In the past couple of days, I experienced some significant moments that I thought I would share. (This blog is not focusing on the fact that I finally finished my taxes this week and that Maki passed his driver’s permit test…also big milestones on my map. And I also survived IKEA.)
The first was more of a thought-event, triggered during my drive up to IKEA with two young girls in tow. While listening to the surreal oeuvre of Weird Al Yankovich at the girls’ request, I realized that our destination was just down the street (same freeway exit) as Vernon’s Dialysis Center. Of course I knew this exit was coming, I’ve driven past it many times since he died. But for some reason, a little more weighted version of this realization me all of a sudden. Maybe I can blame it on Weird Al, but it suddenly seemed so long a drive, and I wondered: How did I do this so often over those years? At the time I guess I’d thought: This was as close as we could get him, so it beats other alternatives.
But I had hated that drive and how often we had to go, and when the dialysis visits extended to five times a week, I had to enlist the help of others to sit with him (which among other duties, meant potentially changing his diapers or picking him up of the floor, let alone receiving his surreal sweetness mixed with the verbal abuse, which usually kicked in about 20 minutes into the session, depending on his arbitrary moods and medication.) If I’m honest, dialysis and all it brought with it was the worst part of Vernon’s complex situation, and it just kept getting harder and more frequent.
Those are the thoughts that washed over my mind on my drive to IKEA yesterday. Why then? Why not earlier? Probably because it was too close to honest about. But then, I think I was as honest as I could be at the time: that was my 43-44-year old self processing, and I was still in the middle of the action. Now I’m a little older and removed from the situation. Neither of them are wrong, but it’s still a surprise when the washing-over of new-realizationcomes.
The second thing was that I finallydeposited the check that our lawyer sent us two months ago. Its been sitting in the butter-knife-slit Fed-Ex envelope on my desk for two months. What was I supposed to do with a $10,000 check that summed up his life? The people who hit him had the minimum of insurance available in the state. The truth is, because of our lack of riches, we were able to offset many of the hospital bills, so I feel like I should be thankful to get a check at all. But it isn’t money I want to spend.
And the third thing happened this morning, when I finally put Vernon’s bikes in the van. His bicycles were a very important part of his life, so I haven’t wanted to just donate them, and I haven’t known how to determine their value. I know he was as high-end about his bike purchases as he could afford to be, always ordering bits and pieces to tinker with when he came home at night. They were his favorite mode of transportation since he was a boy. I think in my heart, I thought it would likely be hit on a bike as much as he was on the road. Today, the bike consignment place took one of out of the three we offered, because it wasn’t entirely fixied-up. We only arrived at this place of finally letting go of them because we are using the garage more: Maki is painting large pieces in there, and I need the extra storage.
Life keeps pushing us into new comfort zones. And now, we are here.
“The more you search for closure, the more trouble you will have living peacefully with your loss.” —Dr. Pauline Boss
I recently discovered the term “Ambiguous Loss,” coined by the pioneer grief psychologist Dr. Pauline Boss. (Here is a wonderful interview with her on one of my favorite podcasts, and here is simpler article on the subject, if you’d like to read more.) According to Wikipedia: “Ambiguous loss is a loss that occurs without closure or understanding. This kind of loss leaves a person searching for answers, and thus complicates and delays the process of grieving, and often results in unresolved grief.”
I found the terminology very helpful, and it brought me back to those long, unstable years with Vernon— caring for him, loving him, but also missing him. He was present, but his brain was mostly gone. He was physically in the room, but psychologically absent. This brings great pain to any family going through this because they can’t truly grieve as they are living in constant maintenance and change…and even hope. It’s true for anyone who has a loved one experiencing Dementia or drug addiction, anything that has changed them into a different person than the one they once were. We anticipate their death perhaps, and we miss the old relationship, and yet they are still with us.
Dr. Boss says we live in a culture that desires to be in control of situations and therefore we feel the need to seek ‘closure.’ But she also says there is no such thing as real closure from a relationship of someone that we love. She says that term is great for real estate but not people. Grief, in many ways is more of a beginning than a closing…even when our loved one dies, we realize that we are a different person than we used to be because we have allowed that love to change us. And of course, when they haven’t died…we are stuck in the middle even more, negotiating all of this through every day changes. It’s the waiting that hurts as much as the ending. And yet…we will do anything to keep them from leaving and having to start that new life without them.
I came across this video of Vernon as an Easter memory on Facebook this week (I hope it translates here):
Oh Vernon! One thing he taught me is that life is not a simple package…its full of the BOTH/AND…its funny and tragic, it’s hopeful and disappointing, there’s room for it all, often in the same moment. There was worse and better before this, and worse and better after. It was all there in this moment too. Life is complex. Life is hard. And yet…if that is the price of love, so be it (said in fore-and-after-sight…not always in the middle of it.)
I no longer live in this kind of grief. I think I am perhaps further along in my ‘beginning’ than I might be now if Vernon had died suddenly a year ago than if he’d died gradually. I have difficult times, but I now understand that it’s finally good to be beyond ambiguous grief. And my heart goes out to those who still live there. I hope this word helps others. I know its very common…and very complex.
So I leave you with the words of the genius poet T.S. Eliot:
“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”
I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who was able to come out and see my Groundbreaking Girls exhibit in San Clemente. I’ve shown them about 5 times in the past year, but this was definitely the most special—and not just because it was in a spectacular gallery space in my home town. It was special because there was so much love in the house!
I didn’t count, but I’d imagine there were close to 200 people who came through those doors in the course of the evening. The elegant appetizers, hand-made by culinary artist Andrea Ketcham, was truly scrumptious…guests were gasping with delight as they took their bites. A beautiful selection of wine was poured by Carrie McKracken. And the dreamy music, played by Maki with Sarah and Scott Hendrix (as the band Clement) kept everyone entertained in the courtyard for hours. (I highly recommend them all if you are looking to bring a little extra class to upcoming events.)
It was so wonderful to see the ladies, all tucked in their dark wood frames (thank you, Bob Lloyd) staring out at us from the gallery walls. To me it seemed that part of those once-living people were there with us in spirit, watching the crowd as we we stared back at them. I was thrilled to see everyone really engaging with the art and with each other the whole time. I will also say I had a new kind of grief wave that hit me as I entered the gallery that night: I wished Vernon were there to celebrate with us. I almost wore our rings again to keep him present with me somehow, but in the end, I took them off, knowing this was a public marker of our moving forward without him, and that that needed to be acknowledged in myself as well. This show was a marker of the life I’ve chosen to live BECAUSE he died. It’s a strange thing to be sad and happy at the same time, but that seems to be what life is about. It’s not a box with a nice bow on it, as much we sometimes wish it was. I did have an opportunity to talk about him though…with gratitude. I know these paintings, the fruit of such a transformative practice for me, would likely not exist without the loss of him.
The last time I did a big one-person show and reception like this was the summer I met Vernon. In fact I hadn’t even met him in person yet. And here we are again. Bookends. I’m getting back to the life I was living before in some ways…but this time with children in tow! I love that they got to be a part of the event as well.
I know not everyone could come, and you were missed. But here is a way to see what happened at the big event of my year (so far!) and what I’ve been working on. Though 1/3 of the paintings sold that night, I still have the others available for now. And I’ll keep making more! Thank you all for your support, present or not. I have certainly felt the love in your encouragement. And as one of the ladies chosen for the show, Althea Gibson, said: “No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helped you.”
“Until one has loved an animal a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”
—Anatole France
Justine had been begging for a pet for a very long time. Maki already had a fish, and Pablo had moved to the kitchen where Justine had been faithfully feeding him. She was so young, and I was so overwhelmed with life—I didn’t think we could handle anything more (besides the fish) than a tiny hamster, which seemed relatively easy. So in June, for her seventh birthday, she brought home her first pet, whom she named Benson. Here she is, leaving the pet store with him in a box: she was SO happy!
I had no idea they would develop such a bond or that she would be such a good mama. Despite his nippy beginnings, she took time to hold him regularly throughout each day, and not only did he begin to calm down in her hands, but she calmed down in his presence too. If she was sad or stressed after school, she would go straight to him for a cuddle. They became the best of friends. He would even fall asleep on her. We wondered if he was more like a dog than a rodent. Especially after her dad’s death, I could see the importance of comfort that an animal provided her—no matter how small the animal.
Benson has taught me a lot…particularly about tenacity. The way he tries to get out of his glass cage/aquarium over and over, even though he has to somehow balance his little hind leg on the top of the hamster wheel, falling time and time again. He tries every night no matter what…and even though he also has to moved the heavy metal top, he’s managed to do it a few times and escape. The more success he would have, the more confident he would become until we had to add heavy objects to the top of the lid. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to find him, he’d show up in some corner of the house soon enough. A couple times he’d wake me in the in the middle of the night, rustling around my bedroom. (Probably looking for Justine.)
Benson went missing again this weekend. I was surprised he was able to get out of his cage because there was a heavy object on the lid, perhaps we hadn’t secured the corners tight enough. The truth is, I had a bad feeling about this escape because the back door had been ajar at some point. Granted, when I’m super busy with other things, anxiety levels can really bump up, and by Sunday afternoon, I was convinced he’d gotten out and had been eaten by an owl. Oh the heartbreak! I didn’t tell Justine this, but I thought I’d better come up with a plan B. So in a moment of weakness, I bought her another $12 hamster and a new cage (just in case.)
Guess who showed up in my bedroom in the middle of the night? Benson! So…now we have two hamsters! I clearly can’t trust my own mind. I bet this is how zoos get started.
Here is Justine, holding Oreo for the first time. (By the way, both are boys…and they will probably remain in separate habitats.)
This Woman’s History Month, you are invited to see 30 paintings on view at the OC Contemporary Gallery in San Clemente. March 24-April 14, 2018
Artist Reception is Saturday, March 24, from 6-9pm. Join us for refreshments, music, and a presentation by the artist at San Clemente’s premier modern art gallery. We’d love to see you there!
The first 25 people will receive a signed mini print of a Groundbreaking Girl.
Coming southbound – Exit Avenida Pico from I-5, make a Right onto Avenida Pico, Left onto Calle De Los Molinos, Left onto El Camino Real, and the Gallery will be on your left. Coming northbound – Exit Avenida Pico from I-5, make a Left onto Avenida Pico, Left onto Calle De Los Molinos, Left onto El Camino Real, and we’ll be on your left. There is parking just northwest of the Gallery on El Camino Real, as well as street parking behind the Gallery on Calle De Los Molinos and across the street from the front side of Gallery.
A few months after Vernon died, his sister Vanessa booked airline tickets for her family to visit California. They planned for an entire year, and just two weeks ago, they came out for nine lovely days. There were five in the Corbin clan: Vanessa, Paul, her sons, Aaron and Lewis, and Aaron’s girlfriend, Kayleigh. They were thrown into the culture shock of driving (and parking) a massive Chevy Tahoe on the wrong-to-them side of the road with the chaos of wild freeway drivers speeding by on either side of the lane without ever indicating. One realizes how strange their own world when guests from another country are visiting.
The weather was fantastic, an early springtime. We did lots of shopping and sightseeing and eating out. Paul treated us all to a day at Disneyland. It was lots of fun. But the most significant day was when we went to Joshua Tree National Park on a day when my kids were in school. Vanessa wanted to see the place we’d scattered Vernon’s ashes.
It had been 15 months since we’d gone out as a group of friends to lay the ashes, and I hadn’t been back. I wasn’t sure I could find the exact spot, and even as Paul drove further and further into the park, I kept saying; “Keep driving, I don’t recognize it yet.” Then: “Wait, turn around, I think we passed it.” And sure enough, we’d found the small group of boulders. I could hardly believe it myself.
We only had an hour because we had to get back on the road before the traffic got bad, but I could tell everyone enjoyed the strange landscape. Disneyland was a mere preparation. I took a photo of Vanessa in the inner sanctuary of the rock pile and saw this wonderful light behind her, the shape of a large lightening bolt. We all took a moment to recognize the spot, and I told them what had happened that day with our close friends and chaplain.
I wish we could have stayed longer. It’s a magical place, more so now than it was before. We dropped by the antique store in Yucca Valley. Every time I’ve gone to Joshua Tree, I’ve bought something there. This time, I bought an $8 wooden bracelet and told the ladies behind the counter about the significance of our visit. They were anglophiles and may have gotten more excited about Vanessa’s English accent, but we had a moment, and hugs were given. “This place is magical,” she said. “I could tell you stories to prove it over and over.”
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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