Saturday, September 02, 2006

Beauty from Ashes

Grieving the impending death of a brother has had dimensions that I was unprepared for. We've probably all read the "stages of grieving" and other insightful reads on what to expect when facing loss. Those are not the sorts of things that I am attempting to express here.

What has surprised and sometimes shamed me has been the rising up of some less evolved "inner child" in me. I first noticed it in photos that were being taken as people gathered in support of Ken. I observed that I tended to place myself in the rear of the group, even hanging back a step or two from the others, appearing peripheral and secondary-- as though I expected at any moment to be asked to "sit this one out".

I managed to laugh out loud at myself the day Ken's professional legal colleagues congregated outside of the hospital room. We'd never had reason to meet before, and though I was sincerely interested in meeting his friends, I once again felt myself hanging back and waiting for someone else to take the initiative. The exchange went sort of as follows: (well, its actually ridiculously paraphrased, to reflect the dysfunctional inner workings of my mind).

Lawyer guy: "Hi, I'm Ken's friend Mr so-and-so. This is my lawyer wife. She's as brilliant as she is physically beautiful and we just flew in from Ottawa, between extremely pressing and important meetings to spend some time with your brother."

My brother (not the sick one): "It's nice to meet you. I'm Ken's brother, and I just flew in yesterday from Central Africa. I'm smart, well-read, but also sensitive and kind. Most of the time I solve problems for the U.N., but I'm not just booky and beurocratic. I'm also a really great guy, and I have a close relationship with my sick brother. He needs me."

Joyce: "Hi. I'm a little girl in a woman's body. I've never known what I wanted to be if I grew up, so I'm mostly angst and I'd really feel better if you told me how much you like me, and how valid I am, even if I run a daycare in Niverville and don't even like flying".

(Okay, that was mostly just indulgent, please forgive me! But it was FUN and CATHARTIC to be irreverent and not so serious for a moment.)

Back to the point of being surprised about ugly lies and fears from the past who have also come around to visit at this time of meeting and gathering. I have done enough healing to know that I have a place on this earth, and that I don't need people to constantly remind me of my validity.

Still, I would be kidding myself to pretend that I don't appreciate validation and sincerity. I made a point of not actively seeking it out though, not wanting to feel selfish and narcissistic while the real issue is that of my brother falling terribly ill. This is not about me, I tell myself time and time again.

Which is why I wept all the harder when I met Ken's friends and found them to be among the loveliest, most authentic, and fun-loving bunch around. They were easy to like. They were the farthest from snobbish. They were unconcerned about titles and degrees and accomplishments. Meeting them has introduced me to a side of Ken that makes me sad I can't get to know him better, hang out with him and his friends, share more meals, more bottles of wine.

Which is why, upon receiving the following e-mail from a close friend of Ken's, I felt the tears of a small girl mix with those of an older, wiser, and stronger woman.

"Joyce, I am sorry that I have met you in this sad time, however I think I am going to take it as the good thing in all this "shit" because I find you quite an interesting, complicated, tormented, and beautiful woman. Your insight into your struggle and your comments that first day I met you when we talked about "body image" and our daughters, left me thinking for many days.

You are always welcome at my table. "

Unexpected pain. Unexpected pleasure.

10 comments:

andrea said...

Once again I wish we lived closer to you and Brian.

joyce said...

me too. Makes us re-visit the dream of returning to our honeymoon destinations.(your province)

Anonymous said...

hi Joyce sat down today between 4 shifts in a row and cought up on your blog. I have reread to paragraph about your little girls voice reaction 4 times because it makes me laugh out loud. Love Rosa

Carlotti said...

Okay, so I'm crying again (because, of course, it's all about me....) Some day I'd like someone to explain to me what it is about being a member of our particular clan that makes us all so needy in the area of feeling validated.

A brilliantly written post, my dear sister. I too have seen such as beautiful side of our dear brother in these last few months, and regret not having known him better and enjoyed him more during good health. I too am loving his friends and have taken to inviting myself to dinner to my "new best friend's" house.

Joyce, you amaze me with your strength and openness. I love you.

joyce said...

Carl- I have decided that "our particular clan" is just very AWARE- many people move through their lives never identifying their demons, or having the courage to name them. Granted, we may tend towards the melancholy at times, but not without courage and a great deal of humour.

Cherrypie said...

Oh, Joyce. You're always welcome at my table too. x

Anonymous said...

My, aren't we a needy bunch? I love reading what you have to say - especially if it's something nice about me! Joyce, I have loved you and looked up to you in awe for years. You are not afraid to sing in public ( and do it beautifully), look amazing ( you could be a poster child for Value Village), are so very creative - esp. with "found" objects, your writing blows me away with it's insight, wisdom, honesty, and crazy humor. You have a melodious, warm, laugh that shows in your eyes. You work at being loving, honest, and transparent. And I like it.
I too have been so impressed with Ken's friends. Quality people. Would like to spend more time with them. Like at Ken's "I'm healed, it's a miracle! party!.
Here's my request: At your earliest convenience, sit in your favorite spot, fill a (preferably colored) goblet with some of Brian's home made wine, sip it, and pretend I'm sitting there with you. I'd love to be.

Anonymous said...

While you're at it, could you invite all the sisters and your best friends to join us? We might need more than one bottle.

joyce said...

Laura-- I beg of you. Please begin to blog. I love your writing. And hey! If you're needy as well, the validation of comments can't hurt either, eh?!!!

Christy said...

"I've never known what I wanted to be if I grew up"

You just described my life in a nutshell.

Once again I am amazed at your honesty an wish I had the kind of courage it takes to be that honest.