The Misconception

Often at night, I will dream that my husband and son and I live in this big, big house with three levels and huge rooms, that seem irrelevant since there is only three of us, plus our cat and dog. The space around me in those dreams feels very pleasant, like there is a lot of room around my soul , my heart. The other side of that coin is that the loss of family, of both younger sisters and parents, and younger brother, for all practical purposes : the last time I saw my brother was 18 years ago , has left a hole,
that manifests itself in my dreams as me roaming in a house with a lot of empty rooms.
I always liked the story of Hansel and Gretel, where the children find their way back home by leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest. In my case the breadcrumbs were gone, and finding my way back from all the loss and heartache became a scary, lonely journey. To be on the other side of that dark forest is a great relief, but the people lost can never be retrieved. I was surprised at the intensity and difficulty of coming to terms with it all. Apparently trauma at the hands of those you love , those who are supposed to protect and love you can be quite taxing, even showing up in physical symptoms. The one that stays with me in times of stress is nausea, which is what I experienced very acutely when hearing the news about the horrific events in Orlando. So many innocent people lost to their families, it felt nauseating and baffling. Talking to my son and husband calmed me down. It made me realize they are both very much a part of my life.
Before all the family loss in a Dostoevsky sort of tragic twist of events, I felt very secure about my world and my place in it. Studying abroad, traveling to faraway exotic countries, marrying my American husband and being mother to our wonderful, loving son, the world was a kind, hopeful place. Then my youngest sister was diagnosed with bipolar depression, went off her medication several times, and slowly unraveled, eventually committing suicide short of her 36th birthday. My father unraveled, eventually slipping into dementia, hastened in its symptoms by being thrown out of his house by my alcoholic, manipulative mother. He never fought back. He died in an Alzheimer institute in Oostende, Belgium 8 years ago, and my mother succumbed to her physical problems due to her alcohol abuse a few months later. In between, my other younger sister died of cancer at the age of 44, leaving two young children, ages 8 and 6. My brother still lives in Texas and no longer wants any contact. During those years, the world stopped for me. It became absurd. I eventually found support and renewal in therapy in the skillful care of an amazingly kind and perceptive woman. I started writing, under her encouragement. I started perfecting my embroidery interest that I had discovered 20 years earlier, and it has now become a great artistic outlet. I am grateful to my husband for encouraging that skill that was dormant, just waiting to express itself. The therapy, the writing, the embroidery, and recently, photography, have allowed me to anchor the dingy that had become my soul and that was lost in a sea of grief and anger, to reconnect to my husband and son, to my own sense of identity and being. It took a good ten years, but to be on the other side of that dark night feels really good. The experience of feeling that I did not matter, that my life was just a series of nonsensical events, the hurt, the anxiety, the sadness, has taught me to be sensitive to other people who have endured loss and tragedy. Humility is a good seasoning in the courses life offers up, and the misconception that I thought I did not matter, that I was invisible, just a number in a huge crowd of humanity has worn off and is now replaced by a warm gratitude that I made it to the other side of that despair. I have always found great solace in the peace and grace nature can offer, and my photographs of the flowers and creatures in our backyard, like honeybees, have brought great joy and I love sharing them. Being outside in the abundance of flowers and trees makes me feel connected to life in a larger way, it is the same way I feel when I look up at the stars at night. That feeling gives me peace. I no longer feel disconnected, I feel part of the larger picture and life now once again feels like an intriguing mystery, not a frightening, dark road.