of inspiration... and you would know that I am always with you -


If I were going to give you a gift... but I don't really need to give you any thing -


Because everything I have of value already


... belongs to you.


- Shirley D. Downie
December 3, 2011

Operators Are Standing By

In a discussion with a close friend recently, the following comment came up: “Shirley, it’s amazing to me that you are single!”

Well, I have a few things to say in response to that. First, I rarely think of myself in terms of “single” or “not single” because I get something out of interacting with every one of my fellow human beings. Yes, I realize the context in which the comment was intended involves the subject of dating. Which I am always open to, but never in an all-encompassing way. As I stated in a previous post, I am not afraid to be alone. Not that I particularly prefer that condition, but I’m certainly not going to beat myself up over it or cause myself any unnecessary anxiety.

I considered what my friend had said, and I came up with this hypothesis: I do believe that people in my sphere can recognize all of my positive attributes – the external and the internal – but I think that it takes a lot of courage to bring what I bring to the relationship table. I lay it all out. Sometimes that characteristic brings its own brand of pain. Discomfort. Not that I try to intentionally hurt others, far from it. But, I’ll admit, I can be pretty intense. I can be extremely emotional. I can frustrate the pants off my theoretical mate. In short, I am a big pain in the ass.

Now when talking about all of my friendships and others that don’t fall into the “intimate relationships” category (by the term “intimate” you should read: sexual), this tendency to be completely open in relationships is very attractive. It’s safe. My friends know from interacting with me that they can talk about anything and I will not be judgmental. I won’t hold our relationship over their heads. I won’t withdraw in disgust or horror or offense. I also assume I can interact in kind; there is no topic that is taboo for me, and when I bring it readily to discussion I think it puts others at ease because they can feel the implication of my trust. I am open to this degree because I trust them not to reject me. And through this behavior, my friendships have a tendency to grow very, very strong.

Back to the intimate relationship. I suspect that it is scary for another person who really wants to get close to me – physically, emotionally – when he realizes that while I may willingly throw everything that I am into our relationship, I do expect to be reciprocated. In other words, bring it ALL. The good, the bad, the ugly. I don’t want to see just the happy stuff or the prettiest picture. I feel like Eve who’s already taken a bite of the apple. Life isn’t always pretty. It’s real. It’s messy. Sometimes it bites. I want to see, feel, experience everything. And in doing so, I can feel like the world is solid beneath my feet. If I get overwhelmed or life is kicking my teeth in or I have a complete meltdown for whatever reason, I know that the other person is still going to be around to help me get through it.

So, this was the answer I gave to my friend. It’s tough for people to open themselves up completely to another human being, even one as wonderful as me (have I mentioned I am NOT humble, not by a long shot). I give it all, and I want it all. Add to the mix that I lean towards the aggressive, I’m pretty smart, I curse like a sailor, I’m extremely impatient… no wonder most guys run for the hills! Can’t say as I blame them. If I was a guy and I came face-to-face with me, I’d probably high-tail it out of there too.

This same friend and I were having lunch last week. During lunch I was telling a story about another discussion I had had shortly before; a discussion about suicide. In the suicide discussion there were two points I was arguing, because I didn’t believe they were true. The first was that the majority of people have thoughts of suicide in passing (like briefly, for a second, then it goes out of one’s head). The second was that for those people that have thoughts of suicide for longer than those few seconds, well, THOSE people were “crazy.” I was a little agitated as I was relaying this story, because technically speaking, I have first-hand knowledge of both of these scenarios. As a person who I believe thinks about death more than the average human being, I have somewhat an idea of what inspires thoughts of suicide, in passing or otherwise. When I was with the Bunny – throughout our entire marriage and including the three years that we dated prior to getting married – I never once thought about suicide. I am pretty impressed with myself over that, and it just reinforces my belief that the strength of a person’s relationships and happiness quotient are big determinants of overall emotional health.

As this lunchtime discussion was going on, one of the managers at the restaurant, Vince (this is my favorite restaurant where I eat regularly, so I am on a first-name basis with most of the employees) was making his rounds through the bar (yes, I have my own specially designated table in the bar) and couldn’t help but overhear my comments. My voice tends to project… what can I say? One of the benefits of singing regularly at church every Sunday. When my friend headed to the bathroom for a pit stop, Vince came over and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think people who think about suicide are crazy either.”

Now, if I had to guess I would say Vince is somewhere in his mid- to late- 50’s, at least. He ended up sharing a rather personal story with me, and based on how he told it, I surmised it was a recent occurrence – in the last few years, I’m guessing? Anyway, what Vince told me was that at the time he was going through his divorce, life was kicking him in the teeth, he was having a complete meltdown.. he ended up sitting in his car with the engine running. Had his wife at the time (the one he ended up divorcing) not broken the windows, he would have succeeded in killing himself. Around that same time, the woman he was dating called him up and told him that she was in love with him. That woman was now his wife. Those two actions – the previous wife’s breaking the windows of his car and the current wife’s admission of love – is what saved his life.

I’ve told this story a few times before sharing it in this post. It reminds me that everyone has a story. Real stories. Messy stories. This was the first time in my life that I questioned my belief that I was unique in wanting to connect as much as I do with others… Vince hardly knows me, yet he shared a very personal, meaningful story with me that afternoon. And in doing so, he established a permanent connection with me. Maybe I’m not so different after all. Maybe there are LOTS of people in the world, starving to make those kinds of connections with each other. I guess I’m just better at it than most, at least for now. I hope that over time, more people get better at it. If anything’s going to save the world, that will.

And as far as being single? Well, I am working on that… I’m not alone. Not by a long shot.

Peace.

Full Circle

This morning I went for my 5-mile hike. I've fallen out of the habit of it the last several months; and since "taking care of myself" is once again on my radar, I'm trying to get back to it at least once a week. Having fortunately managed to return to a fairly consistent work schedule, I can look forward to Saturdays off - so starting the day off with an early morning hike seems to be the best use of those hours where I would normally either be sleeping or playing on the computer. And it forces me to go outside. Today happened to be a beautiful, sunny Southern California day - I was happy I didn't miss it.

When I returned home, I decided to make myself breakfast with some Thanksgiving Day leftover spiral ham compliments of one of my neighbors. I am blessed with some really cool neighbors. The house I live in is the same house I grew up in as a kid, and there are a few neighbors still around that knew me from back then. So of course, they also knew the Bunny when we moved back here in 2006 or so, and they knew when he died.. I know I inspire people to worry about me (I'm not sure why exactly; I don't think I give off any "helpless" vibes) and I believe my neighbors to be no different. They come by frequently to see how I am doing, to ask how Christopher is doing and if I've heard from him lately. They feed my animals when I have to go away for a few days. They keep an eye on my house when strangers show up on my doorstep. And they share their food with me.

Anybody who knows me knows my passion for food. I love to cook. I love to eat. I have about a hundred recipe books, and I have several internet websites bookmarked that have recipes or that talk about food. But inside my head, I place special significance on an individual when I allow them feed me. From a very young age, I was fashioned to be very independent and self-sufficient. I don't like to be pampered or catered to as a general rule. Nine times out of ten, I'm a "Let's split the check" sort of girl. 

When I first started dating the Bunny, he never let me pay for food. And from the beginning, I allowed it. Not because I'm the high-maintenance type or because I expected him to - far from it. Generally, I will refrain from going out in the first place if I don't feel like I can cover my own meal... because from my point of view I don't wish anyone to gain an unfair advantage over me. If somebody feeds me, then I must "owe" them.

These thoughts bring me back to my mom. I remember as a kid that my mom never liked anyone else to do anything for her. But hopefully where I am different is because I recognize that, as an adult, I tend to do a lot of stuff for other people AND because I believe it's important (emotionally) for human beings to engage in reciprocation, I bend my independence rules just a bit... the result being: I get a lot of free lunches. I love food, and I love being appreciated.

While I was making my breakfast, one of my aunts called. Another of my mom's sisters, Tia Angela had missed the Thanksgiving gathering yesterday at Tia Fatima & Tio Cacho's house. I noticed her absence along with a few of my other cousins that had scheduling conflicts, but I guess I was surprised just a bit that I got a phone call. A few minutes into the conversation, and my questions were answered.

She was calling about my mom.

If you read the post immediately before this one, you will remember my mentioning receiving a letter addressed to my brother in a conversation with my Tia Fatima. It wasn't meant to be a secret or anything; I guess I didn't figure it was newsworthy enough to share with anybody. But clearly the information was communicated to other family members, because here was Tia Angela calling me and talking about it. What she wanted was to make sure that "if I talked to my mom" to please give her Tia Angela's cell phone number and tell her to call her so they could talk. Most of the family has not seen or heard from my mom in many years; some story about my mom getting involved with some "bad people" and basically she was forced to go underground so these people would not find her and hurt her, and by association find the rest of us and hurt us. I take every story about my mom with a grain of salt. My personal feeling is that the woman has some serious mental problems. So as far as going underground and not being anywhere in my vicinity, to me that's always been a good thing.

I was proud of myself for understanding most of the conversation between Tia Angela and myself (she was talking in Spanish); I've always wished I was fluent in Spanish but for whatever reason mastery of the language has always eluded me. My parents used to talk Spanish around me when I was a kid - when they didn't want me to know what they were talking about - and so I created my own mental block of "I can't understand I can't understand I can't understand" which clearly is encased in some kind of emotional concrete. 

I've come to the realization that there is a distinct possibility that I will, at some point in my life, come face to face with my mom again. At least I have some notice, so I can think about it, and hypothesize, and figure out what my potential responses would be to that event. Even just thinking about her, I feel the intensity of the strongest emotion: anger. I'm angry at her. I'm angry that she made my life as a kid a living hell. I'm angry that she pretended to be this "perfect mom" in front of all of my friends so everyone thought I was fucking crazy. I'm angry that I was so powerless against her.

But what do I want? Do I want retribution? Revenge? An apology? I don't expect any of those things. And when I take a step back and I evaluate what kind of person she is (from a daughter's perspective) and what her life must have been like... I feel sorry for her. Whatever the situation, to cut oneself off from one's family for years, to not even know or be part of the lives of your own children - that's got to be tough.

There is one thing I can empathize with: I know how tough it is to be a mother. Not that it's any excuse to treat your children like shit, however. And that's how I felt until I left my home at 18 years old. And why I worry so much about my relationship with Christopher; if I am doing right by him. If he feels loved. If he feels like a real person, with feelings and opinions and everything that goes along with that. My only hint is when he tells me that he loves me. Or when he talks to me and asks me for my advice. Or when he tells his friends what a cool mom I am.

I have no idea what I am going to do when that day comes. Guess I'll just have to wing it. But it will be interesting to see which side of me takes the lead. Either way, I don't see myself giving my mom entry back into my life on a regular basis, or even an infrequent basis. But maybe I can stop being angry. Maybe I can forgive her. Maybe I can let go.

Time will tell.

What I Want For Christmas

I can honestly say that this is the first time in three years that I am actually looking forward to spending time with family during the holidays. Not just family; people in general. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but the prospect of mingling amongst my blood isn’t accompanied by a feeling of obligation or “Crap! Do I really hafta? Can’t I just stay home in bed?”

It’s exactly two weeks to the third anniversary of the Bunny’s death. It’s also Thanksgiving Day. I realized recently that my worldview is no longer seen through a prism of “the accident” – it’s now seen through “my new life.” And because I seemed to have done a decent job so far (knock on wood) of getting that life in order, I’m feeling… good. Strong. Dare I say it? Happy.

Earlier I was having dinner at my Tia Fatima and Tio Cacho’s house. For those of you who are neither Latino or Hispanic, that’s aunt and uncle. The house was full of familiar faces – my cousin Adriana and her new husband Hector (at whose wedding I sang for several months ago), my other cousin Dario and his girlfriend Niki (who I always tease because Dario is super tall – probably 6’ 5” at least, maybe taller; and Niki is 5’-nothing standing next to him). In addition there were a few more of my aunts on the Argentinean side (my Tio Cacho is my mom’s only brother) and their respective husbands, children, and even a few grandkids running around; little girls, who for five hours straight played hide-and-seek, ran from room to room, giggling and screaming with joy. It brought more than one smile to my face.

After the first part of the meal (the one with the turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, salad, cranberry sauce – you get the picture), I joined some of our group for a walk around the block. Now, the street where my Tio and Tia live isn’t really like a normal city block, to mean that it isn’t straight and rectangular like the block I live on. It’s in an area that is somewhat hilly, so I think the city planners incorporated the area’s geography into the plan and just made the streets follow the landscape. Maybe that’s how it’s traditionally done – I don’t know. But so this walk took maybe 20, 25 minutes – just enough to make some room in my stomach for dessert, also known as “the second part of the meal.”

I walked along with my Tia Fatima.

During our conversation, the subject of my mom came up (always a sore topic for me). I mentioned that I recently got a letter at the house – my house – addressed to my brother Sandy; the return address was somewhere in Orange County, so I knew my mom was back in California (last I had heard, she was in Nevada or Arizona or someplace). My initial reaction was fear. Not fear of HER exactly; more like fear of what kind of impact her presence would have on my life – the one I’ve been working so hard to be happy in. There’s never been a single moment in the forty years of my existence where my mom and “happiness” could coexist in the same place. The last time I saw her – Christopher was just a baby – was one of the lowest points in my memory. It was after that visit in particular that I tried to overdose on my insulin. A big overdose. On purpose. A lot has happened to me since then, so I don’t believe for a moment that if she showed up on my doorstep today I would be taken back to that low place. But I feel the fear just the same.

Tia Fatima told me that she would always be grateful that “Russ brought you back to us” and that I had gone through some really rough things in my life; that I deserved to be happy. I in turn told her that I had never felt entirely comfortable being around family in general, but that I was really happy to be with her and everybody else tonight. She told me, “Shirley, we will always be there for you. No matter what.”

It brings tears to my eyes, when I replay that conversation in my head. It amazes me that I could find my family, now, at this stage of my life, so important, so meaningful, so critical to my ongoing survival when as a kid all I wanted to do was get away from them (I left home when I was 18 – just after graduation and in the middle of the night, no less). I remember driving away in the truck my dad was letting me use (I had a friend drive it back shortly after); as I peeled out of the parking lot he grabbed for one of the side mirrors, but it was too late. I shot out of there on squealing tires – free! Finally! It felt so good to escape. And I never looked back. Always forward. And I have carried that mindset through to the rest of my life. I never go back to the same situation, one that I’ve left. If something doesn’t work for me... and I’m a very fast learner. But if any of the variables change, well, that’s another matter entirely.

Driving home, I got a text from my brother Sandy, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Sandy pretty much works crazy hours – he’s an engineer and does some complicated computer design fiber-optic test equipment something or other that I couldn’t even begin to explain – so when I do hear from him it warms up my heart like a shot of adrenalin. I love my brother. It’s funny, because we hated each other as kids. I’ve heard that about siblings – if you hate each other as kids, you get along great as adults. And vice versa. I’m thankful Sandy and I hated each other as kids, because you spend a greater amount of time as an adult. And he has been the constant in my whole entire life. He’s my only brother. Kind of like people say all the time “you’ll only have one mother and father.” I have that feeling for Sandy. And to me, depending on the specific mother and father in question, that could be either a blessing or a curse.

I have the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s off from work (all of my jobs), so I’ll be spending that week in Chicago with my cousin Lisa and her family. Sandy will be flying over from Hawaii, so I’ll get to spend some time with my brother too. I’m very excited… I was on the phone with Lisa the other day, and I told her how much I am looking forward to seeing everybody.

Happy. I could get used to this.