Making Peace with my Fear

     Just when I think I've discovered all the hidden mines in my psyche, a simple conversation with a friend can expose a treasure trove of pain. I woke this morning compelled to write about my brother Jack's death. This shouldn't have surprised me since the pain always seems to be floating just past my peripheral vision. You would think with all the years of therapy under my belt I would be expecting these little gems of pain, but the human mind loves to dodge the really tough stuff. I sat before yoga class yesterday talking with Kristin. Her mother's dog Snookie, a round, sweet, dachshund mix, was at the studio with her. Our conversation turned to the healing power of dogs. As Kristin spoke about her father's death I watched Snookie back her haunches into my leg. I should have known I was in avoidance mode as my mind wandered to the notion that watching Snookie back up was like watching a bread truck slowly backing in for the morning delivery. I mindlessly scratched her hips as our conversation segued into our experiences with death and the intuitiveness of the dog. Kristen's father died two years ago of ALS combined with dementia, a rare and painful combination from what she described. As she spoke about the last day she spent with her father I held back the urge to sob, not for her pain, which was palpable, or her father, but for Jack. Kristen's father died at home under hospice care with his wife and children beside him. The beauty of this picture was almost too much for me to bear.

     You see, my brother died alone on the floor of a strangers apartment. Up until yesterday I had avoided dealing with the reality of the circumstances surrounding his death by simply ignoring them. Yet, for the last twenty-four hours it is all I can think about. I picture a cold, filthy floor and Jack lying in a pool of his own vomit; how I love to stoke the embers of my pain. I sometimes put on my “at peace with the universe” face and might be heard saying something like, “I wouldn't change a thing in my life, it has made me the person I am......blah, blah, blah.” Honestly, to use my father's phraseology, that's a bunch of bullshit. If I could change one thing in my life I would have been in that apartment to hold my brother's hand, to smooth his hair back, and to tell him everything's gonna be all right. I have long accepted that Jack is dead, but I realized yesterday that I have not fully processed the pain I feel for him dying alone. Each time I unearth something hidden deep within me like this I know that on the other side of this dark place I will come out in the light, so I embrace it, ready for the sun to burn off the darkness.

     I have a theory that when we don't deal with these burried gems, they are exposed in some other way. I believe that the avoidance of this pain has manifested itself into a psychological issue for me, an issue that has been paralyzing at times over the last ten years. When Pete or Jayne travel, not us traveling as a family, but when they are traveling alone, I become sick with fear that they are going to die. It has gotten to the point that to alleviate my panic they text me at regular interervals along their routes. When this began I might call every few minutes until I reached them, I would leave freaked out voice mails, I would send the same text over and over until I got a response, sometimes I even got physically ill from the fear as I waited. I sought therapy, tried breathing exercises, berated myself for the “craziness”, forced myself to ignore the panic, and today.....I found some compassion for myself. I believe this fear springs directly from my sadness for Jack. I wasn't there for him and I have been living in fear that I won't be there for Pete and Jayne, to hold their hand, to usher them out of this world with love. Everyone dies, so to live in fear of death is pointless. I'm going to try and make some peace with this fear and to give it over to God. The timing couldn't be more perfect, I was a little worried for my sanity as Jayne heads to New York next week alone. Once more I am struck by the beauty of life. When the time is right the stone loosens and falls away, leaving a hole for the light to shine through, and the time is right for me to let this stone go.