This past Thursday started out just like any other day, but by noon things were steadily going down hill. I drove to Stamford for a lunchtime meeting and found a parking spot on the street, behind another car. When I got out of the car I noticed a sign on the street that made me question whether I was parked legally. There was a parking lot right in front of the building where I was headed, so I hopped backed in my car to move it, just to be on the safe side. I turned the key in the ignition, and...nothing. I tried again - nothing. My meeting was starting, so I left the car and headed into the building. I'd deal with the car after the meeting.
The meeting was scheduled to run two hours, but I left after an hour and a half so that I could deal with my car. On my way out of the building, I phoned Triple A. We agreed it was likely a dead battery. They would get to me within 45 minutes and give me a jump start. If I was lucky, I'd still make it back to work in time for my 3 pm meeting.
I got into my car while I waited for Triple A and decided to give the engine one more try. I turned the key in the ignition and, reluctantly, the car started. Yahoo! I called back Triple A and canceled the service call, phoned my office to cancel my 3 pm meeting, and then drove directly to a garage around the corner from my house.
The garage didn't have the size battery I needed in stock, but they called to have one delivered and assured me that delivery time was usually under 15 minutes. An hour and half later the battery finally arrived and a few minutes after that I was on my way. By now, it was nearly time to pick Sarah up at school after field hockey practice, so I dashed home, let the dogs out quickly, checked my email, put the dogs back in their crates and then headed out again.
On my way to the car, I saw the mailman pulling away from our mailbox, so I quickly collected our mail, and then hopped into the car. There were only two pieces of what I call "real mail" - mail that is not a bill or a catalog. I could tell from the return address that one was from friends of ours and was probably a birth announcement. The other piece was more mysterious. It was addressed solely to me in what I would describe as youthful handwriting and there was no return address. I wondered if it could be from a friend of Emma's. I have really enjoyed seeing and hearing from her friends over these past three years, so with some happy anticipation, I tore open the envelope before starting the car.
When I looked inside the envelope, I saw a newspaper clipping which I immediately recognized as the CT Post article that I had been interviewed for three months ago. Tucked inside that clipping was a note that said, "Maybe if you spent more time with your kids instead of running PTAs your family would not have suffered this unspeakable tragedy. Family first!" The exclamation point had a little heart where the period should be.
I shoved the note back into the envelope and threw the envelope onto the floor of the car. I'm not sure I was breathing. I was completely in shock. I had to get Sarah, so I turned on the car and headed for Milford, but before I had gotten very far I burst into tears. I knew I shouldn't make the drive in that condition, so I frantically began calling Peter. I reached him within a few minutes and he packed up quickly and headed for Milford, urging me to call a friend when I got back home. He was angry and worried and clearly felt helpless.
Consciously and subconsciously I have dreaded a moment like that for most of the last three years. I know that families are often blamed for suicide deaths and there was no reason to believe we would be immune to that. When the CT Post reporter left a message for me saying that she wanted to interview me for an article about teen suicide, I hesitated before calling her back. Maybe I didn't need to open myself up to criticism and backlash. There's a saying, though: 'Be the change you want to see." If I wanted to see a world in which the myths that surround suicide are shattered, and where those who suffer and survivors of suicide loss feel free to seek help and support without shame or stigma, I had to help build that world. Telling my story is the first step.
Over the last few days, as a result of receiving that hateful note, I have struggled with two competing emotions:
wanting to vociferously defend my track record as a parent, on the one
hand; and wanting to curl up under a rock and hide, on the other. The first is not an option. The author of that note didn't have the
courage to sign his/her message. I don't have the option of facing my
accuser. Curling up under a rock is not an option either. I have another
child and that child needs her mother. A few days after Emma died, my
very wise and very strong, Sarah, looked me and Peter in the eyes and
said, "We are not going to let this destroy us." For the last three years we have worked really hard to carry on, remember Emma, use our gifts, and stay strong - together; because that is what families do.
If you would like to help us prevent suicide, please join us for the Out of the Darkness Walk on Saturday, October 27th at Sherwood Island. You can join or contribute to Team Emma by clicking here.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
National Suicide Prevention Week
National Suicide Prevention Week begins on Sunday, September 9th, and I
can't help but reflect on the journey I have been on since I lost my
precious Emma to suicide a little more than three years ago.
This past spring, inspired by a support group conversation the night before, I was reflecting on how my experience with suicide loss had changed over the last year. One notable change, I realized, was that people I knew had begun reaching out to me as a resource when suicide touched their own lives. As I was driving to work that spring morning, I tallied the number of times this past year that I had gotten a call or email from someone I knew who had just lost a friend or family member to suicide and was desperate to know where to go for information and support. The number was five. In my relatively small circle of friends and acquaintances, five people had lost someone to suicide in less than a year. I found that stunning. What is even more stunning, is that by the time I was making the drive home from work at the end of that same day, the number had risen to seven.
So when I reflect on what I have learned on my journey in this past year, one of the most important lessons is this: suicide is not just a personal tragedy, it is a national tragedy. Each year more than 35,000 people in the U.S. die by suicide and CT's rate of death by suicide is at a 20 year high. In the wake of these tragic losses, hundreds of thousands of friends and family members are left to make sense of their loss and put their lives back together again. When you add up the price of all this devastation: years of productive life lost, wages lost, health and mental health care costs; you realize that the cost of suicide is enormous.
I have also learned this: as a nation, we will never inspire the national response necessary to address this national tragedy if we are depending on the survivors of suicide loss to wage that war. As survivors, we have the will and resolve to bring change and find answers; to help others win a battle that, sadly, we have lost; but we are walking wounded. We can't do this alone. If we are going to wage war against suicide we need allies in our schools, in our healthcare institutions, in our workplaces, in our communities, in government, and amongst our legislators. My hope is that National Suicide Prevention Week will lead to greater awareness, new alliances, and the strengthening of our national resolve to give the issue of suicide the time, attention, and resources that are necessary to find answers and develop responses.
One of the ways I have become involved in the war against suicide is by participating in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention - Southern CT Chapter's annual Out of the Darkness Walk. We were inspired to participate in our first walk by a friend of Emma's who found out about the walk and formed a team just weeks after Emma's death. We have been participating ever since and have been heartened to see the growth in community support and awareness that the walk has helped to create. It is truly bringing suicide out of the darkness.
This year's walk will be held on Saturday, October 27th, at Sherwood Island State Park in Westport, CT. Registration begins at noon and the walk will begin at 1 pm. I hope that you will consider becoming an ally in the war against suicide by joining or supporting Team Emma. The walk is as much about building awareness, as it is about fundraising; so your presence is truly valued as much as any monetary presents. Three years down this difficult road of suicide survival I believe more than ever that the first step to finding an answer is shining a light on the problem. I hope you'll join us at the walk and help us do just that.
To join or contribute to Team Emma, click here.
Special registration instructions for returning walkers:
AFSP has updated the walk website and there are a few frustrating glitches. The instructions below should get you registered quickly and easily:
1. Go to www.afsp.org and click on Out of the Darkness Community Walks in the upper right-hand corner of the home page
2. Log in to your existing account on the walk home page by entering your email and password. If you have forgotten your password there is an option to have the password sent to your email address
3. Search for the event - Southern CT Chapter, Sherwood Island State Park, Saturday, Oct. 27th
4. Search for the team - Team Emma
5. Click join this team
6. Answer brief questions.
7. You're done!
This past spring, inspired by a support group conversation the night before, I was reflecting on how my experience with suicide loss had changed over the last year. One notable change, I realized, was that people I knew had begun reaching out to me as a resource when suicide touched their own lives. As I was driving to work that spring morning, I tallied the number of times this past year that I had gotten a call or email from someone I knew who had just lost a friend or family member to suicide and was desperate to know where to go for information and support. The number was five. In my relatively small circle of friends and acquaintances, five people had lost someone to suicide in less than a year. I found that stunning. What is even more stunning, is that by the time I was making the drive home from work at the end of that same day, the number had risen to seven.
So when I reflect on what I have learned on my journey in this past year, one of the most important lessons is this: suicide is not just a personal tragedy, it is a national tragedy. Each year more than 35,000 people in the U.S. die by suicide and CT's rate of death by suicide is at a 20 year high. In the wake of these tragic losses, hundreds of thousands of friends and family members are left to make sense of their loss and put their lives back together again. When you add up the price of all this devastation: years of productive life lost, wages lost, health and mental health care costs; you realize that the cost of suicide is enormous.
I have also learned this: as a nation, we will never inspire the national response necessary to address this national tragedy if we are depending on the survivors of suicide loss to wage that war. As survivors, we have the will and resolve to bring change and find answers; to help others win a battle that, sadly, we have lost; but we are walking wounded. We can't do this alone. If we are going to wage war against suicide we need allies in our schools, in our healthcare institutions, in our workplaces, in our communities, in government, and amongst our legislators. My hope is that National Suicide Prevention Week will lead to greater awareness, new alliances, and the strengthening of our national resolve to give the issue of suicide the time, attention, and resources that are necessary to find answers and develop responses.
One of the ways I have become involved in the war against suicide is by participating in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention - Southern CT Chapter's annual Out of the Darkness Walk. We were inspired to participate in our first walk by a friend of Emma's who found out about the walk and formed a team just weeks after Emma's death. We have been participating ever since and have been heartened to see the growth in community support and awareness that the walk has helped to create. It is truly bringing suicide out of the darkness.
Special registration instructions for returning walkers:
AFSP has updated the walk website and there are a few frustrating glitches. The instructions below should get you registered quickly and easily:
1. Go to www.afsp.org and click on Out of the Darkness Community Walks in the upper right-hand corner of the home page
2. Log in to your existing account on the walk home page by entering your email and password. If you have forgotten your password there is an option to have the password sent to your email address
3. Search for the event - Southern CT Chapter, Sherwood Island State Park, Saturday, Oct. 27th
4. Search for the team - Team Emma
5. Click join this team
6. Answer brief questions.
7. You're done!
Monday, June 25, 2012
Peter's Scholarship Presentation Speech
Once again, we survived what has become the most difficult week of the year for us. It began with the anniversary of Emma's death on June 17th which, this year, collided with Father's Day. After that, we had Awards night at both of our town's high schools, where we present the scholarships we established in Emma's memory; our wedding anniversary; and Emma's birthday. For Peter, he had the added stress of the end of school and a moving up ceremony for his graduating 5th graders. It is a week filled with joyful memories and unimaginable sadness. It is a week that reminds us that we are surviving, and a week that highlights that things will never be the same.
I wanted to share Peter's presentation speech. It speaks for itself:
-->
I wanted to share Peter's presentation speech. It speaks for itself:
-->
Hello,
I’m Peter von Euler, and this is my wife Nancy.
It’s ironic that I’m here presenting a music
scholarship award. If anyone asks me, I
usually say, “I’m not particularly musical,” or, “I don’t really have a great
ear,” or, “I could never carry a tune.”
It’s also ironic because my daughter, Emma had everything that I
lacked.
In
creating this scholarship, my wife, my daughter, and hundreds of family members
and friends are trying to continue Emma’s music legacy where she left off. Before we present the scholarship that bears
her name, I hope you’ll allow me to make a plea.
My
plea is for you to never say the things about yourself that I just said a few
moments ago. Don’t ever say you’re not
musical. Music is about bringing
different notes together to create a sound that moves people to smile, to dance,
to cry, or find peace. Most importantly
music is about pulling different sounds together and creating harmony. I could easily hear my daughter’s musical
talents when she sang or played the flute, but I may have missed her most
important musical gift. She accepted
people. She celebrated differences. She loved the quirky, the unconventional, the
disconnected, and she often brought them together in a beautiful way. I’m striving for that kind of musicality in
my life.
Don’t
say, “I don’t have a good ear.” Maybe I
don’t have perfect pitch, as some say my daughter had, but that doesn’t mean I
can’t train my ear. I can listen for
subtle notes of trouble or struggle in someone else’s voice. I can say, “How are you doing?” and insert a
rest, leaving room for an honest reply.
Don’t
say, “I can’t carry a tune.” When Emma
died by suicide just five days short of her 17th birthday, I lost my
voice. I was rendered mute by shame at
how she died, by guilt at what I could have done, by fear that I might never be
happy again. In the three years since
Emma died, my wife has helped me find my voice.
She stunned me by singing part of her eulogy at Emma’s memorial
service. She then started writing down
all of the beautiful memories from Emma’s life and sharing them in a public
blog. She wrote, “I refuse to
allow Emma, or our lives together, to be defined by [her last] desperate
act.” In effect, she echoed the lines
we hear sung so movingly at Relay for Life every year, “I will remember you,”
and, “Weep not for the memories.” She
has shown me how to carry that tune.
In these past three years, the broader
tune we have tried to carry is that we should strive to be a musical community.
Though we may sound different notes in race, religion, opinion, or sexual orientation, we all need to work toward harmony.
Our goal was never uniformity or perfect agreement. That makes for a boring song. Instead, our
goal is to become part of some bigger composition that holds together
beautifully. To appreciate some music,
and some people, you have to stop and listen.
You may have to get used to a new and unfamiliar sound. Usually, if you listen openly, your ear can
find something to appreciate, even in a piece that challenges you or makes you
uncomfortable. Here’s a challenging
note, but one we hope you’ll try to carry forward: mental illness is a legitimate health issue
that you cannot and should not try to solve alone. It must stop being a cause
for shame. Please carry that refrain
with you as you move on from this school.
The Emma Jane von Euler Music Scholarship is awarded each year to a Fairfield high school senior who is
planning to continue his or her study of music in college. Candidates for this
scholarship demonstrate not only a talent and love for music, but also a kind
and generous spirit and a desire to help and inspire others. This year we’re
thrilled to present the scholarship to someone who has shown that she [he] can make
beautiful music in many ways. Congratulations,
Danielle Cupp [Sam Warnick].
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Defining Bullying
This seems obvious, but when you're trying to have a conversation about an issue, it's important to be talking about the same thing. As Andrea pointed out in her presentation, there are 46 states with anti-bullying laws on their books and every one of them has a different definition of bullying. Connecticut's anti-bullying law has been amended 6 times in the 10 years it has been on the books, and every time the definition of bullying has been changed.
Connecticut's evolving statutory definition of bullying is still much narrower than the definition most parents and students would use. Since the law carries with it legal requirements for recording, reporting, and responding to incidences of bullying, it is understandable that lawmakers sought to carefully and narrowly define the behaviors that would trigger the required responses. But this has caused some misunderstanding and miscommunication within schools.
I would venture to guess that CT's anti-bullying law struck fear in the hearts of some school administrators when it was first enacted and you can understand their perspective. Kids misbehave. Kids can be mean. What might the state's reporting requirements mean for the reputation of their schools or for individual children? No self-respecting principal wants his/her school to be known for the number of bullying incidents that occurred there; nor does any child-loving principal or teacher want to put the label of bully on a 8 year-old. In many cases, this fear has led school administrators to narrowly interpret an already narrow definition of bullying. While parents and students may talk about bullying in terms of a wide range of behaviors and incidents that upset and concern them, school administrators are carefully measuring complaints against a statutory yardstick that regulates their response. See where the communication begins to break down?
The lack of a common definition of bullying has gotten in the way of fruitful conversation about the social and emotional environments in our schools. If we want to do a better job addressing this issue, we need to first get on the same page. That's part of why you'll see the language shifting from bullying prevention to school climate improvement. Shifting the scope of the conversation to school climate may allow us to settle on a narrow, but common, definition of bullying, while still talking broadly about the behaviors and values that characterize school environments which promote learning, growing, and a feeling of safety and belonging.
Next up...CT's School Climate Improvement Law.
Connecticut's evolving statutory definition of bullying is still much narrower than the definition most parents and students would use. Since the law carries with it legal requirements for recording, reporting, and responding to incidences of bullying, it is understandable that lawmakers sought to carefully and narrowly define the behaviors that would trigger the required responses. But this has caused some misunderstanding and miscommunication within schools.
I would venture to guess that CT's anti-bullying law struck fear in the hearts of some school administrators when it was first enacted and you can understand their perspective. Kids misbehave. Kids can be mean. What might the state's reporting requirements mean for the reputation of their schools or for individual children? No self-respecting principal wants his/her school to be known for the number of bullying incidents that occurred there; nor does any child-loving principal or teacher want to put the label of bully on a 8 year-old. In many cases, this fear has led school administrators to narrowly interpret an already narrow definition of bullying. While parents and students may talk about bullying in terms of a wide range of behaviors and incidents that upset and concern them, school administrators are carefully measuring complaints against a statutory yardstick that regulates their response. See where the communication begins to break down?
The lack of a common definition of bullying has gotten in the way of fruitful conversation about the social and emotional environments in our schools. If we want to do a better job addressing this issue, we need to first get on the same page. That's part of why you'll see the language shifting from bullying prevention to school climate improvement. Shifting the scope of the conversation to school climate may allow us to settle on a narrow, but common, definition of bullying, while still talking broadly about the behaviors and values that characterize school environments which promote learning, growing, and a feeling of safety and belonging.
Next up...CT's School Climate Improvement Law.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Underestimating the Foe - The Denial of Depression
So many times, the stories that are published in the media after the death by suicide of a high profile person exacerbate the public's misunderstanding of suicide. Too often when the media asks the "why" question, they focus on the potential triggers that were perceptible to the outside world, and neglect to look for the root cause which, for 90% of the people who die by suicide, is depression or some other form of mental illness. Here's a link to an important commentary by Dominique Browning that, in my estimation, gets it right:
Mary Richardson Kennedy - The Denial of Depression
Mary Richardson Kennedy - The Denial of Depression
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Can We Talk?
Exactly a month ago I attended an excellent talk sponsored by the Fairfield PTA Council on school climate improvement and bullying prevention. Andrea Leonardi, Fairfield Public Schools' Director of Special Education and Pupil Services, was the guest speaker and her presentation was very thorough, providing a history of anti-bullying legislation in our state; a review of important definitions; an overview of the district's school climate improvement plan; and an exhaustive list of resources for further reading. The only thing missing? An audience.
Believe me, I get it. I know for a fact that Fairfield is full of compassionate and concerned families, but I also know that Fairfield is full of very busy families. There are just so many places you can be at one time; just so many evenings you can pull yourself away from home for a meeting; just so many issues you can commit your time and energy to.
But the truth is, we will never get anywhere on the issues of bullying and positive school climate without conversation. If we can't find a way to physically get together to have those conversations, we need to find other ways to communicate. I'm hoping my blog can be one of those other ways.
Over the last three years, I've accumulated a wealth of articles, research, and resources on this and related issues like depression and suicide. I'm going to start sharing all of that on my blog. I hope that this will allow people to learn and exchange ideas, and that the posts will spark conversations in your homes, at the bus stop, in the parking lot, and in the aisles of the grocery store. Maybe through these conversations we will begin to see not only a path to change, but also the growth of a collective commitment to make that change.
I get absorbed in daily life just like everyone else, so my posting is somewhat irregular. If you want to be sure you are seeing new posts, it's probably easiest to subscribe to the blog. Subscribers receive notifications when something new has been posted, so they don't have to worry about missing a post.
So, here's the first installment. The live link below will take you to the Fairfield Public Schools School Climate Improvement page. At the top of that page, you will see a link to Andrea Leonardi's excellent presentation. More to come!
Andrea's Presentation link
(once you get to the page, click on PTAC School Climate Presentation - April 24, 2012)
Believe me, I get it. I know for a fact that Fairfield is full of compassionate and concerned families, but I also know that Fairfield is full of very busy families. There are just so many places you can be at one time; just so many evenings you can pull yourself away from home for a meeting; just so many issues you can commit your time and energy to.
But the truth is, we will never get anywhere on the issues of bullying and positive school climate without conversation. If we can't find a way to physically get together to have those conversations, we need to find other ways to communicate. I'm hoping my blog can be one of those other ways.
Over the last three years, I've accumulated a wealth of articles, research, and resources on this and related issues like depression and suicide. I'm going to start sharing all of that on my blog. I hope that this will allow people to learn and exchange ideas, and that the posts will spark conversations in your homes, at the bus stop, in the parking lot, and in the aisles of the grocery store. Maybe through these conversations we will begin to see not only a path to change, but also the growth of a collective commitment to make that change.
I get absorbed in daily life just like everyone else, so my posting is somewhat irregular. If you want to be sure you are seeing new posts, it's probably easiest to subscribe to the blog. Subscribers receive notifications when something new has been posted, so they don't have to worry about missing a post.
So, here's the first installment. The live link below will take you to the Fairfield Public Schools School Climate Improvement page. At the top of that page, you will see a link to Andrea Leonardi's excellent presentation. More to come!
Andrea's Presentation link
(once you get to the page, click on PTAC School Climate Presentation - April 24, 2012)
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
A Voice for Change
I was so pleased to receive this email from my State Representative earlier this week. In her email she takes the time to recognize that May is Mental Health Awareness Month and provides some links to valuable resources for education and support. Even more significantly, she pledges to use some of her political capital to have an impact on suicide prevention and mental health. This is huge. Elected officials naturally gravitate towards issues that people are talking about, and most people would rather not talk about suicide or mental illness. Yet the impact on individuals and families in our state is devastating. We cannot afford to avoid these issues because they make us uncomfortable.
I am greatly comforted to know that someone is stepping up to spark conversation and lead change. It is my most sincere wish that no other family will have to lose a loved one to suicide.
I am greatly comforted to know that someone is stepping up to spark conversation and lead change. It is my most sincere wish that no other family will have to lose a loved one to suicide.
|
|
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Community Conversation
My town is sponsoring a month-long series of conversations on diversity. Tonight I attended a conversation about LGBTQ Youth issues. There was a small, but committed group at this conversation and some great thoughts and ideas were shared.
A month ago, I wrote something to share at this conversation. At the time, I was hoping and expecting that a much larger segment of our community would participate in the conversation. For what it's worth, this is what I wrote and shared tonight:
-->
A month ago, I wrote something to share at this conversation. At the time, I was hoping and expecting that a much larger segment of our community would participate in the conversation. For what it's worth, this is what I wrote and shared tonight:
-->
About a month ago a post by a young woman who is a Facebook friend came across my newsfeed. This is an excerpt of what it said:
I went to middle school with a girl who a lot of people didn't like. They thought she was weird. I called her a friend, but only to her face. Behind her back I went along with my peers saying that she was strange and calling her names, some of which she probably overheard. We went to different high schools. After 8th grade graduation the next time I saw her was at my house for Junior prom. Her prom date was a guy who I went to high school with. We chatted and complimented each other’s dresses.
A few weeks later I found out she committed suicide. People thought she was strange for being a lesbian. They called her names like faggot, queer, butch, dyke, they made fun of her lifestyle. They were the reason she took her life. At one point or another I contributed to that. It's a regret I live with every day.
A few weeks later I found out she committed suicide. People thought she was strange for being a lesbian. They called her names like faggot, queer, butch, dyke, they made fun of her lifestyle. They were the reason she took her life. At one point or another I contributed to that. It's a regret I live with every day.
I’m Nancy von Euler, and that was written about my daughter, Emma. It’s hard for me to express how I felt when I read those words. I suppose it should have been bone-crushing, but in some ways it was a relief. You see, it was the first time that someone had publicly acknowledged and taken responsibility for the hateful things that were said to my daughter, apparently over a period of many, many years. Except for an isolated incident here and there we didn’t know that this was happening to Emma. Emma didn’t tell us, and nobody else did either. It was an awful secret.
For the most part, this community has continued to keep that secret. We know people knew about it, because the gossip got back to us after she died. But except in isolated circles and ways, Fairfield didn’t use Emma’s death to spark conversation about LGBTQ youth issues, bullying or suicide; and I have often wondered why. Was it to protect Emma? To protect our family? Or was it self-protection? It takes guts to say what that young woman said in that post. It’s hard to share a secret you’ve hidden for so long.
But I, too, have resisted making Emma a symbol of this cause, for reasons I haven’t always had an easy time articulating.
For one thing, I resist having Emma become a symbol of LGBTQ issues because Emma was and always will be much more than the labels that have been placed upon her. “Gay,” “bullied,” “suicide;” they are all accurate labels, but none of them describe the depth and beauty of the person I knew. Labels have a way of reducing people to one dimension, but Emma was a unique and complex soul. She had amazing strengths and talents and, like all of us, she had her weaknesses, too. She could exhilarate you with her music and exasperate you with her stubbornness. She could make you laugh with her silly impersonations, and make you cry with her beautiful poetry. She cannot be summed up in a word.
The hate that was thrown at Emma was meant to isolate, ostracize, and dehumanize her, so I don’t ever want to talk about Emma without talking about her deep connections. She is an adored sister, a cherished granddaughter, a favorite cousin, a special niece, a loyal friend. She is Peter’s precious child, and my precious child, and she is God’s precious child. What was done to Emma was done to us, too, because she is part of us. And the pain that Emma felt didn’t die with her. I carry that pain now. It’s like a sharp stone in my shoe and I feel it with every step I take.
But maybe the most important reason that I have conflicting feelings about Emma becoming a symbol of the need to embrace and support LGBTQ youth is because I question whether that limits the conversation. This story, this issue, is about more than Emma von Euler, or Tyler Clementi, or Jamey Rodemeyer. This is about all of us.
This is about the other gay or questioning kids at Tomlinson and Ludlowe who got splashed with the hate that was thrown at Emma. This is about the kids who will be targeted tomorrow, and it’s about the kids who will target them. This is about adults who saw and overheard things 3, 4, or 5 years ago and didn’t intervene and didn’t tell us; and it’s about the adults who will see and overhear things tomorrow and will need to make a choice about what to do. This is about the adults and kids who gossip and judge and isolate people who just want what we all want: to be accepted and embraced for who we are. Emma is gone, but this story continues. And It’s up to us to decide how it continues.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Literary Criticism
Literary Criticism
I have read and re-read the story of your life
A thousand times since you left us without warning.
This was a story I was intimately familiar with.
This was a story I was intimately familiar with.
I had collaborated on every chapter.
And the early chapters, when you did not have a vision for the story,
And the early chapters, when you did not have a vision for the story,
While those were still characterized by your unique voice,
They were written in my hand,
They were written in my hand,
And the hand of your other collaborators, major and minor.
But the ending of the story did not have my input
But the ending of the story did not have my input
And it so shocked and transformed me,
That I now mark time and understanding by its revelation.
And now the familiar story that I thought I knew,
Challenges my former interpretations and insights.
So I go back to the text again and again,
So I go back to the text again and again,
Searching for meaning and truth.
As we worked on it together
As we worked on it together
I was convinced that it was a happy story.
It’s true, it began with heartbreak.
It’s true, it began with heartbreak.
For us the start of the story ended a painful chapter
But for another, written out of the rest of the book,
But for another, written out of the rest of the book,
A heart wrenching choice allowed our story lines to cross.
And for you, a loss, a rejection, was the prologue for your tale.
And for you, a loss, a rejection, was the prologue for your tale.
Redemption, reunion, rejoicing followed so quickly after,
That I lost sight of that theme as the work progressed.
Other rejections and losses occur as the story continues,
Other rejections and losses occur as the story continues,
But they seem so ordinary.
Not significant enough to highlight or comment about in marginalia.
But I missed the connection of these superficial wounds
But I missed the connection of these superficial wounds
To that primal wound, didn’t I?
A rejection like that can’t be healed or covered up with a bandage.
A rejection like that can’t be healed or covered up with a bandage.
And once wounded, you are forever vulnerable to future injury.
I get that now.
I get that now.
There is also an undertone of fearfulness that runs throughout the story.
I caught that, had underlined it, had noted it in the margins.
I knew it was important to the story.
I knew it was important to the story.
It built barriers for you to overcome
And created conflict that, ironically, fanned the flames of fear.
But I never understood where it came from or its control over you.
But I never understood where it came from or its control over you.
I couldn’t get inside that part of your character.
Until now. I get that now.
Until now. I get that now.
Now it seems linked to a sense of isolation I am newly getting from the story.
But I’m not sure of this interpretation.
Neither fear, nor isolation seem to fit with the intrepid performer
Neither fear, nor isolation seem to fit with the intrepid performer
Whose talent and confidence and gifts of song and gab
Pulled people in and moved them,
Pulled people in and moved them,
Creating the feeling that you were in the presence of someone special.
How could someone like that feel isolated?
How could someone like that feel isolated?
Am I projecting myself onto the text?
You see, I’ve recently learned that there are two kinds of isolation.
You see, I’ve recently learned that there are two kinds of isolation.
External isolation can be battled.
New friends, new surroundings, new technology,
Can tear down walls.
But the isolation that comes from within,
But the isolation that comes from within,
The kind that shouts at you that you are different,
That your pain is unparalleled,
That isolation is a tougher foe.
That isolation is a tougher foe.
It hides in the crevices of your mind and heart.
Fighting it is like jousting in the dark.
I’m fighting that fight. I get that now.
I’m fighting that fight. I get that now.
Toward the end a new theme emerges -
The search for identity.
Before I was forever changed by the story’s end,
Before I was forever changed by the story’s end,
This theme was hard for me to follow or relate to.
You seemed to try on personas
You seemed to try on personas
Like you were a little girl playing dress-up again.
But what was the motivation, the meaning, the metaphor?
But what was the motivation, the meaning, the metaphor?
Was it symbolic of searching or discovery?
As I look over the highlights and notes and dog-eared pages
As I look over the highlights and notes and dog-eared pages
A new thread emerges.
Perhaps this theme of identity is connected to the theme of rejection
Perhaps this theme of identity is connected to the theme of rejection
And amplified by the underlying fear and isolation.
These things inhabit the same space, as I now know all too well.
These things inhabit the same space, as I now know all too well.
Traumatic loss creates fear, fuels isolation, and ignites identity,
Until you are burned beyond recognition,
Even to yourself.
I get that now.
I get that now.
Inspired by Workshop by Billy Collins
Friday, January 27, 2012
Remnants
Remnants
A downy feather, a stray seed
A fleck of shell, like a paint chip,
Sky blue on one side, cloud white on the other.
Small twigs, dried grass,
A sprig of yarn snipped off of a finished project.
From this fragile start, a strong home is built.
The spiny leaves of the holly,
Within which the home rests,
Create a fortress to protect fragile new life.
Patience, warmth and care
Coax the infant to emerge
Wet and blind to face the world.
How frightening the first moments must be,
Alone, exposed, unfamiliar,
Totally dependent on another being.
The fortress keeps the world at bay
While the guardian feeds and warms
The tiny new babe.
It grows stronger, hungrier
More confident and curious
Feathers replace fluff and the stage is set.
On a sunny afternoon the mother returns
To find the youngster, no longer a babe,
Has stretched its wings and taken flight.
There is no trace of the path taken
No assurance of safety or security.
Just the remnants of the life that started there.
A downy feather, a stray seed,
A fleck of shell, like a paint chip,
Sky blue on one side, cloud white on the other.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The Poetry Phase of Grief
I wrote the poem Come to me as a Butterfly in August 2009, just a few months after Emma died. I had been writing pretty much daily in a journal, recording emotions, questions; tracking what helped and didn't help; and, in a way, just checking my pulse. The daily entries were a testament to the fact that I had survived another day.
It was around August that I began to feel compelled to find some meaning in these daily musings/rants and poetry became my medium. I had never written poetry before, so I'm still not sure why I reached for it then. Looking back, I think it was symbolic of where I was in my grieving: finding meaning and connection in signs and symbols and stories, but not in ways that could be coherently articulated through prose. Poetry allowed me to organize the jumble of ideas and emotions in my head, even if I was still not able to make sense of them.
Poetry also gave me a sense of connection to and empathy for Emma. I am not a poet, a conclusion you have surely come to on your own, but Emma was. As I was going through my poetry phase, I wondered what meaning was hidden in the fact that Emma liked to write poetry. Was poetry a crutch for Emma, just as it had become for me? Was her poetic flair really a reflection of deep unconquerable despair? Did she grasp at poetry to try gain control over jumbled thoughts and emotions, just as I was?
These are not questions with answers, just raw material - unanswerable questions to be noted, cataloged, and tucked away in the orderly stanzas of a poem that can tidy up the messiest parts of life.
It was around August that I began to feel compelled to find some meaning in these daily musings/rants and poetry became my medium. I had never written poetry before, so I'm still not sure why I reached for it then. Looking back, I think it was symbolic of where I was in my grieving: finding meaning and connection in signs and symbols and stories, but not in ways that could be coherently articulated through prose. Poetry allowed me to organize the jumble of ideas and emotions in my head, even if I was still not able to make sense of them.
Poetry also gave me a sense of connection to and empathy for Emma. I am not a poet, a conclusion you have surely come to on your own, but Emma was. As I was going through my poetry phase, I wondered what meaning was hidden in the fact that Emma liked to write poetry. Was poetry a crutch for Emma, just as it had become for me? Was her poetic flair really a reflection of deep unconquerable despair? Did she grasp at poetry to try gain control over jumbled thoughts and emotions, just as I was?
These are not questions with answers, just raw material - unanswerable questions to be noted, cataloged, and tucked away in the orderly stanzas of a poem that can tidy up the messiest parts of life.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Come to me as a Butterfly
Come to me as a Butterfly
You come to me as a butterfly
White-winged and delicate
Full of grace and purpose
You come close,
Drawing me in
With your dizzying dance
My gaze follows you
As you whirl through the garden
Appearing and disappearing
Amethyst tinged hydrangea,
Lavender dusted spirea,
Violet budded oregano
And though I vigilantly track your flight
I cannot hold you in my gaze
And you are gone again
I climb toward the heavens
To search for you
And see the world as you now see it
From a rocky peak
I take in the paint-splattered valley below
And soak up the last of the retreating sun
In the distance, a spark catches my eye
You appear again,
Your wings transformed by the colors of fall
Mosaic patterned top wings
Fiery orange and burnt red
Dusted beneath in summer’s purple
I hold my breath
As you come close
Gently alighting upon the rock beside me
Your stillness
Holds the same sense of purpose
As your frantic flight
I cannot resist,
My smile blooms into a giddy laugh
We are together again
Though I long to hold you, I do not reach out
I know my touch upon your wings
Would steal from you your freeing flight
You lift off, circle, disappear
Leaving me earth-bound
And searching
August 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)